Part 11: I'm Not Stopping This Time

The second the front door clicked shut behind Jake, my phone buzzed again.

Dylan: Don’t care if Jake’s in the kitchen. Come downstairs. Now.

I stared at the message, heart hammering.

He didn’t know Jake had left. He didn’t know we were alone. And if I told him—

I swallowed hard, thumbs already moving before I could second-guess it.

Me: He’s gone. You’ve got me all to yourself.

Three dots popped up. Then vanished.

No reply.

I stood frozen for a beat—then I heard it. A creak from below. A faint noise in the basement.

I stepped into the basement, and there he was.

Dylan.

Shirtless. Just those tight black gym shorts clinging to his thighs, the rest of him carved like a god. His chest was glistening slightly from a shower or a pump, shoulders broad and relaxed like he owned the world. Like he owned me.He didn’t move.

Didn’t say anything.

Just watched me, like a king waiting for worship.

I took a shaky breath. “Sooo… Jake’s gone. All night.”

Dylan’s lip curled into a smirk. “Good.” He shifted slightly. “Means you can moan as loud as you want.”

My throat went dry.

“You gonna stand there looking at me,” he said, voice low and firm, “or you gonna come here and show me what that mouth was made for?”

I stepped closer, pulse wild, eyes locked on his chest.

“Start at the top,” he murmured. “Work your way down. Slowly.”

I reached up, fingers brushing across his thick pecs. His skin was warm, chest rising and falling beneath my hands. He was solid—immovable—like touching him was some ancient ritual.

“You like this?” he said, tone cocky, dipping his chin to watch me.

I nodded, too breathless to speak.

“Good. Now use your mouth.”

I leaned in, lips pressing softly to his chest—then tongue. His skin tasted like salt and skin and want. I kissed across his pecs, down the line between them, letting my hands roam lower.

“Slower,” he growled. “Like you mean it.”

I obeyed, dragging my tongue down the center of his abs, following the ridges like they were holy scripture. His hand found the back of my head, not pushing—just there. Possessive. Like he owned me now.

“Lower,” he said again. “Keep going. Don’t stop till I say.”

I kissed the edge of his V-line, the waistband of his shorts. He smelled like sweat and soap and something raw underneath—masculine and intoxicating. His cock twitched inside his shorts, thick and heavy, begging to be touched.

“You like that?” he asked, looking down at me. His voice was cocky now—completely sure of himself. “You like being on your knees for me?”

I nodded, lips parted, breath shallow.

“Show me.”

I looked up at him, then down. My hands slid over the waistband of his gym shorts, and he didn’t stop me.

Didn’t help either.

He wanted me to do it myself.

So I did. Slowly.

They dropped, pooling at his ankles.

And then—I forgot how to breathe.

He was hard. Heavy. Already dripping.

And he was smirking like he knew exactly what it was doing to me.

“Open your mouth,” he said. “Nice and slow.”

I obeyed.

He didn’t thrust. Didn’t grab my head. Just stepped forward—so smooth, so fucking confident—and fed it to me, inch by inch.

I moaned the second he filled my mouth, the weight of him resting heavy on my tongue.

“Good boy,” he said.

I swore I could’ve come from that alone.

His hands found the back of my head, gentle but firm. “Now worship me properly.”

And I did.

God, I did.

Slow, deep, messy. I bobbed my head, tongue swirling around the tip every time I pulled back, cheeks hollowing as I sucked him back down. He hissed through his teeth, abs flexing as I picked up speed, spit dripping from my lips, dripping down his cock. I didn’t care. I wanted to taste all of him.

“Fucking look at me,” he growled.

I looked up, eyes glassy, jaw wide around him.

“That’s it. Just like that. You’re so fucking good at this.”

I moaned around him, and he twitched in my mouth.

“Such a good mouth,” he growled. “Knew you’d be good at this. Fuck—don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

I didn’t.

I sucked him like my life depended on it. Let him use my mouth. Let him fuck into me slowly, hips rolling, his abs tightening every time I moaned around him.

“Messy little thing,” he muttered. “God, I could come just from watching you.”

He didn’t though. Not yet.

His hips finally bucked forward, once, hard, and I gagged—but held on.

He pulled out suddenly, cock glistening with spit, and reached down to yank me up.

I moaned again, louder this time. My cock was straining in my jeans, untouched, aching.

“You’ve got thirty seconds,” he said, pulling out suddenly. “Get your clothes off.”

I blinked, breathless and dazed, saliva dripping from my chin. “What?”

“Get on the couch,” he said. “Hands and knees.”

My knees wobbled as I climbed up, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. He came up behind me, yanked my pants down, and groaned.

He pointed to the couch. “I’m fucking you. Now.”

I gasped as his hand landed on my ass—rough, greedy.

“You ready for this?” he asked, positioning behind me, cock teasing against my hole.

“God, yes.”

“Good. Because I’m not stopping this time until I nut in you.”



Part 12: Ruin Me

I stumbled back, panting, dazed, trying to make sense of his words—his voice still rasping in my ears.

“I said,” Dylan growled, stepping forward, his thick cock bobbing between his legs as he moved, “get your fucking clothes off.”

I obeyed. I didn’t even think. My shirt came off in one motion, my jeans shoved down, boxers peeled after, clumsily kicking them aside. My hands were shaking, adrenaline and lust flooding me. I barely made it onto the couch before he was already climbing over me, grabbing my legs, dragging me into place.

He was strong. So strong.

His mouth was on my neck instantly—hot, hungry, biting. His cock pressed hard against my stomach, slick with spit and pre-cum, and I couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t stop feeling him, grabbing at his back, shoulders, anywhere I could reach.

