boo

He had groaned quietly, but had nevertheless left you alone where you sat on one of the bar stools by the kitchen island. From where he was sprawled on the couch he could hear the light tapping of your nails on the keyboard. Probably answering another important email.

Noah pulled his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. He looked at the time. It was a Friday evening. 6:38. And you were still working.

Not that Noah could really blame you, since he himself would usually work late into the nights. But he was home from tour. And he was feeling needy. Too needy.

He’d give you twenty minutes, he told himself. Twenty minutes to finish whatever you were so focused on. He sighed, running a large hand over his face. He spent five minutes trying to find a movie for the two of you to watch. However, his mind wandered far away from a movie night on the couch.

Noah swallowed hard. He shouldn’t disturb you. But you were right there. So close. He could practically smell your perfume from where he sat. He tried to ignore the throbbing between his thighs for all of two seconds.

He stood up. Fuck it.

You didn’t hear him enter the kitchen.

”Put the laptop away.”

You jumped, placing a hand over your chest.

”Noah! You scared—”

Looking back at him, you didn’t finish the sentence. He was leaning against the archway, arms crossed over his chest. There was something all too familiar in his gaze. His eyes looked glazed over, almost black. You stared at him for a long second.

”I said,” he pushed himself off from the wall. ”Put. The. Laptop. Away.”

You just looked at him, frozen to the spot. He strode over to you, like a predator stalking its prey. He placed one arm on each side of you, splaying his fingers over the cold marble countertop, caging you in.

”I just have to…”

He hummed softly, the sound coming from somewhere deep inside his chest. He leaned in, pressing his lips against the back of your neck.

”No.”

He pressed soft kisses from the back of your neck, down your shoulder slope and back up to give you a light nibble under your ear.

”But—”

”I said no, princess,” he said firmly as one of his hands left the countertop, slamming your laptop shut. ”Do I need to repeat myself?”

The hand that had just shut and pushed your laptop to the side settled around the base of your throat. You swallowed. Knowing what mood Noah was in made you feel dizzy.

You could feel him pressed against your back, even though the back of the chair. His arms enveloped you, pulling you into him. The heat of him radiating to your back, the smell of his cologne all around you. His hand around your throat. Him. He overwhelmed all of your senses.

You didn’t reply to his question. You didn’t have to.

Noah applied a little more pressure on the sides of your neck. Not enough to hinder your breathing in any way, just enough to make your head spin and heat to shoot down to your core.

With a guttural groan, he pulled you from the stool and onto your feet. He pushed a knee between your legs, opening you up. You grabbed the counter to ground yourself, smooth and cold marble under your palms. Your back flush to his chest. His lips on your neck.

”Lean forwards.”

You didn’t need telling twice. You leaned over the island, guided by one of Noah’s large hands between your shoulderblades. He wasn’t satisfied until the side of your face rested against the countertop alongside your hands. You could feel his hard cock press against your ass.

One of Noah’s hands nestled in your hair, pulling at it from the roots. Your breath hitched in your throat.

”I’ve been waiting for hours,” he said, leaning over you.

”And I’m tired of waiting.”

Noah then stood back up, one hand caressing the inside of your thigh. He pushed the skirt you were wearing up on your back, the material bunching at your waist.

He ran a finger against the lace of your panties. You shuddered. You feel a finger hooking into them, pulling them aside. Just enough to grant him access. Noah pushed harder against you, his hard thighs keeping you pinned to the island. You could feel how his cock throbbed, even through his sweatpants.

A soft, needy sound escaped you. Noah chuckled darkly as he pushed his sweatpants down. And then he didn’t wait. Didn’t tease. Noah positioned the thick head of his cock against your entrance and pushed forward, splitting you apart.

The stretch was immediate. Immaculate. Delicious. He pulled you back by the grip on your hair, forcing you to arch your back.

He set a relentless pace from the get-go, slamming his hips against your ass as he fucked into you. You could feel him brush against your cervix with every stroke. Each thrust made you feel how his thick, veiny cock stretched your pussy. You quickly succumbed to a mess of gasps and whimpers.

”Oh my– Oh my go-od.”

The hand that wasn’t nestled in your hair moved to your front. Two of his fingers found your clit. He traced it, rubbing slow circles on it as he kept rocking your body into the cold marble.

”My good girl,” he whispered through clenched teeth. ”You like it when I don’t ask, don’t you?”

”…Yes.”

”Yeah? You like it when I take what’s mine? Like it when I use you?”

You couldn’t answer him. You just nodded your head as your legs started to shake. You clenched around his dick, earning a low moan from him. Noah’s fingers started to rub faster circles over your bundle of nerves. The sound that left you was somewhere between a scream and a moan.

Noah moved his hand from your hair to your throat, long fingers wrapping around it. He once again squeezed just hard enough for you to struggle to breathe a little bit. For you to go a little light headed. A tingling sensation spread from your neck, down your arms, down your back and finally settled in your core. Everything felt both sharper and softer at the same time.

”Answer me.”

”Ye–yes,” you managed to croak.

Everything felt so overwhelming. The feeling of the kitchen island digging into your hips, the smooth surface under your palms. Noah’s hand around your neck, his thick cock buried deep within you and the way his fingers played with your clit. Noah squeezed harder at the sides of your neck, let go for a second, allowing you a sharp breath. Then he squeezed harder again, restricting your breathing. Your head spun. The only thing you could focus on was the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you, his fingers on your clit and the way your vision was blurring.

You rocked back against him, spurring him on. Noah pulled out fully, making you whine and clench around nothing. When he slammed back into you again you couldn’t help but scream out. You circled your hips against him as the pressure in your core kept building.

Noah loosened his grip around your neck as your legs started to shake. He thrust deeply, slowly into you as you fell apart on his cock, a whining, moaning mess. Noah kept his hand on your neck, not applying any pressure, until he could feel your breath becoming steady again.

”Still with me, princess?”

”Yeah…” you gasped.

That was all the permission he needed. He picked up his pace again, thrusting hard into you as he chased his own high. Your overstimulated pussy clenched around him, just like his hands had clenched around your neck.

Noah let out a low, deep groan.

”Fuck baby… You’ve got a death grip on me.”

You arched your back more to take every last bit of him, knowing how close he was. Noah pushed himself as deep as he could go, wanting to be buried to the hilt in you. As you started to circle your hips around him, rocking back and forwards, he stilled.

Noah stayed buried deep in you as you moved on him, both of his hands coming to rest on your hips. You clenched and unclenched your pussy around him, wanting nothing more than to milk him of every drop.

Noah let out a wrecked sound. His head fell down to rest on your back as his cock twitched inside of you, a hot and heavy reminder of who you belong to painting your insides.

When he pulled out, he watched his cum drip down from your core to your thighs. To Noah, there was no better sight in the world than that of your pussy leaking his cum.

”All mine,” he whispered as he dragged a long finger between your folds, collecting the mixture of your slick and his cum. ”So fucking full of me.”

—-

Suddenly, the idea of a broody, six foot plus man, broad with muscle, skulking around and being in your business almost twenty four hours a day didn’t seem nearly as unpleasant.

In your approach to him, you’d been direct. You arrived at his office alone and insisted on seeing him, even after one of his colleagues tried to turn you away with the excuse that he was busy with another client.

“I’ll wait.” You informed them, watching the young buck drag his palm down his face in frustration before finally relenting.

“Fine, but if he asks, you put up a fight.”

The soft Southern twang made him hard to place, but his boyish grin earned a smile from you and a quiet, “Thanks.”

You settled yourself in Noah’s office like you were the one in charge, not someone about to negotiate a deal while presenting yourself as a potential client. Truthfully, you’d never handled this aspect before. It had always been your father, while you sat back and never questioned it, at least until now, because now you were grown. You were older, with a place of your own, a life of your own, and you were growing tired of your father’s minions running back to tell Daddy what you were doing whenever you were away from home. You were an adult now. This was meant to be your chance at freedom, and yet you were still being babysat by the same men your father had hired years ago.

Something had to change.

When Noah finally arrived at his office, there was no greeting from him, nothing more than a brief glance in your direction while his coworker (employee, maybe? you still hadn’t figured out the hierarchy), tried to explain your presence.

“You’re in my office.”

Observant. That was good, at least.

“I am.” You nodded, hands resting neatly in your lap. “How perceptive of you.”

“You’re in my office…” he repeated.

You almost quipped back that you’d both already established that, but instead remained quiet and polite. Respectable, as your father had always drilled into you.

His head tilted, eyes narrowing as his face scrunched slightly. “Why are you in my office?”

“Because I’ve come to give you a job.”

A scoff was his only response. No request for more information. No introduction. Just a scoff.

