Otto emerges from the adjoining bathroom. The backlight haloes him.
He’s wearing his jeans but nothing else. He has the muscles of a man whose body betrayed him when he was younger and, now, he’s worked twice as hard to beat it into submission. He’s ripped, a level of self-control I couldn’t possibly pull off, with strong biceps and a tight stomach.
Then there’s that pink, crescent-shaped scar that swoops across his hip and vanishes under his jeans. He strips so he’s completely naked, too, and now I can see the full new moon scar.
It’s his warrior scar. Or, as Otto likes to joke, “I survived a kidney transplant, and all I got was this dumb scar.”
He’s carrying a bottle of clear liquid, and he sets it on the bedside table.
Then he takes Naomi by the hips, yanks her closer, and climbs into bed on top of her. Her legs wrap around him and they tangle up together.
“Did Diego fuck you good, baby girl?” Otto asks her.
“Yeah…” Her eyes are half-lidded. She reaches between them and takes him in her hand. He hardens to her touch.
I like watching them together. The way they are in the bedroom just feels like an extension of who they are in public—playful, sensual, and wildly obsessed with each other. They touch each other easily, as though they’ve memorized every inch of the other’s body.
Otto moves his hand between her legs and pinches the delicate, dark skin of her labia between his thumb and forefinger. “Your poor cunt,” he taunts. “She’s taken quite the beating today, hasn’t she? Must be worn raw.”
Naomi mewls and squirms, and as I watch the two of them play, my heartbeat picks up, a thudding in my chest and in my cock.
“Please—fuck—it’s so sensitive.”
“Kiss first.”
She kisses Otto hard, desperate, and his tongue mixes with hers. Then he releases his grip on her swollen sex, and she sighs.
Otto’s eyes meet mine. It’s like being pierced through with an arrow, the way his blue eyes catch. “Good girl,” he says to Naomi. “Now stay.”
Then he shifts a whole couple inches over in the small bed and climbs over me, straddling my thighs and pinning me down.
“You have fun?” he asks.
“Yeah…”
“Yeah?” He says it like a challenge.
My throat closes. I can only confirm with “Uh-huh.”
He chuckles low in his throat, the way a jungle cat might purr. Appropriate, because I feel like a mouse caught in his claws.
Naomi is perfect. Naomi is beautiful and bold. Badass and adorable. A goddess.
My mom would’ve loved her. Call it heteronormative trauma, but that’s a thought I can’t get out of my head, even now. It’s not a bad thought, either. It’s a warm thought. The duet of women’s laughter. Mom stuffing Naomi’s pockets with recipe clippings. That spark in mom’s eyes, words unsaid: I knew you’d pick a good one.
But Otto’s eyes meet mine, and it’s like a violin string has been plucked deep inside of me. It hums and quivers. I’ve wanted him since before I had words to articulate what that want meant.
The want isn’t sexual, exactly (though it’s not, not sexual, either). It’s more than that.
I crave him the way a sailboat craves wide-open sea.
I crave him the way a moonflower craves unbroken night.
This desire is natural, inevitable, fated.
We had to end up here. It had to circle back to Otto.
His mouth connects with mine—almost—lips grazing my skin. A whisper of a kiss.
“I like kissing you,” he says.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Me too.”
His mouth quirks in a grin. “Wicked.” He takes my consent and finally seals me into his kiss. I push back, wanting too much—I can feel myself pressing too hard, too desperate, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
Otto chuckles. It’s a puff of hot air against my mouth.
“Relax,” he says. “You think you can do that for me? Relax?”
“I can try.”
“I would. I want to be inside of you…and it’s going to hurt if you aren’t relaxed.”
My face stings, like the smart of a winter’s chill, except everything in me is hot.
Those blue eyes hunt mine. Searching. “Is that what you want?”
He doesn’t take me with the same reckless boldness he uses with Naomi.
But they’ve been doing this for a long time. Otto and me…we’re just learning each other.
The fact that he takes the time to make sure we’re both on the same page means more than he knows.
I nod and shift on my back, adjusting up on my elbows.
“Yeah,” I confirm, “I want it. Just tell me what to do.”
I’m trying to sound casual. Trying to sound like I know what I’m doing. Trying to sound like I’m not completely lost at sea.
“Can you pass me the lube, beautiful? And a condom.”
Naomi, who has been curled on her side like a content cat, watching us, unfurls now. She takes the bottle off the bedside table and rummages around a small drawer until she finds what she’s looking for. She hands both the wrapper and bottle over to Otto.
“Good girl,” Otto says, and I can tell that phrase melts her. He cups the back of her head and pulls her into a loving, lingering kiss.
Watching them together…it’s a beautiful thing. Anyone can see how much she trusts him. How much he loves her.
He takes the items from her. Otto tosses the condom, and it lands softly on my stomach.