“You’ve been teasing me for days,” he whispered against my ear. “Wearing those tight jeans, sneaking around… jerking me off like some filthy little secret.”

I whimpered.

“You wanted to get fucked, didn’t you?” he said, hand sliding down, wrapping around the back of my thigh and pushing it up.

“Yeah,” I breathed, voice cracking.

He kissed me then—filthy and rough, like he was trying to devour the last breath out of my lungs. I moaned into his mouth as he grinded against me, his cock dragging along mine, hot and slick between our stomachs.

Then his hand slipped between us.

Fingers slid lower. Testing. Circling.

I gasped.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice softer for a second. “I got you.”

He reached for the bottle of lube already tossed beside the couch—he must’ve planned this—and slicked his fingers quickly before sliding one inside me. My body tensed, then opened, slowly, as he worked me open, one finger, then two, curling, stretching, teasing.

“You’re so tight,” he murmured, watching me with this stunned, almost reverent look. “So fucking good already.”

I was moaning shamelessly, hand gripping his bicep, back arching with every thrust of his fingers.

“I need you,” I gasped. “Dylan—please.”

“I’ve waited too long for this.”

His hands gripped my waist, strong and possessive, pulling me back as the thick head of his cock pressed against my hole. I gasped, body going tense.

“Relax,” he murmured, voice suddenly gentler. “I’ve got you.”

And then he pushed in.

Slow.

Thick.

Stretching me open inch by inch, forcing my body to take him, to feel him—every vein, every pulse, every twitch of that cock as it filled me deeper than I thought possible.

“F-fuck,” I choked out, eyes wide, nails digging into the couch cushion.

Dylan groaned behind me, like he was struggling to hold back. “So fucking tight,” he growled. “You were made for this.”

He bottomed out, hips flush to my ass, balls pressed firm and heavy. We stayed like that for a second, both panting, our bodies shaking.

Then he pulled out—slow—and slammed back in.

I cried out, loud and desperate.

He did it again. And again. His rhythm building, harder, deeper, until my whole body rocked forward with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping filled the room. That and my moans. His grunts. The filthy sounds of him owning me.

“I want to hear you,” he growled, fucking me harder now, sweat dripping off him. “Let the whole damn neighborhood hear who you belong to.”

“Dylan,” I gasped. “You feel so—oh god—”

“That’s right,” he panted. “Say my fucking name.”

“Dylan—yes—fuck—”

He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanked me back, his chest now flush against my spine. I could feel his abs flexing every time he thrust into me.

“You begged for this,” he hissed into my ear. “You earned this.”

He fucked me like he meant it.

Like every second we’d waited had boiled into this exact moment.

I was wrecked—sweaty, shaking, moaning into the cushions as he took me from behind with brutal, aching need. My cock was leaking nonstop, untouched, dribbling onto the couch.

“Wanna see your face,” Dylan growled suddenly, pulling out.

He flipped me over like I weighed nothing, dragged my legs over his shoulders, and shoved back in with a single thrust. I screamed.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, watching me fall apart. “Look at that face. Ruined for me.”

I couldn’t stop shaking.

He drilled into me harder now, relentless, sweat rolling down his chest, eyes locked on mine like this was more than just fucking—it was claiming.

He leaned down, his lips crashing into mine between thrusts, sloppy and breathless. “You’re mine,” he panted. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I cried. “Yours, Dylan—yours.”

He growled into my mouth like a wild animal, grabbing my hips and slamming into me so hard I nearly came right then.

“You close?” he grunted.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna—”

He reached between us, wrapped his hand around my cock, and pumped once.

I came with a shout, body locking up, cum painting my stomach in thick, hot ropes. I was trembling, twitching, falling apart beneath him.

I exploded.

Thick white ropes shot up my stomach, coating my chest, twitching with every hard thrust of his cock still inside me. I shook through it, moaning, gasping, writhing.

“Fuck, fuck—” Dylan hissed—and then he grabbed my hips tight, slammed in one last time, and went still.

I felt it.

Hot. Deep. So much of it.

And Dylan didn’t stop.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pace turning frantic. “Fuck, Troy—gonna—”

He slammed deep once more—and came.

Hard.

He buried himself to the base, cock twitching inside me as his whole body shook with it. I could feel him pulsing, unloading, filling me up with everything he had. A low, guttural groan left his throat as he came so deep it made my head spin.

He came inside me with a loud moan, forehead pressed to mine, body shaking as he filled me.

We stayed like that for a long moment—both panting, drenched in sweat and cum, our bodies tangled, hearts pounding.

Then he leaned back just enough to look at me.

I blinked up at him.

He was grinning. All cocky, all Dylan. “Told you the wait would be worth it.”

I huffed a laugh, still trembling. “You arrogant bastard.”

“You love it.”

“I hate how much I do.”

He kissed me again. This time slower. Sweeter.

Then he flopped down next to me, dragging me into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I laid there on his chest, sticky and sore and satisfied in a way I’d never known. His fingers tangled in my hair. His other hand rubbed lazy circles into my back.

I could feel the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath me.

His heartbeat slowing.

His breathing evening out.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice rough but soft now.

I nodded into his neck. “More than okay.”

We didn’t say much after that.

Just laid there, tangled up in sweat and cum and heavy breathing, my body still twitching from everything he’d just done to it. His arm slung over me. His chest rising and falling under my cheek. No pressure. No labels. Just the crash after the storm.

Eventually, he let out a lazy, cocky sigh. “Didn’t know you’d go full spaghetti noodle on me.”

I groaned, smacking his chest. “Don’t ruin it.”

He laughed—that laugh—and pulled me closer anyway, all smug warmth and muscle.

I didn’t say it out loud, but yeah. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be straight.

But he sure as hell just ruined me in the best way possible.

And that was enough.