He seemed disinterested, and truthfully, maybe that was part of the appeal. It only made you more determined to insist he’d take the job. Your name carried weight. Introductions weren’t usually necessary, and when they were, what followed was recognition, then complete and utter cooperation.

Not with Noah.

He didn’t even flinch when you mentioned your surname. He merely continued pottering around the office as though your presence were an inconvenience.

In a way, it probably was.

He looked fresh from the gym, yet he didn’t apologise for the sight of himself. His hair was damp with sweat, combed back through with his fingers, while his fitted gym shirt clung to his broad frame. It was dark enough that any sweat stains were hidden, and if there was any scent lingering on him, all you caught was the faint trace of something sweet and musky beneath what you could easily identify as a citrus body spray.

Walking around his desk, he leaned casually against the edge of it, positioning himself directly in front of you. It was an imposing sight. The way he effortlessly towered over you, looking intimidating even while completely at ease.

“And why should I work for you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said you want to offer me a job, so…” One shoulder lifted in a lazy shrug. “Why should I work for you?”

You’d already rambled off your reasons for needing him, and somehow that hadn’t seemed to catch his attention. It made you wonder if this was some kind of trick question, a twisted thrill he got from humiliating potential clients.

He must have seen the cogs turning because, with a slow exhale, he threw you a bone. “Why do you want me? Why not someone else?”

That was an easy answer.

“Because you’re the best of the best.”

That caught his attention. His brows lifted, his head tilting thoughtfully from side to side as though he couldn’t exactly disagree. It was an ego stroke, though he didn’t bask in it or fish for more.

“You’re right, but flattery won’t get me to agree to being hired.”

“But a decent sized pay cheque?”

“It could sway the decision.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “But I’m not money hungry either.”

Dismissive, yet honest. That made for a trustworthy ally, something you desperately needed among the sharks you frequently swam with. If anything, it only strengthened your determination.

“I need someone with your expertise.” Your voice softened. “Please… would you at least reconsider?”

The silence that settled between you was uneasy, leaving you with the distinct feeling of being studied. Noah’s dark eyes remained fixed on you, assessing every inch before he finally pushed himself away from the desk. He rounded your chair and headed toward the open office door.

“Folio, if you would please show Ms…”

Turning slightly, you called over your shoulder, filling in the blank with your surname.

“Ah, yes…” His tone remained maddeningly flat. “If you would please show them out.”

At that moment, the same young buck who’d greeted you earlier appeared in the doorway, gesturing politely for you to follow.

Reluctantly, you rose from your seat. As you approached Noah and slowly walked past him, your eyes met his. He hadn’t given you a no, nor had he given you a yes, yet somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wouldn’t be your final meeting.

You’d only made it a few steps toward the staircase leading up and out of the old boxing gym before Noah called after you both.

“And if you could take down their number. We can make the arrangements at a later date.” Not quite a yes, but probably the closest you were ever going to get from a man as stubborn as him.

Before stepping out of the building, you handed your personal business card to Folio. “Tell him I’ll be waiting for his call.”

taglist: @hed0nistt @i-love-the-smell-of-your-blood @evrythngistkn @xmads-omensx @flowery-mess @freakoutgirll @hannahvanvelzor @catboy-vessel @th4t-em0-k1d @bluehairpunklol @ferduttini @whatiscute-blog @branika182 @fear-its-beauty @thirstomens @givemesomethingbeautiful @jayunbroken @nosubtlestuff @badomensspecter @vibecops @jestersnotebook @nefugus @lacy1986 @r3prise @likeavilllain @pathion @darksigns-exe @buttercupbabyyy @ami-gami @nogoodsailors @fadingangelwisp @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @nikki-plum @dodgersnotebook @english-fucker @trvshdxddy @theservantbones @itsfarbettertolearn @icybansheesoul @sallyba3 @mapsychoticimagination @fadingintothegrey @oobleoob @romanreigns-supreme @omens-seeker @lobolocaamo @respectfulrebel @courta13 @meddleabout2 @leosunshine @dominuslunae @sleepycactus-omens

Noah can barely keep a giggle from coming out when he sees your face scrunch into a displeased little pout, but there’s no verbal reaction, so he keeps pushing. He knows exactly which ones are your favorites, which ones you’d probably threaten his life over cutting from the set.

“We do What Do You Want From Me all the time now, that one could go. Or Anything More than Human.”

You raise one singular eyebrow and shoot him a Look™️ over the top of your book, but your attention flicks back to reading in a split second. Time to kick it up a notch.

“I know everyone loves Artificial Suicide, but it’s a lot, cutting that one might have to happen.”

That certainly gets your attention. He watches from the corner of his eye as you sit up, untangling your legs from his and looking him dead in the eyes before mouthing “absolutely fucking not” to him. You set your book to the side and look at him with an expression that says ‘you’re on thin ice’ loud and clear.

“We can always cut Limi-”

“Unless you wanna meet the business end of your sword collection, I’d suggest you don’t finish that sentence.”

A sly smirk melts across his face as he turns his phone to face you and you see a blank screen where Jolly’s contact picture should be. He watches your gears turn and bursts out laughing when your jaw drops open and you fling a couch pillow at him.

“You little shit!” You scream, launching yourself out of your blanket nest and into his lap to give him a noogie while you laugh, the sound of it bright and loud filling the living room.

“But baby, you look so good when you threaten to stab me to death!” He laughs, fluffy brown hair messy around his face while trying to fend you off from biting him.

He feels your teeth scrape his skin and tries to suppress a shiver, but judging by the evil glint in your eye he definitely failed.

“Hm,” you hum, “and here I was thinking that maybe once I finish a few chapters I could make out with my handsome boyfriend, but noooo-”

You walk out of the restaurant together, taking the lead and stepping onto the wet pavement. The rain has subsided and night is still young. Exhaustion hasn’t taken hold of you yet, but embarrassment still rings in your mind. It doesn’t come close to the tension radiating between the three of you. Craig shuffles off to the side to order an Uber on his phone while you pair up with Nick close to the street. While you wait, he reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

Surprised, you gesture to it, “Oh, I didn’t know you smoke.”

He opens the flattened pack and tugs a cigarette out between his lips, mumbling around the filter, “I’m not really. I guess it’s more of a social thing,” he explains with a laugh, digging out the lighter from another pocket.

You nod along with a hum, letting out a dreamy sigh, “Nothing like a drunk cigarette.” While you’re not either, from traveling all day with the whiskey swimming around in your stomach, one sounds really enticing right now. “May I?”

He offers the open pack, and you take one between your fingers. You notice an odd-looking one hidden amongst the others and give him a curious look. He flashes a mischievous smile before closing the pack and stuffing it back into his pocket. “That’s for later.”

You huff a laugh through your nose, rolling your eyes, “That I’ll believe,”

He reaches out to light your cigarette first, then his. You watch as the end transforms into a burning cherry as he pulls in a long drag, fixating on the way he parts his lips to blow out a smoky exhale. The throb between your thighs is instinctual with the feeling of them pressed against yours still fresh in your mind. He wets them with a habitual sweep of his tongue, and your innocent thoughts instantly flatline, leaving you with a burning cigarette between your fingers.

Craig’s voice interrupts, “Uber will be here in five.”

You nod, bringing your cigarette to your lips. Nicotine rushes through your system and anxious silence brews between you once again. There’s no clear prediction of how the rest of your night will pan out. At most, you considered the slight possibility of hooking up with Craig tonight and going on your merry way tomorrow morning, but Nick has thrown you through a loop in the plan, and now you have no idea what to expect from either of them. You’re a jittery mess, practically trembling despite the warmth of your coat wrapping around you.

Craig must’ve noticed your violent shaking because he steps close to you and says, “C’mere, you.”

Before you or Nick can say a word, Craig closes the distance and tips your chin with comfortable strength and control from his index finger. With an air of confidence that you once possessed and can only admire, he leans in and kisses you sweetly, much softer than what you’ve been imagining all this time. After giving you what might be considered a quick peck, he breaks away too soon, leaving you wanting so much more like the cheeky bastard he is. You whine across his hovering lips and stretch on your tiptoes to meet them again, chasing the fleeting kiss.

He hums, slipping his hand from its place on your chin toward the nape of your neck, tangling his fingers in your hair. The gentle tug of your roots fires off every synapse in your brain, making you the one to part their lips first. He flicks his tongue up yours and smiles, teasing your level of desperation. You groan out of frustration, and nip at his bottom lip.

He chuckles, deepening the kiss by slipping his tongue effortlessly into your mouth. He takes the lead and you fall into it without hesitation, matching his movements and rhythm with ease. There are so many differences between the two of them that it overwhelms you. Mint and cologne swim freely in your senses while his soft beard tickles your face with every brush of his lips.

It’s so dreamy, in a picturesque way. Street lights reflect in puddles across the street, the hum of car engines rumble by, the warmth of Craig’s tongue in contrast to the damp Scottish air. It almost makes you forget that Nick is standing by your side until he clears his throat awkwardly.