“Hold on to that, baby,” he tells me. “I’ll let you know when I need it.”
Baby. That’s a new one.
Not at all a word anyone has used for a big, grown-ass man like me.
I like it.
I take the wrapped condom and hold it in my hand. It feels good to have a job. It feels good to do something with my hands.
Meanwhile, Otto squeezes out some lube onto his fingertips. He rubs his hands together, pops the bottle shut, and sets it aside. I watch his hand dip between my legs and then I feel it. It’s cold at first and my breath catches even though I should be prepared—I’m a doctor; I literally use the stuff all the time. It is strangely clinical at first, the way Otto pushes the lube around my hole before finally plunging his finger in.
I bite the inside of my lip. I screw my eyes shut. He moves a finger around, testing me, and then presses a second finger inside.
“Oh,” I say. My voice shudders.
He doesn’t say are you okay? Or do you need me to stop?
He knows I’ll tell him if I need to.
He just says, “I know.”
And he does. He does know. He knows everything I need and everything I want.
Even before I know I want it.
He proves it with his fingers, turning them and stroking someplace deep inside of me. It feels strange at first and then warm, and then the warmth blossoms into really fucking good. I gasp. The condom wrapper crinkles when my hand fists around it, and I feel my cock surge in my lap.
“That’s the spot,” Otto says, his voice velvet and deep, “isn’t it?”
I don’t know what he means, exactly. But I feel it. As though all of my focus on concentration is zeroed in the smallest little strokes of his fingers.
“Uh-huh…” My own voice is barely a grunt.
My heels dig into the mattress. It takes everything within me to keep myself together.
But Otto doesn’t let me settle into my pleasure. He ramps it up. One hand massages inside of me while he wraps his other hand around my cock. His palm is slick with the lube, and I slide through his fingers easily as he pumps me.
“Jesus,” I say. “Fuck.”
I’ve lost control of my tongue. Among other things. I’m moaning now, lifting my hips to meet his touch. He strokes me boldly, exploring the ridges of me, the tip, and back down, squeezing the base. It’s not long before I’m shuddering, jerking into his ministrations.
“You’re ready for me, aren’t you?” Otto asks.
I completely forgot I was holding on to the condom. I remember it now and open up my palm. I hold it up in offering.
“Please,” I say.
I’m surprised by the word. I’m surprised by the heat in my voice.
I’m surprised by the way Otto’s eyes briefly widen and then go fucking feral.
He takes the offering from my palm, rips it between his fingers and his teeth, and quickly slides it over his length. Then he positions himself between my legs, locks his eyes with mine, and…
I feel him. The meaty head of him. Seeking. I tense up, bracing, and knot my fingers in the sheets below me.
“Relax,” Otto tells me. “Breathe. You could take my fingers, you can take my prick.”
It’s the reminder I need. I swallow. I try to breathe.
But when he pushes inside, it still hurts.
I grit my teeth. Immediately, Naomi is beside me. Her nails trace through my hair. Gently, she kisses my shoulder. “Are you okay?” she asks.
“Uh-huh.” Tight, shallow breaths.
Otto pauses. “You want me to stop?”
I shake my head. My neck is hot. My cheeks and ears are burning.
“Just do it,” I tell him firmly. “All the way.”
The only thing worse than this pain is the slow build of anticipation. I’m pragmatic. I need to know what I’m dealing with.
I feel Otto’s hand at my hip, and at my request, he slams his hips forward.
That takes the breath out of me.
He’s inside me now. Deep. It feels like he’s rearranging my insides.
I bite my hand and growl into it. I can’t help it. It keeps me from screaming out, anyway.
“Okay,” I say when I finally have enough air in my lungs to breathe. “Just…hold that. Just a second. I just need a second.”
“Take all the time you need, baby,” Otto encourages. “We’ve got all night.”
I try to relax, but it’s hard when all I can feel is the throbbingly tight stretch around Otto. I try to focus on Naomi’s gentle kisses. The featherlight touches of Otto’s fingertips as they trace down my abdomen. He pets the hair at my happy trail.
“You’re such a beast,” he tells me, out of the blue.
I can’t help but snort at that. “A beast? That’s kinda racist, man.”
“I mean…you’re powerful.” He thinks about his words. “You’re a king.”
I bite back a smile. Because king does sound nice on his lips.
Then his fingertips find my cock, and I gasp. It’s just a light touch, grazing from base to tip. I’ve softened slightly in my struggle to relax, but he barely touches me and suddenly I’m painfully rigid again.
Otto takes the lead again. He wraps me in his hand and strokes me, slowly.
Now I can’t help the moan that leaves me. I find myself rocking into his touch and, subsequently, moving him inside of me.
Things that felt bad now start to feel good.
Really good.
Otto picks up on it immediately. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah…”
“I’m going to fuck you now. Tell me if it’s too much.”
