Manipulate (Deliver 6)

Amber was one lucky bitch.

Van clasped his hands behind his back and prowled a tight circle around Ricky, penetrating skin and nerves with his intoxicating heat.

“Tell me why you’re here,” Van breathed against his nape, “instead of at home fucking your best friend.”

“Martin?” His pulse sped up. “Why would you assume we’re more than friends?”

“Why wouldn’t you be? He’s the only one in your house who can give you what you need.”

“He’s straight.”

“No.” Van laughed, loud and derisively. “He’s not.”

“Just because you forced him—”

“He hasn’t told you.” Van tilted his head, his glare sharp and scrutinizing. “Here I thought there were no secrets between you and your roommates.”

“What hasn’t he told me?” Ricky ground his teeth.

“How he ended up in my attic.”

Martin didn’t talk about that. Whenever questions were directed at him about his abduction or the time he spent with Van and Liv, he turned heel and vacated the room.

“I assume Liv lured him,” Ricky said.

“Guess again.”

“You?” His head flinched back. “You took him at gunpoint?”

“I didn’t use a weapon or any kind of force.”

“What are you saying?” Suspicion tensed his neck. “Did you manipulate him?”

“Not exactly.” Van removed a toothpick from his pocket and set it between his molars. “He’s your best friend. Ask him yourself.”

“I have. He refuses to discuss it.”

“Sounds like trouble in paradise.” His smirk oozed with ridicule.

“Fuck you.”

Van was on him in a blink, an iron fist around his throat and cutting his air as he was slammed face down onto the table beside Amber.

“I’ll tell you the real reason you’re here.” Van ground Ricky’s cheek against the wood.

“Enlighten me.”

“You want to make him jealous. Ignite that possessive rage he can’t control when it comes to you. What better way to provoke him than to return home, flushed and sated in the afterglow of another man’s enjoyment? You’ll tell him that man was me just to get a rise out of him. He’ll shove you into a wall, bruise you with his strong hands, and you’ll eat up every second of that physical contact. How am I doing so far?”

That was exactly how it would play out.

“How about you shut the fuck up and hurt me already?” Ricky bared his teeth. “Make me feel.”

“Put your arms behind you.” Van released him. “Cross them against your back and grip your elbows.”

His skin heated as he obeyed without hesitation.

He didn’t want to think, question, or second-guess this. It was simple. He had an itch and was seeking out someone who excelled at scratching hard-to-reach places.

Heart thundering, he tracked the tread of Van’s footsteps through the trees and around the table until the sound paused near his head.

“I’m not going to restrain you.” Van bent down, brushing his lips against Ricky’s ear. “You are bound by your own will. If you release your elbows, I will stop and send your ass home.”

“Got it.” He locked his fingers around the crooks of his arms.

“Amber.” Van shifted toward his wife. “Lie back. Palms flat on the table.”

She moved into position, face up beside Ricky. He remained chest down with his face angled toward her.

Van gripped her waist and pulled, sliding her along the table until her head hung off the edge, upside down.

Ricky knew where this was going, and so did she, given the swallow that jogged in her throat.

Anticipation lengthened his cock, trapping it at a painful angle between his hips and the table. The sound of Van’s zipper made him impossibly harder.

Then he saw it, the long stiff evidence of Van Quiso’s arousal.

Van rested his erection over her gaping mouth like an offering, teasing the shaft across her lips.

She licked at it, panting and squirming, all while keeping her hands flat on the table at her sides.

A groan escaped Ricky as Van fed her his dick, inch by steely inch. When he reached the back of her throat, she swallowed rapidly without gagging.

Ricky could’ve done the same. In that soundproof attic, Van had fucked his face until his gag reflex no longer existed.

“Put your fingers in your pussy.” Van thrust his hips, his breathing accelerating. “Work it hard. I want a puddle under your ass.”

The blow job lasted forever and not long enough. From inches away, he watched Van’s cock sink and retreat, over and over. He lay so close to them the musk of their hunger infused his inhales.

He focused on clutching his elbows and tried to not come. His orgasm hovered right there. If he ground his groin against the table, he would blow.

And this would be over.

Finally, Van pulled free from her mouth and angled toward Ricky. Gripping the base of his dick, he slowly dragged his fist to the tip and squeezed out a bead of pre-come.

He swiped his thumb over it, catching the clear drop, and pressed it between Ricky’s lips. “Suck.”

Hollowing his cheeks, he sucked Van’s thumb the way Van had taught him—hard, consistent, and with a firm tongue.