You break the kiss, but Craig doesn’t release you. He’s unbothered by Nick, sighing, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

You drag in your bottom lip by your teeth, self-conscious of the fact you just made out with him in the middle of a sidewalk. Without looking at him, you ask sheepishly, “Yeah? Did I meet your expectations?”

He breathes out a soft laugh and starts to pull away, but seems reluctant to let you go, “You’re cute.” He steps back and strokes his beard, shooting Nick a look before glancing back at you. “I should be asking you that later tonight.”

You study Nick’s reaction and pull another drag of your once-forgotten cigarette. His eyes dart to everything but you and it’s clear that he’s biting back a smile. He focuses on finishing his own cigarette and tries to do a subtle readjustment of his jeans.

“You good with coming back to my place?” Craig asks him. It’s a loaded question, chock full of unknown implications. The kiss to you cleared any doubt about his involvement, and now you both wait for Nick’s response.

They lock eyes, and as if using telepathy, have a silent conversation. They finally come to what seems to be an unspoken agreement, and Nick nods, answering, “Yeah, definitely.”

Craig unlocks his front door, chauffeuring you into his place. “Welcome, welcome.” He strides in, tossing his keys into the bowl sitting on the end table by the door. You and Nick take in the space, following him into the living room. “Get comfortable. Go make out on the sofa or whatever,” he chuckles, gesturing to the two of you. “I’m going to make a round of drinks.”

Once Craig leaves the room, you turn to Nick and feel across his covered chest with open hands. His anxiety seems to settle with each breath, and whatever awkwardness you both felt dissipates quickly with your touch. “Were you ever going to make a move on me?” you ask coyly, playing with the strings of his hoodie.

He takes your hand in his and leans forward, kissing you with more confidence this time around. He tastes sweet and a little smokey — simply intoxicating with how his tongue dances with yours. “What do you mean?” he mumbles against your lips, guiding you forward toward the couch behind him.

He falls into the middle cushion, taking you with him. Your dress rides up as you straddle his lap, bunching at your waist. You fit together so perfectly, that the way he feels beneath sends your impulses over the edge. With nothing but lace and denim as a barrier, you rock slowly against his crotch, sighing, “I feel like you weren’t going to do anything unless I kissed you first.”

A low groan echoes in his throat and his hands slip under your dress to find their place on your hips. His eyes slowly drift down from your swelling lips and stop at your cleavage. You feel the twitch of his cock hardening against your bare thigh and think to yourself that you’ve never hated a pair of jeans more than you do right now. “Now in my defense, I thought you two were a thing at first.”

Nick presses his lips to your collarbone, breathing in whatever perfume that still lingers on your skin. The heat of his fanning breath drapes over you with every kiss to your neck. You almost lose yourself in it, but it's the slight nip of his teeth that makes you moan, “Even after I flashed my pussy to you?”

He buries the giggle behind your ear, and for a second you question whether you’re more drunk from the sound of it than the alcohol in your belly. “I didn’t know what kind of freaky shit you two were into.”

“I see that you two have gotten more comfortable with each other,” Craig jokes, entering the living room. You startle and turn to see him walking while balancing three drinks in his hands. He appears as nonchalant as ever, offering one to you and placing the second one down on the end table before settling beside Nick.

He relaxes into the cushion and sips his drink. You can feel his eyes wandering as you swallow down your cocktail, but Nick’s distracted spoiling your chest with his mouth. Craig skims a cautious finger along the outside of your thigh. “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?”

“So fucking hot,” Nick pants in agreement, exploring the curves of your back until his fingers find the tiny zipper of your dress. He tugs on it, freeing the fabric from your body as it opens.

You hand Craig your drink and shrug the straps from your shoulders, allowing it to fall down your arms to reveal your matching bra. Craig seems to be enjoying the show you’re giving, asking with a smirk twisting his lips, “You like being worshiped like this?”

“Is that what this is?”

He just laughs while Nick palms your tits through the delicate lace, giving them both a firm squeeze. Perhaps out of impatience or from the desire to show off, Craig reaches and unhooks the clasps of your bra with an effortless pinch of his fingers. “Don’t think we need that thing in the way.”

The straps slip with the release, and Nick takes over by pulling it off and tossing it onto the floor.

“Fuck,” they both groan in unison. Nick’s hands graze up your sides, the heat of his palms warming up your bare skin that has started to rise with goosebumps. You rock into the touch, letting out a soft moan when he cups your tits. He brushes his thumb over your nipple before leaning in to flick his tongue over it.

The sensation sends a shiver through you, making him laugh, “You like that, baby?”

He ghosts his pouty lips over the hardening bud in a teasing circle waiting for you to answer. You comb your fingers through his short, plush hair at the nape of his neck, sighing, “Keep going.”

He smiles into the supple flesh, and seals his lips around you, sucking your nipple into his mouth. The lazy roll of his tongue is electrifying, sending a shockwave to your core. You want to watch him, but you can’t stop your eyes from sliding closed. You then feel the dip in the cushion as Craig sets his drink down to shuffle closer to you both. Deciding that he’s no longer a spectator, his lips make contact with your pulse point.

“Feel good?” Craig purrs against your ear, rubbing a hand up your thigh and one down your back. You squirm harder into Nick’s lap, tickled by Craig’s beard as he kisses your neck. You’re already overwhelmed by the both of them, but he pulls away, letting his gaze fall to your chest. He draws a line across your other breast, pinching your nipple between his finger and thumb. “Fuck, your tits are perfect.

May I?”

You’re not sure who he’s asking, but Nick responds by releasing your nipple with a wet pop, letting the cool air prickle the drenched skin. Craig sees the chance and takes his turn. He’s more aggressive than Nick, skipping the playful teasing by sucking on the sensitive bud harshly. He swirls it right into the warmth of his mouth, painting a vivid picture of how it could feel if he was between your legs instead.

“Oh my god,” you whine against Nick’s swollen lips. He swallows your moan in a kiss, sliding his hand from your hip over the curve of your ass. He dips it between your legs, rubbing over the wet fabric with his fingertips.

“Holy shit,” he grunts in a heavy breath. “You’re soaked.”

Craig chuckles and lifts his head, showing you the shine on his lips. “What’s got you so worked up, darling?”

Before you find the words, Nick hooks your panties to the side and slips his fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick. There’s a gentleness in his calloused hands, powerful yet careful. He glides his middle digit over your clit once before nudging it into your entrance. You stifle a whimper and his grip on your waist tightens as your pussy clenches around his finger.

He nips at your throat while you try your best to keep your eyes on Craig’s icy blue ones. Through heavy lids, he watches you unravel and rock against Nick’s hand as he adds another finger inside you. Nick presses his nose into you, blanketing your neck in a panting exhale, “Goddamn, you’re so fucking tight.”

Craig’s brows dance and he flashes a smile. “Seems like he’s enjoying you quite a bit already.”

Nick retreats his hand, leaving you empty to bring his glistening fingers to his mouth. You see him pass them over his lips, licking them clean and sucking the taste of you off them. “I’ve been thinking about that all night,” he confesses in a breathy whisper.

You pull at his hair back to kiss him, licking into his mouth to taste that musky sweetness off his tongue. It’s filthy and obscene, and part of your lust-addled brain can’t believe you’re experiencing it with him. Craig scoffs, clicking his tongue, “So greedy.”

“Are you jealous?” You tease, breaking away from Nick’s lips.

“Maybe a little,” he tosses back. You’re torn wanting them both, but you have to be fair. You reward his patience by crawling from Nick’s lap to slide onto his, but you don’t make it far before he wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you the rest of the way.

Your squeal is cut off by his lips crashing into yours, and just like outside the restaurant, his fingers dive into your hair. He’s not gentle about it this time, tugging at your tresses by the roots. His kiss is far from controlled as if he's searching for whatever’s left of you on your tongue.

This. This is the tension that’s been building for months. You feel how bad he wants you — thick cock straining against his even thicker thigh. It’s a wonder how he has any self-control left to share you like this.

Nick isn’t frail by any means — built with lean, precise muscles grown from his drumming lifestyle. He’s stronger than he initially seems under his sweatshirt, but by comparison, Craig is massive, embracing you against his bodybuilder-like frame. You feel across his broad shoulders, roaming across his chest and up the sides of his neck, thinking how easily he could toss you around. His fingers dig into your hip enough to bruise, dragging you across his lap.

His lips scatter kisses along your jaw between the nips of his teeth, and a low-pitched rumble vibrates deep within his throat. “I wanted to fuck you the first day I met you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

A smirk plays on his lips and he hums with a shrug. “More fun this way.”

“You’re fucking killing me, man,” Nick says behind you, making you giggle at his frustrated state.

