The Evolution of Man (The Trust Fund Duet 2)

Christopher’s expression is hard with pleasure, only an inch away from Sutton’s face. It’s like Christopher is fucking Sutton, with me in the middle. I’m a conduit right now, the thrust of hips and cock pushing me back against another body. Both of them rocking and grunting and using me in the most carnal ways.

At first it seemed like Sutton and I were the ones seducing Christopher.

Now it’s the other way around. Sutton is the one being seduced.

He grasps my hips hard enough to leave bruises. “Ahh fuck,” he says, his breath hot on my throat. “Fuck. Like that. Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”

His words spur Christopher to fuck me harder, and faster, and he doesn’t stop.

Sutton’s cock is only rubbing against my back, almost a juvenile comfort, but he sounds more turned on than I’ve ever seen. The most out of control. “Harper,” he says, and it sounds like he’s dying.

“Don’t talk to her,” Christopher says, baring his teeth.

The words are confusing until I feel Sutton buck against me. He likes being warned away. He called it fucked up and I think he’s right about that. This isn’t a normal kind of lust. Obsession. I turn my face and place an open-mouth kiss on Sutton’s cheek.

A hand grasps my face and turns me back. “Me,” Christopher says, almost primitive now. “You look at me. You fuck me. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Say it.”

“I want you,” I whisper, but I’m not giving in all the way. He made me work too hard to get his attention. He made me wait too long for even a speck of sexual interest.

He punctuates each of his words with a hard thrust. “You. Want. Me.”

I close my eyes, but he doesn’t let me keep them that way. A little shake. A particularly hard, angled thrust that makes me squirm against Sutton. His whole body turns taut behind me.

“Harper,” Christopher says, but his voice doesn’t sound as hard as before. He seems a little breathless. On the edge of something he can’t quite hold back.

His fingers work their way down my stomach, into the slick space between us.

The press together around me clit, and I shoot up toward him. “Please.”

An unsteady laugh. “You were right,” he says, except he isn’t talking to me. He’s talking to the man behind me. “She is too tight. Are you going to help her?”

Sutton reaches around to stroke my breasts. To pinch my nipples.

To hold up my tits, the way Christopher said he would.

The warmth of Christopher’s mouth makes me cry out and clench hard. His lips are only an inch away from Sutton’s fingers. His chin is probably brushing him. Christopher closes his eyes in pure ecstasy, and I want to watch, I do, but he sucks, and I have to throw my head back onto Sutton’s shoulder and moan in sensory overload.

Christopher moves to my other breast, flicking his tongue against me. Sutton doesn’t hold me up for him this time. Instead he reaches a hand up to stroke down Christopher’s temple, the gesture so tender it makes my eyes prick with tears. And I think we should talk, we should; except Christopher pinches hard around my clit, and then I’m coming, coming, bearing down on Christopher’s cock, making him gasp and hold me tight, Sutton behind us

moaning, yes yes yes as a warm spot spreads across my back.

In the aftermath I mostly expect for Sutton to disappear. That’s what he did after the poker game, and he was a lot less exposed then. I can’t do this, he’ll say, and leave the house. Except he sits on the edge of the bed, looking shaken.

It’s Christopher who stands and puts his clothes back on. There is no visit to the bar to get us drinks this time around. He doesn’t have some kind of post-sex bartender habit after all. Instead he seems actually pissed, which makes my stomach feel upside down.

“Christopher?” I say, my voice tremulous.

“Don’t.”

That makes me want to push harder. “Christopher, don’t be mad at Sutton. It was my idea. This whole thing was my idea. I don’t think Sutton even liked it to be honest—”

“That’s you being honest?”

I fall silent, acutely aware of the damp spot on my back, the proof of how much Sutton liked it. “You liked it too,” I finally say, pulling the sheet over my lap as a shield.

“Yes,” he says simply.

“Do you think that you’re—”