With that, Otto adjusts his body so he’s hovering over me, a hand planted by my head. He moves his hips now, thrusting them, while he keeps touching me, stroking me, coaxing me further and further away from sanity.
My arms unlock from my sides, and I grab him. I grip his shoulders. Dig my fingers into the skin on his back.
Two seconds ago, my body was fighting him. Now, I can’t get enough. I want him deeper. Closer. More.
Naomi nibbles my ear. “Good boy,” she whispers, and I shudder.
It’s overwhelming. All of this pleasure. All of this affection.
It starts to build in me again. Swelling. Tightening. Until I feel like my body is taut and humming with ecstasy. Teetering on that sweet, terrifying precipice.
Things like tears and pain have always been a private thing for me. A rule in our house was don’t ever let them see you hurt. So it stands to reason that when I’m drowning in pleasure, I resort to my old coping mechanisms—run and hide.
I cover my face. I put my arms over my eyes. I bite my lip to swallow back a moan.
But he finds me. I hide. He seeks.
“Nope,” Otto says. “None of that.”
He takes my arm and pins it over my head. I’m stronger than Otto. I can push back if I want. But I don’t want to. I want to be vulnerable. I want to break.
I gasp and choke on my pleasure. My face feels hot, and I’m sure it’s not pretty. I’m sure I look like a mess. I screw my eyes shut and—
“No again,” Otto says. “Look at me.”
I force my eyes open. Those sparkling blues look down at me.
“Oh god,” I whisper.
“I know.”
“Oh…god…!”
“I know. Cum for me, king.”
I explode. It pulls an inhumane noise from me—some deep sound that has been tucked away at the bottom of my lungs and only now has the strength to come out. I grip the mattress, twist. I shiver, writhe, and I grab the back of his neck and anchor myself to him.
I throb, and Otto strokes me through it, wringing every drop of my orgasm from me. My eyes don’t leave his—not once. I watch as his jaw tenses, his breath catches, and he gives a low, relieved sigh. His hips buck once, and he empties inside of me.
“Fuck,” he swears, so quietly under his breath, and that small word tingles through my entire body.
He folds over me, and his lips brush mine. I lean in to kiss him back like a man starving, but—
He pulls away. A whimper leaves my lips before I can stop it.
“C’mere, baby,” Otto says and closes his hand over the back of Naomi’s head. He pushes her down and says, “Kiss Diego.”
Naomi curls up beside me. Her warmth feels so nice. Her lips are so soft. She strokes her fingers through my hair, and her nails scrape across my scalp. It sends a shiver through me, and I hear myself choke out a noise—a half sob. Of relief or pain, I’m not sure.
“It’s okay,” she murmurs gently to me as she covers my face in kisses. “You did so good, baby. So good.”
Her fingertips trail down my neck, my chest. She’s so soft, and it makes me soft in turn.
I’m coming off my high. I’m sweaty and kiss-drunk and so, so spent.
“I’m going to pull out of you,” Otto says. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” I grunt. The fullness of him is starting to get uncomfortable again.
He eases out of me, and I exhale slowly as he does. It’s the strangest sensation, and I feel so goddamn empty afterward.
Empty and sticky. I can try to hide behind my hands, but I’ve covered my belly with evidence of just how much I enjoyed all of that.
I feel drunk on both of them. But I need to reorient myself.
“I need to clean up,” I say.
Naomi points to the bathroom door left ajar. I untangle myself from the two of them, and they fall back together like liquid, filling in the spaces I left empty.
I have to nudge a pink sweater on the floor out of the way with my toes in order to close the door behind me.
It’s quiet in here. The bathroom floor is tiled and cold under my bare feet.
I’ve always been a solitary guy. I’ve only ever needed two or three close friends. I do better one-on-one with people than in a crowd. I don’t mind being alone.
So even though the sex was powerful and intimate, it was also overwhelming, and I need a minute with myself to wrap my brain around what just happened.
Naomi has a lot of beauty products partially spilled across her tiny bathroom sink. The counter is half glitter. I take the washcloth that looks the most worn down, wet it, and start cleaning myself up. My belly is striped with my own cum, my cock slick with lube and Naomi, and I sponge-bath myself clean.
Slowly, the orgasmic haze starts to clear. Now that I’m alone with my thoughts, I can feel the unease, like a rock sitting on my chest.
Something’s nagging at me. Something’s not right.
It’s the way Otto pulled away. When I needed him most—when I’d come apart underneath him, sticky and covered in both of us—he pulled away.
He gave me to Naomi instead.
It shouldn’t bother me. I tell myself I’m thinking too hard about it. I need to stop plucking at the stray thread, or I’ll unravel the entire, beautiful night.
I come up with excuses for him. Maybe it was innocent. Maybe he was trying to connect us. Bring the three of us together.
But something about it still feels off. I can’t put my finger on it.