Craig moves your body effortlessly, turning you so your back is against his chest and you’re facing Nick, who has since stood up from the couch. That sweet innocence you saw in the studio is gone from his eyes, leaving his irises darkened with desire. He sheds his hoodie and t-shirt and tosses them onto the cushion beside you, revealing a collection of tattoos. The first one to catch your eye is the eagle across his chest, stretching from the center of his stomach up to his collarbones.

Nick drops to his knees, and Craig positions you so you’re stretched across his lap as the man in front of you settles between your open legs. He caresses the inside of your knees, inching his way higher up your thighs until his fingers find your panties. He pushes up your dress and hooks his thumbs around the band to peel them off, watching how you let your legs fall open for him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, tossing your panties to Craig while his eyes lock on you.

Your attention is brought to Craig playing with the delicate lace between his fingers, “Wear these just for me?”

You can only giggle an answer because Nick doesn’t hesitate with teasing kisses to your inner thighs. As if he wanted you to forget Craig, he throws your legs over his shoulders and dives his head between them, flicking his tongue to part you with an aggressive lick. He groans the second he tastes you again, rolling your clit into the warmth of his mouth.

“Oh, shit,” you cry out and your body tries to react by clamping your legs around him, but Craig stops them from closing by grabbing the inside of your thigh. He scolds you with a click of his tongue and squeezes the soft flesh. “Let the American boy eat your pussy, baby.”

You comb your fingers through Nick’s thick mane of hair, finding out that he devours you like he kisses you, wrapping his soft, pouted lips around your needy clit while his silken tongue laps every part of you. It’s wet and hot. Filthy.

Craig’s hand explores your body, traveling across the waves of crumpled fabric until he rediscovers one of your bare nipples. He kisses you, licking into your open mouth while rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers. You writhe across his lap, causing the bridge of Nick’s nose to drag up and down your clit with the frantic roll of your hips. Craig swallows down your moans, teasing you with that delicious pur of his, “Didn’t expect this tonight, did you?”

Thoughts are non-existent so only a fucked-out laugh bubbles out your chest, “Fuck no.”

His chuckle mixes with yours, and he pulls away to glance down. “Didn’t think he had it in him.”

Nick scoffs at the remark and tightens the hold he has around your leg. It’s already too much to process, but you force yourself to watch him anyway. With his eyes closed and brows knitted together in concentration, he looks so pretty tucked between your thighs, but now there’s a new intention behind the movements of his tongue because of Craig’s words, and he finds a pattern you seem to love so he can drown your clit with it.

He holds you under the surface, pushing two fingers inside you once again. He’s feral in the way he sucks and licks you and all you can do in return is soak his face, bathing his fingers that are curling deep in your cunt.

You claw at Craig’s arm as his hand snakes up your chest and wraps around your throat. He tests the waters with a cautious squeeze of his fingers that’s enough to remind you of his strength. “Be a good girl for us and give him one.”

That feeling stirs in your core and the lewd, wet sounds of his fingers working your pussy grow louder. Craig keeps his hand around your neck, and coos against your sweaty cheek. “Sounds like he’s gonna make you squirt.”

You don’t bother warning Nick because you know he heard him. It’s too late anyway, because with a swirl of his pointed tongue on your clit and a precise curl of his fingers, you feel as though you’ve blacked out as a warm release gushes from you. You can feel that you’ve drenched his face, the inside of your thighs, your dress, and Craig’s pants beneath your ass.

Nick leans back on his heels, revealing the evidence you’ve left on him. You’re dripping from his chin in tiny streams down his neck to his tattooed chest. If it isn’t for the pleased but surprised expression, you might be embarrassed about what you’ve done. “That was so hot.”

He must’ve earned Craig’s approval because he gets a simple, “Nice.” Nick blushes, and you watch as he takes his shirt and wipes his mouth and chest. “First try, too.”

You clamber from Craig’s lap onto the floor, ditching your ruined dress as you go with one goal in mind. He takes the opportunity to rid himself of his shirt and throw it, giving you a close-up view of his tattooed chest and stomach as he relaxes against the cushions. You kneel between his legs and admire the artwork along the contours of his body. “How many times you think of this?”

Adrenaline sends your heart racing while he calmly watches your hands travel to the waistband of his pants. He might've gotten away with the act if his fingers weren’t curling into a fist against the arm of the sofa. “Every time I got to look at that pretty mouth of yours.”

“So fucking depraved,” you tease knowing you aren’t any better. If you were to do this again, you might take the time to play and drag this moment out as long as you can, but you can’t wait a second longer. You pop open the button and tug down the zipper, finding his cock tucked inside his pant leg, throbbing and sticky with heat. He lifts his hips as you pull him free, panting a curse when you wrap your fingers around his thick shaft and give him a few experimental strokes.

He’s almost painfully hard and just as big as your imagination. You roll the pad of your thumb over the head, glazing it with the beads of precum that have been dripping freely from him. Experience starts to take over, and he collects the hair from your face with gentle sweeps of his fingers, holding it in a makeshift ponytail while you swirl your tongue around him. His satisfied hum evolves into a low growl that bellows within his chest, “Ho-ly shit.”

You lick him further into your mouth with the roll of your tongue, tasting him with every pass. There’s no chance he’s fitting all the way, so what you can’t bury in the back of your throat, you take care of with a twist of your hand. As you bob your head to a rhythm, his hand tightens in your hair while cradling your face with the other. You know he’s being careful, nervous to test your limits and risk breaking you.

If he only knew how badly you wanted him to break you.

You take control and push them yourself, gagging hard enough around him to let drool leak from the corners of your mouth. You’re a mess with strings of spit connecting his cock to your lips when you break away to take a breath. Your eyes are clouding with tears, and you fail to remember if you wore your waterproof mascara or not. The image of you before him like this must’ve unraveled his composure because he makes the promise, “Oh, baby…one of these days I’m gonna fuck your face.”

You almost let your next words pass over your swollen lips but Nick reminds you of his presence by asking, “Hate to interrupt, but do you mind?”

You turn your head to see Nick standing behind you, holding the joint you saw in his pack of cigarettes along with his lighter. Craig laughs, “Light that fucker up.”

Before you can even process what’s happening, Craig stands to his feet and picks you up at the same time, throwing you over his shoulder. While all the air in your lungs is knocked out of you, he shows no sign of strain in tipping your world completely upside-down in seconds. “Craig! What the fuck?!” you squeal, holding on for dear life as the blood rushes to your head.

“Just moving things along to the bedroom.”

He moves through the house with ease, responding to your dramatic screaming with a smack to your bare ass that’s followed by the sound of Nick’s laugh coming from the living room.

“My legs do work. I could’ve just walked,” you grunt, fighting the force of gravity.

“They won’t for long,” he threatens, walking into another room. Instead of putting you down on your feet easily, he tosses you onto the bed without warning like a ragdoll. Your scream falls apart into a fit of giggles, but with how things are escalating so fast, he doesn’t even give you the chance to take in your surroundings before grabbing your ankle and yanking you toward the edge of the bed.

“Flip over,” he instructs but maneuvers your body himself anyway so you’re planted on your hands and knees.

After shedding his boxers and pants, he crawls onto the bed and positions himself between your legs, kicking them open with his knee. You arch your back and bury your face into the comforter as his calloused hand runs down the length of your spine. It’s becoming too real. The man you’ve been fantasizing in your mind for months is about to fuck you. You begin to wonder where Nick is, but the concern evaporates when Craig runs his fingers along your slit.

You ache with anticipation, trembling uncontrollably from his touch. He chuckles at your expense and glides the tip of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your slick. Impatient, you whine desperately over your shoulder, “Would you please just fuck me already?”

“American girls are always so impatient,” he quips back, but your response is quickly forgotten. With a hand secured around your waist, he lines himself up, and with a controlled push of his hips, sinks into your soaked hole. He slowly works you open with a few shallow thrusts, letting you adjust to the size of him as the slight sting dulls into pleasure before bottoming out with a groan, “Your pussy feels fucking incredible.”

“Oh fuck,” you gasp as you white-knuckle the bedspread, bracing yourself for how deep he goes when he really starts to move. Nick strides in, immediately putting the anxious thoughts in your mind at ease. You thought he might’ve second-guessed the situation and dipped, but here he is standing beside the bed taking a long drag of the joint he lit. He offers it to Craig, who plucks it from his fingers and stills inside you.

Nick lowers himself to you for a kiss and waits for you to accept the gift he’s holding behind sealed lips. You open yours and breathe in the stream of thick, pungent smoke he blows into your mouth. He lingers for a few seconds, and you can’t help but lick across his bottom lip. Although it’s a weak hit, the tingle of a buzz begins to hit your senses.

“I can taste her on this joint,” Craig mumbles breathlessly through his own hit before coughing out a cloud of smoke.

“You’re welcome.” Nick tosses back with a cocky smirk on his face. He strips down to his boxers, and the weed must’ve settled his nerves because he doesn’t hesitate to get onto the bed and slide beneath you. “Miss me?”

You hum through a smile, feeling up his tattooed thigh. Craig gives the joint back and starts to move again, sliding in and out of you with lazy strokes. The feeling of him gliding through your dripping cunt overrides your brain, and it takes everything to keep your focus on Nick. He stretches against the pillows, tucking his muscular arm behind his head as he brings the joint back to his lips. You palm his erection, squeezing your fingers around his length through the cotton. “What’re you hiding in here?”

He laughs, spilling smoke from his lips, and flashes a toothy grin. “Go ahead and find out, baby.”

It would be a lie if you said you didn’t love how the pet name sounds from this man you barely know, curious if all of his one-night stands earn it as well. Once bashful in your presence, he beckons you to pull his cock out while his friend fucks you from behind. You peel back his boxer briefs, and it reveals itself with a soft slap against his belly. He sucks in a sharp breath, watching how you touch him there for the first time. While not quite as large as Craig in length, he’s impressively just as thick in your hand. You pump a loose fist along the slight curve of his cock and lick him from base to tip, running your flattened tongue along one of the prominent veins.

He shudders and shifts his legs when you suck the tip into the wet, warmth of your mouth. He fills it completely, the weight of him heavy on your tongue. You believe you could make him cum within minutes if you wanted, but you decide against it. You have to feel him inside you first. Thankfully, he lets you play, but he’s sensitive, moaning as you spoil that sweet spot beneath it with rapid flicks of your tongue, “That’s it.”

He’s torn between watching you and allowing his head to fall back into the pillow. You know he’s fighting to be quiet, so the sounds he does let slip out become your reward.

As if he remembers the burning joint between his fingers, he asks, “Do you want another one?”

You release him from your lips with a wet, sinful pop, and nod. He reaches forward to wipe the spit from your lips with a sweep of his thumb and holds it for you while you pull in a drag. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

He chuckles and puts out the joint in an ashtray resting on the bedside table. Craig has slowed to an agonizing speed so you can share the joint. You love being able to feel every part of him, but right now you’re greedy. You want more. “Harder.”

Craig grunts and throws his hips forward, changing those delicate kisses to your cervix into an aggressive slam. You cry around Nick’s cock, nearly choking on it, but Craig doesn’t let up. You learn that he fucks like he drums. His rhythm picks up and the power behind his thrusts pushes you closer to your threshold. Nick would be concerned if he wasn’t hearing the moaned curses tumbling from your empty mouth. He holds your hand against his thigh while you struggle to stroke him with your other.

“I asked if you could handle us both,” Craig pants, tightening his grasp around your hips hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises. “Had enough?”

”No,” you whine. “Please. Don’t stop.”

“And you’re doing so good,” Nick praises, petting the damp hair from your temple.

Craig’s hand leaves your hip and dips between your shaking legs to circle your clit while maintaining the merciless pace he set. Your vision splotches and your entire body begins to feel like fire. Your muscles lock, forcing your walls to squeeze around him as your second orgasm builds within your core. “I know you’re fucking close.”

“C’mon,” Nick encourages you through your pitiful cries.

“Give me one. I know you can,” Craig demands with a growl. He works off your body’s cues and the sound of your whimpers he’s knocking from your chest with every thrust. He takes you there, dragging you to your peak and pushing you headfirst off the cliff’s edge. He fucks you through it, leaving you a writhing mess before him.

He pulls out and announces through a heavy breath, “I’m gonna bust if I keep going like that.” He laughs, his breath ragged from exertion, and steps off the bed. They must have an exchange you don’t see because he then says, “Folio?”

You act first, barely giving yourself time to recenter and catch your breath before crawling onto Nick’s lap. He looks surprised to see your eagerness, but holds your waist as you straddle him, asking, “You sure?”

“Uh-huh.” You take his cock in your hand and lower yourself onto him in one fluid motion, gasping in unison when he’s buried to the hilt. You pause, soaking in the full feeling he gives you before you start to rock your hips. His restless hands move across your back and over the curves of your ass — his fingertips grazing your pussy as he slides in and out.

He’s in total bliss, mesmerized by the way you ride him. You take advantage of the brief moment of control you have and appreciate his features. He’s flushed and warm, staring at you through weed-heavy lids as you cradle his face to kiss him. He smells of you, that sweet musk of sex — the taste of you still on those pretty lips.

Even he seems surprised by how intimate this feels. He groans when he nudges against your cervix from a particularly deep roll of your hips. “Fuck, I can get used to this.”

“You do look hot together,” Craig notes before chugging half of a water bottle that was stashed on his bedside table.

You nip at Nick’s bottom lip, blushing at the thought and regretful that you’re not recording any of this. “Play your cards right and we’ll see.”

He smiles through your kiss, letting that ego of his show through, “Sound pretty sure of yourself. How’d ya know I’d want this again?”

You hum in thought, trailing your fingers along his defined shoulders until you meet the hair at the nape of his neck. “By the way you ate me out like your last meal and how your cock is—“ you lean in, making sure to brush your lips against the shell of his ear as you whisper, “—so fucking hard right now, I bet you’d beg for it.”

You swear he whimpers even if he tries to play it off as a broken moan. He doesn’t correct you, but he suddenly changes your position by guiding you backward to lay against the bed in the sea of blankets. Thinking you had him completely wrapped around your finger, you’re proven wrong with how quickly he’s turning the tables.

He stands on his knees and holds your legs open as he starts to set a rhythm of his own. His thrusts are deliberate, yet careful, as if mindful that you're on the brink of soreness. Through your cock-drunk daze, you make sure to study the changing expressions on his face and the movements of his body move with them; paying close attention to the toned muscles of his stomach working as he fucks you.

You feel Craig’s knee dip into the mattress beside you. “Having fun?”

You reach out for him blindly, giving him lazy half-strokes with a weak fist. He’s still just as hard as before, but your divided attention is barely enough to satiate his needs. He takes over with his own hand, but he keeps the head of his cock close to your lips. He tries to push himself past them to glide over your tongue, but you can’t control the string of curses falling from your mouth. He laughs at your current state, impressed that Nick’s capable of doing this to you.

Nick stills long enough inside to let his spit fall from his mouth onto your pussy, and lets go of one of your legs to sweep his thumb across your wet clit. He’s gentle with his touch knowing it’s past the point of over-sensitivity while he angles his cock to hit that perfect spot inside you. “Give us one more,” he huffs between the snaps of his hips.“You feel so fucking good. I’m so close. C’mon, baby. Cum on my cock.”

You’re delirious, trapped in the limbo of euphoria. You’ve already been here twice tonight, and you’re not sure how much more your body can take, but Nick’s determined to get you there, rolling his thumb over that bundle of nerves.

Just when you’re at the cusp, Craig feels across your bouncing tits and plays with your nipple. You crash right into your third and spasm around Nick’s moving cock. He falls forward grunting a curse, letting you lock your legs around his waist as the waves of your climax pull you under.

“Oh shit,” he mutters, ripping open the vice grip of your ankles at the small of his back. He pulls out of you in just enough time to push his cock through his clenched fist before shooting ropes of warm cum across your stomach.

Craig’s not far behind him, because once he sees your body glazed in Nick’s release, he follows within seconds, painting your chest with his own. It’s surreal how you ended up here, but it’s a memory you’ll never forget. You finally open your eyes, but the room spins around you despite the alcohol and a few hits of a joint wearing off long ago. You don’t dare move an inch, listening to the sound of your heartbeat thumping inside your ears.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.” Nick laughs breathlessly, eventually breaking the minute of silence between the three of you. He straightens, running his fingers through his sweaty hair to push it back from his face.

“First threesome?” Craig’s voice echoes from across the room. You didn’t even realize he had already gotten up from the bed, but the next sound you hear is water running, and you assume it’s from the bathroom sink.

“Yeah,” Nick answers, catching his breath while he pulls his boxers up his legs.

Craig returns with a warm washcloth and sits beside you on the bed. While you embrace the post-sex endorphins, he tenderly wipes the mess from your naked body, allowing you to fully enjoy the come down without having to worry. “Maybe you can exchange numbers and you can help Nick check off one with another girl from his bucket list.”

You catch how Nick’s eyes widen and bark a raspy laugh, your voice raw from overuse. “Mind if I get a shower first?”

Craig places a chaste kiss on your lips before standing to his feet again. “You two go ahead. I need to make some food. I’m fucking starving.”

“You’re gonna eat?”

“Gotta refuel for round two, darling,” he jokes, watching the stunned look play on your face. “Tell me, did I meet your expectations?”

TAGLIST:

@josiee-gvf @nolanpattycakess @sacredthefran @thatchickwiththecamera @baddestomens @broken0mens @anameunmusical @to-be-written @slutfornoahsebastian @sammyjoeee @throughwoodsanddirt @romanreigns-supreme @v-a-l-o @foliosgirl

He seemed ecstatic about your arrival, texting you to come straight to his studio in Glasgow. No questions asked. It had been some time since you had last seen him— about six months since his tour run in the States. You were still an amateur photographer at the time, taking any opportunities that got your foot closer to that stage. 

He caught your eye. Drummers always do. In your experience, vocalists tended to have a bit of an unchecked ego that drove you crazy. Guitarists were a bit too loose with their morals and the buttons of their pants. Bassists…well. Everyone knows how bassists can be. But drummers?

They’re the wild card. 

You flirted a little when you ran into each other on that tour, maybe even tested the boundary of professionalism a bit more than you should’ve. You hung out in the green room with the guys here and there, sharing a few drinks or even a joint. Maybe your camera lens stayed on him longer than the others, but for the most part, your friendship was relatively harmless on the surface. 

Below it was a different story. 

“Next time you’re in Europe, hit me up.”

It was one of the last things he said to you before leaving America. The implications in that sentence alone have driven you insane for months. Surely those flirty touches, flashy smiles, and lingering stares wouldn’t stay platonic if you were to meet up again. It’s done nothing but cause your thoughts to wander, leaving you squirming in your seat the entire flight. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Get inside. Come on.” He ushers you in to get out of the rain, taking your suitcase from your grasp by the handle and lifting it over the entryway with remarkable ease. You had been wrestling with that damn thing for at least sixteen hours now.

You’re reminded of his strength — that incredibly muscular build hidden beneath those baggy t-shirts. You try to imagine his completely tattooed shirtless body again, watching him set your suitcase off to the side inside the tiny foyer.

You clear your throat, buzzing with anxiety and feeling a little awkward now that you’re standing in front of him. “I don’t want to interrupt your plans. We can get together another time—“

He clicks his tongue, politely cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “Stop it. Shush.” After the initial clumsy shuffle to get inside, he steps in close and smiles at you, using the moment to take in your presence. “Now let me get a proper look at you.”

It also gives you the chance to notice all the smaller details. His ashy platinum blonde hair looks recently bleached and trimmed — a stark contrast to his dark stubble filling in around his face. But you’re instantly distracted from him looking you up and down, making you blush even though you’re highly aware of your appearance. A day’s worth of traveling can’t be erased with a quick outfit change and freshening up in a bathroom. He doesn’t seem to mind, gesturing you in for a hug anyway. “C’mere.” 

He pulls you into a tight embrace, wrapping his massive arms of his around you. He’s warm, smelling like an expensive cologne you’ll never remember the name of. You finally relax, letting him hold your weight for a minute. “It’s good to see you again,” he mumbles into your hair, his British accent sounding like a deep, feline purr against your ear before he pulls away. “Studio is upstairs. I’m just setting everything up for the episode.”

You quietly let out a shaky breath and brush your clothes, adjusting the way your dress fits around your thighs. Tension hangs in the air, and as he takes the first step, you clear your throat, “So you’re doing a podcast now?”

Your voice carries up the historic stairwell more than you expected, but he answers you without skipping a beat. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve been having a go at it. Tonight is kind of a last-minute thing though.”

It’s when you realize that he has company waiting for him upstairs. “And you’re sure I’m not intruding at all?”

“No, no. We’ve been having a few drinks and been hanging out for a couple of hours.”

You blow a raspberry, emphasizing your exhaustion. “I know I could use one.”

He lets out a dry laugh, “Fucking hell. I bet. How was getting in by the way? Not too bad I hope.” 

“Nothing too painful. Had a layover at JFK but other than that it was decent. Better now that I’m here.” 

“I’m certainly better now that you’re here,” he says smoothly, flashing you a charming smile before opening the door.

The second floor is surprisingly cozy, decorated with houseplants, and illuminated by a pink neon sign in the center of the wall and warm lighting from several lamps. Sound and video equipment are strewn across the leather couch, coffee table, and the table where another man is sitting. 

“She has arrived!” Craig announces, making a dramatic entrance as he walks into the room. He introduces you first, then the other half of his company for the evening, “And this is Nick Folio, a good friend of mine.”

“Hey,” Nick straightens in his seat upon seeing you and greets you with a friendly, crooked smile. He seems to be a little younger than Craig, no older than thirty. You catch a boyish glimmer in his large doe eyes, making you feel at ease with his presence. 

“Hi,” you respond, giving him a cautious wave. While he’s not intimidating, you feel his eyes on you as you shrug off your coat. You sneak a few peeks at him, acting oblivious to his watchful gaze.

Oh, he’s a cutie. 

He’s dressed casually, wearing a black hoodie and dark-wash jeans, but you assume there’s a collection of tattoos beneath his clothes based on the ones on his neck and hand. A black baseball cap hides his hair from your view, but he’s clean-shaven, sporting a singular gold hoop on the left side of his nose. 

Craig disrupts the chance for awkwardness to settle, chiming in, “You should feel right at home, Nick. I’ve brought another American for you.”

His eyes widened instantly. “No shit! You are?”

You drape your coat over the couch and set your bag down before making your way across the room. You tell him where you’re from, following up by asking, “You?”

Your choice of outfit was to garner attention from Craig tonight — a little black number that ends right at mid-thigh with a teasing neckline. It was something to spark the imagination without being too ostentatious. Nick’s obvious gawking just so happens to be collateral. He pauses for a few seconds too long, poorly hiding the fact he’s staring at your figure before clearing his throat. “Maryland.” He kind of giggles when he says it, flushing a bright shade of pink, igniting your interest in him that much more. 

“No way!” You add that flirty pitch to your voice, stepping in closer toward him. “I was just in Baltimore for some shows not too long ago.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice how Craig is witnessing this scene play itself out. He’s got a few years of experience and wisdom on Nick and is well aware of what’s cooking in that brain of yours. He just stands off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, and he gives you a knowing smirk and a raised brow. 

You’ve snagged Nick’s attention. He shifts forward on his seat, leaning in. “What do you do?” 

You take the bottle of Maker’s Mark from the table and start to untwist the iconic red cap. “I’m a photographer. So I do that when I can, also some journalism shit on the side as well.” Craig has taken the hint, handing you a glass of your own so you give yourself a two-finger pour of the amber liquor. “What about you? How do you know Craig?”

Craig steps behind Nick, grappling his shoulders with his large hands, and gives him an intense affectionate shake, answering the question for him, “This strapping young man is the drummer for the hottest metalcore band right now, Bad Omens.”

Nick laughs an infectious giggle that pulls you in and blushes instantly. Craig’s cheeky smile and piercing stare make your thighs ache. You don’t know how to read him yet, and you force yourself to look away, refocusing your attention back on Nick. “I’ve heard of you guys! The newest album is really good.”

You’d let him blame the alcohol as to why he can’t control his smiling. It’s endearing, enticing you to praise him just to see more of it. “Thank you.”

Like he has some gravitational pull, you find yourself inching a bit closer to him. You pick up the glass that’s been waiting for you, asking, “Another drummer, huh?”

“Yeah…”

“My favorite,” you coo, sending your sultry voice into the tumbler before tipping the bourbon back. You swill it in your mouth, letting it burn on the way down into your belly and fill you with warmth. Liquid courage might be the very thing that gets you in trouble tonight.

“Alright, alright.” Craig shoos you away, guiding you back toward the leather sofa. “Let’s keep it a little professional in here, yeah?”

As if the alcohol was already starting to make you bolder, you snort, spinning on your heel to challenge him, breaking into a giggle, “You? Professional?”

Craig peers down at you, sizing up your little bluff. You want to know what’s going on behind those blue eyes of his as they stare into yours. You’re starting to cross those invisible boundaries, and you can’t help yourself from testing them. He bites his bottom lip, letting out a defeated laugh, “You’re right. This is far from professional.”

He looks back over his shoulder, eyeing the bottle sitting on the table. “One more round before we get started?”

“Uh-uh, sure,” Nick, taken by surprise, answers. You can tell he’s trying to gauge the relationship between you and Craig. 

Before you know it, your glass is topped off, now with the addition of a splash of coke. Craig raises his own glass to give a toast, “To looking fucking hot and having successful and prosperous careers.”

You fight back a laugh, joining the other two to clink your glasses together and say, “Cheers!”

Craig sucks his teeth, sets his drink down, and eyes you up once again. He’s a bit more blatant about it, letting his gaze slowly trail up your legs. “I’m so fucking glad you made it,” he sighs. “Come here.” He drags you in for another hug, but this time with more intent than the first. He locks his arms around your waist and lifts you off the ground unexpectedly, making you squeal loudly. You clutch onto his shoulders as he spins you, and just as quickly as he picks you up, you’re placed back onto the floor. 

You’re now standing in front of Nick with your back turned to him. Within seconds, you realize that your dress has been hiked up, and you rush to pull it down. There’s no doubt that Nick got a front-row seat view of your exposed asscheek. Maybe you weren’t crazy for thinking Craig’s hand had drifted down to your ass during that hug.

“Thanks for that,” you huff, feigning annoyance. If you’re honest with yourself, the feeling of his hands on you was fleeting, and all you can think about is having them on you again.

He hums, riding on that confidence of his, “Just friends having a little hug. I don’t know what you’re going on about.”

You glance at Nick to see him fighting back a smile while staring at the audio control board Craig has set up on the table. You decide to grab your drink and meander over to the couch in an attempt to break up the tension. 

Craig adds, “Seriously. After leaving the States I didn’t think we would run into each other again.”

Nick jumps in, asking, “How do you guys know each other?”

You find a free spot on one of the cushions and sit, answering his question, “I was doing this apprentice-internship kind of thing with another photographer. Following bands around and trying to build a portfolio. One network led to another and somehow his band let me tag along for a few dates for their Eastern shore stretch.”

“That’s fucking awesome.” You watch the gears turn in his head, and his eyes then dart between you and Craig as if to analyze the situation further. “Have you known each other long?”

You click your tongue in thought, flipping through your memories of the previous year. “Not really. Just those last two weeks before you guys left, right?”

“Just keeping up through socials since then,” Craig responds with a nod, revealing a small smile at the thought. “Told her if she ever came across the pond, I’d be her designated tour guide. Avoid all the touristy shit.”

Nick raises his glass to which Craig follows, “Cheers to that, brother.” 

Craig checks his phone, spitting out a stressed curse, “Fuck! I need to finish setting up so we can get started.”

“Do you need help with anything,” you offer despite knowing little to nothing about his equipment setup.

”No, no.” He shakes his head with a laugh. “Just keep socializing and drinking. I shouldn’t be that much longer.”

Nick takes the hint, jumping in on the chance for small talk. “So what are you in Scotland for?”

You take a large sip of your drink, enjoying the buzz you’re already starting to feel. “Some work. I have a few shoots lined up, but it’s mostly a personal trip. I’m meeting up with some girlfriends in Dublin on Friday, but besides that, I’m seeing where the next six days take me.”

He nods along, hanging onto every word you say. His homely sweetness is addictive, comforting you like rich syrup drizzled on a buttermilk pancake. “Dublin is so sick. Have a pint of Guinness for me.”

“Americans,” Craig grumbles to himself, rolling his eyes as he works on checking his cameras. 

”Don’t mind him,” you chuckle, waving him off. “You should come along! How long are you here for?”

He seems smitten from your invite, but answers with slight disappointment in his voice, “I’m actually here on tour. We play our Glasgow show tomorrow and then we leave for England.”

“Oh wow! That’s great.” You shouldn’t be surprised in the slightest by his answer. He is an American musician plopped in the middle of Scotland after all. 

He might’ve noticed your face fall because he is quick to add, “But you should come tomorrow night if you’re free.”

“Fuck yeah, you should.” Craig jumps in, bending over to place the extra gear and cords back in the case that’s sitting beside you. There’s an air of mischief in his voice, and as he peers through his lashes, the look he gives you makes your heart race. “I’ll be going as well. You should join me.”

The crushed-velvet feel of his accent makes cracks through your resolve. You ponder over the thought even though you’ve already made up your mind. The smirk pulling at your lip gives you away before your words do. “I think I might have to.”

Nick is pleased with your answer, leaning back in his chair. “Awesome. That settles it then.”

After a few more minutes of chatting with Nick about the details of his band’s tour, Craig finally lets out a heavy sigh, “Alright. I think I’m about set up here.”

You watch him do last-minute adjustments while Nick places his headset on, suddenly feeling out of place. “It’s okay that I’m here?”

Craig reassures you, “Of course, love. Just relax and make yourself comfortable. Try to stay pretty quiet though. The mics shouldn’t pick up anything from you, but keep the noise down just in case. I don’t think I’ll bother with all the editing on this one.”

“You’re our live audience tonight,” Nick jokes, giving you a flirty look. 

Craig probably doesn’t know that you’re catching the expression on his face meant for Nick. Similar to the telepathy between you and your best friend during a night out, the brow dance and smirk digs to find out if Nick shows interest in you. Nick’s line of sight falls to his hands, but he can’t hide all of his smile — an exchange so subtle it usually goes unnoticed. Craig then barks a laugh, “Instant feedback if I’m being a total prick.”

“Oh, I should be telling you?” you quip back.

“Shut up,” Craig scoffs, shaking his head, shooting you a look that says, “You’re going to pay for that,” before turning back to Nick. “Ready?”

Nick wiggles in his seat to get comfortable and takes a final sip of his drink. “As I’ll ever be.”

Craig stands, hitting the record button on both cameras placed in front of you. He finally sits, asking Nick if the audio is at a good level for him. After a final sound check, he starts, “Nick Folio, everyone…”

You settle into the soft leather cushions and enjoy the view. It doesn’t take long for you to notice how at ease they are with each other. It was just how it was minutes ago, only with the addition of recording equipment. The conversation flows, ditching the stiff interrogation-like questions a lot of journalists are guilty of.  To quote Craig, you’re taking the place of the audience, “watching two friends hang out and you just happen to be there.”

You listen to them talk about their favorite foods, and Nick’s hobbies of fishing and motorcycles. You stifled your giggles when they began geeking out about their drum kits. At one point, Craig points out the slight southern drawl in his voice, a detail you might’ve overlooked otherwise. He’s quite soft-spoken, but engaging with a fun energy you didn’t expect. You’re hooked, wanting to know everything about him. 

Coming here tonight, you couldn’t have anticipated the softness of his puppy brown eyes, the button quality of his pierced nose, his full pouty lips, and the strong muscles of his jaw that seem to click continuously out of habit. 

As much as you’re staring at Nick, your eyes are drawn to Craig as well. You’re being greedy, and you know it. He just looks so good, and keeping your thoughts innocent is proving to be an impossible feat.

You’ve had all this time apart imagining what he’d be like. You can’t help but fixate on every little thing about him. The way his rings fit on his fingers, how his shirt clings to the muscles on his shoulders, how he mindlessly plays with his facial hair, to the sexual jokes and innuendos he throws in.

Despite having to pretend you aren’t there, Nick can’t keep his eyes from wandering over to you. You pick up on every glance he sneaks, and when Craig goes off on one of his tangents, you shift in your seat. 

Giving him your sultriest look, one that steals his attention for those few precious seconds, you uncross your legs like an agonizingly slow strip tease. You make sure to abandon your modesty this time, giving him a direct peek of your soaked, black, lace panties between your open thighs before switching legs. 

He chokes on his drink but does his best to cover how flustered you’ve made him when Craig asks if he’s okay. He manages to carry on with their conversation, now a bit rosier in the cheeks and an erection he’s trying to cover beneath the table. This is the turning point between you. The intentions of your flirtation are no longer questioned.

Checkmate.

He shifts in his chair, adjusting his tight jeans with a tug of his hand. You want more, but you go on acting as if nothing had happened. His jaw seems tighter, set with more tension than before. Left with your own imagination, you wonder what thoughts are circling inside his head while he tries to finish the episode. 

Time seems to fly by while simultaneously at a standstill, and by the hour-and-a-half mark, Craig finally wraps up the recording. After shutting the equipment off, he blows out a sigh, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m fucking starving.”

“I haven’t eaten since I got off the plane,” you admit, realizing your own hunger and the fact it’s only eight p.m. 

Nick agrees, trying to appear casual, ”I’m down for some food.”

Craig nods and pulls out his phone. “Okay, great. There’s this place not too far from here that I think you’ll both love. I’ll get us an Uber.”

☽ ☽ ☽

You follow Nick into the circular corner booth the hostess led you to, shimmying along the vinyl seat next to him. For the second time this evening, your knee bumps into his, and with how you’re so both on edge, the minor touch feels electric. Neither one of you moves. He blushes and mutters a hushed apology, but instead of looking at you, he starts studying the menu in his hands. Craig scoots in after, sandwiching you between them. 

He groans as he gets comfortable beside you, but doesn’t bother with looking at his menu. While you glance at yours, he distracts you by stretching and draping his arm along the back of the cushion behind you. He’s not touching you, but with the liquor you’ve consumed tonight, the proximity is overwhelming. 

“I’m fucking starving,” Nick sighs with a heavy huff, flipping the laminated paper in his hands.

Craig’s warmth blankets you when he leans across you toward Nick. “Eat up, my man. This place is the fucking shit.”

Nick lets out what could be described as the quintessential stoner’s laugh. “I’m stoked. You’ve been talking about it all day.”

You turn to Craig, avoiding his eyes that have been locked onto you, and hum, “So do you bring all your guests here?”

His soft chuckle hooks your traveling gaze anyway. His line of sight drifts down the features of your face, lingering on your lips before slowly floating back up — taking you in. In a low voice, he answers with a fleeting wink, “Just the ones I really like.”

Before you can react, you’re interrupted by the waitress approaching the table. With a less-than-subtle disgruntled attitude, she greets you, takes your orders, and collects the menus, leaving you with nothing to occupy your brain but the two men on either side of you. But now that she’s left, you have the chance to turn to Nick and ask, “Mashed potatoes and fries?”

He recoils defensively, scoffing, “What?! What’s wrong with that?”

You continue to play with the paper from your straw, and roll your eyes dramatically, teasing him, “God, you are such a boy.”

Craig laughs from behind you, but Nick remains confused, pulling his brows together. “What does that even mean?”

You’re loving how easily he gets flustered. “Nothing. It’s cute.” You lean in, coaxing his line of sight to your eyes. “You must drive girls crazy, don’t you?”

His eyes darted to his fidgeting hands. He swallows thickly, and his cheeks begin to pinken. “No.”

Craig chuckles, joining in on your teasing, “Yeah, he does.”

Nick is quick with a rebuttal, “No. No, don’t listen to him.”

You reach out and touch the back of Nick’s hand. You hold it for a second, trying hard not to be distracted by his soft, inviting warmth. “Oh, come on. You’re hot, young, and talented. They must be fighting over each other to get with you.”

“Stop it,” Nick waves you off, more bashful than ever with his blushing cheeks. He’s proving to be tough to crack, but his smile shows that he’s enjoying this.

“Nick,” you whine, noticing the flicker in his eyes and hearing his name spoken like that. “Don’t lie.”

Craig’s arm slides from its position on the back of the booth to drape across your shoulders. There’s some dominance to the gesture, letting Nick know he’s making the first move. “He’s a little shy about his sexual exploits, love.”

“I’m not!” Nick denies it, catching his sudden rise in volume, and lowers it before correcting himself, “I guess don’t really pay attention shit to like that.”

You can’t let up just yet. Your curiosity is getting the better of you, making you ask, “Not even back home?”

Exasperated, Nick blows out an airy laugh into his hands and falls back against the booth, “Oh my god.”

Craig rubs your arm affectionately, breaking your focus. “Okay, okay. Leave the poor bastard alone. He might explode,”

Nick shoots him an annoyed glare, but the smirk accompanying it reveals how empty his threat is. “Shut the fuck up.”

You settle into Craig’s muscular body, tension vibrating along the surface of your skin. “Well, I think they should. I know I would be taking so many pictures of you if I could.”

Craig giggles at your shameless flirting, squeezing your right shoulder. “Is that the real reason why you became a photographer?” he asks, making you the next victim of his teasing. “To take pictures of hot guys?” 

You turn toward him, breaking his hold on your arm so his hand slides across your upper back, saying matter-of-factly, “I do have more pictures of you than anyone else on that tour.” 

Craig lifts a brow. “Is that so?”  There’s that delightful purr of an accent again — residing in the depths of his throat. 

You shrug smugly, despite being completely enamored by his presence. “What can I say, drummers are fascinating to watch.”

You’ve intrigued both of them, but Craig is the one to respond, “Go on.”

“I dunno,” you clear your throat, focusing on neither of them as you start to ramble your inner thoughts away. “The way they hit their kit, their facial expressions…their intensity. I’m always so mesmerized by their total full-body coordination. It deserves to be appreciated in my opinion.”

You end with a large sip of your drink, forcing your words to hang in the air between them. You’re stroking Craig’s ego and he’s eating up every second of it. Expecting him to bait you for more compliments, his response surprises you, “Just wait until you see Nick play.” His eyes flicker over to Nick with a devilish grin spreading across his lips. “In for a real treat.”

Following his gaze to Nick, your mind runs with the visual.“Oh, really?”

Nick avoids eye contact and laughs nervously, “Way to put me on the spot, brother. Now I’m gonna fuck it up.” 

Craig dismisses him with a wave. “Ah, you’ll kill it.”

They jump into drum talk, chatting away about things that go right over your head. You don’t mind of course, because it gives you the chance to watch Nick more closely. 

A few minutes roll by and you’ve nearly zoned out, but Nick’s hand skimming across your bare knee snaps you back — his boldest move yet. Hidden beneath the table, Craig is none the wiser to the flirty touch. You’re hyper-aware of every circle he draws on your skin with the faintest pressure, sitting so still you’ve forgotten to breathe. He’s not even looking at you while he continues to talk about the tour, pretending as though his fingers aren’t slowly traveling up the inside of your thigh. 

You want more. He’s just so close.

Letting your depravity take hold, you spread your legs wider, inviting him to slip those fingers inside you. He seems tempted now that he’s just a couple of inches away. You almost snatch his hand and place it where you want him most until he squeezes your thigh with a strength that makes you ache. 

He suddenly lets go, and you have to use every ounce of willpower not to whine at the loss of his touch. He excuses himself to the restroom, and you take the chance to readjust your dress while he scoots out from his end of the booth.

After a moment of silence and once Nick is out of earshot, Craig brushes your hair from your shoulder and places his hand at the nape of your neck before leaning in. With his voice nothing more than a whisper, he coos, “You just gonna keep playing with him all night or do you have a plan, sweetheart?”

You put on your best poker face knowing he’ll see right through it.“Why are you asking?”

He hums, massaging your neck with a firm, but gentle grip of his fingers. “Just curious. He’s only been eye-fucking you since the moment he saw you.” The words make your stomach flip with anticipation. “Which I’m gonna have to edit out by the way.” 

You huff, looking him up and down until you lock eyes with him, “And what about you? Seems like you can’t keep your hands… or your eyes to yourself either.”

The growing tension between you makes your heart flutter wildly in your chest. It’s there, suspended in the air while desire swims in his irises. If you were anywhere else but here in this restaurant, he might’ve devoured you already. “I am just a man, darling,” he states. The pet names sound so silken, yet filthy coming from him. “So what’s it gonna be then?”

The proposition ignites a sinful fire in your belly. It could be the alcohol in your system knocking down your inhibitions, but it would be a lie. You’ve been thinking about Craig in your most sober moments, and you knew you wanted Nick as soon as you laid eyes on him. 

“I think you know,” you say confidently, side-eyeing him before taking another sip of your drink. 

He plays with the clasp of your necklace, following the thin chain with his fingertips. It sends a chill down your spine directly to your core. “I don’t know if you can handle both of us.”

Emboldened, you shorten the distance, bringing yourself close enough to whisper in his ear, “One way to find out, huh?”

You pull back to watch his reaction, noting the devious glimmer in his blue eyes. He studies you, grinning before letting out a pitched laugh, “I fucking love American girls.”

Nick interrupts the two of you when he slides back into the booth a little more carelessly than the first time. “Did I miss anything?”

Maybe it’s the European air, or wanting to prove Craig wrong, but something possesses you to grip onto the collar of Nick’s hoodie. Before you can question the impulse and doubt yourself, you drag him close so you can crash your lips into his. At first, he’s stunned by the action, freezing the second your lips make contact. It takes him a second, but he lifts his hands to cradle your face as he sinks into the kiss. You have to stop yourself from crawling onto his lap, especially when you hear a soft moan echo in his throat. Your fingers release the terrycloth sweatshirt, to slide up the sides of his neck. Those few cautious, experimental pecks deepen instantly. You lick across his bottom lip and he quickly parts his mouth in response. The blissful warmth and sweet taste of cola on his tongue is consuming, but fleeting. The kiss ends just as abruptly as it started, leaving you both breathless and craving more. 

“Wow,” Nick sighs, his soft pants fluttering across your tingling lips.

Craig snorts a laugh from behind you, “Was wondering when that was gonna finally happen.”

You then hear someone clearing their throat, making you whip your head around to see your waitress standing before you with three plates of steaming food in her hands. Embarrassed that you’ve been caught, you break free from Nick, muttering, “Sorry.”

She gives you a judgemental look, scanning between all three of you as she sets down the heavy plates, but Craig can barely contain his snickering. You can only imagine the bright shade of red Nick’s face is turning since it’s buried in his hands. After she leaves, you throw an elbow into Craig’s side, making him yelp, “Ow! What did I do?!”

“You know what,” you grumble, stabbing your chicken with your fork.

Craig bumps your shoulder with his. “Oh come on, the fun has just started tonight.”

TAGLIST: