"Fuck me." There was a startled gasp, then, "Harder!"
"You want it bad, don't you?"
The sounds of slapping flesh accompanied the masculine voices emanating from the other side of the bedroom wall. Paul groaned and rolled over. His hard-on stabbed the mattress and he groaned again, this time from pain. It was gonna be a long, exhausting week if he had to listen to his bosses, the owners of Out-Houses--the newest, hottest gay interior designer company in Northern California--get it on in the living room every night.
Especially given his recent, secret aspiration of becoming the meat in their cum sandwich.
"Oh, yeah. Just like that. Don't stop."
Must be Alex doing the begging, the little slut. Paul pictured him on his knees, his fine caramel colored ass in the air. Desperate for what satisfaction only his partner could give him.
Toby's deep bass rumbled in response. "Heh. No worries there."
"Oh, fuck. More. More!"
Placing a pillow over his head didn't help stifle the erotic noises coming from the nearby room. If he had to hear it, then Paul wanted to see it. Feel it. Be fully engaged in the action. Eavesdropping was a poor substitute for sating carnal lust. Last night he'd been jet-lagged enough to fall asleep. A drag queen in full voice wouldn't have woken him. However, after spending the day shoulder to shoulder with his gorgeous employers, hunched over a work table studying a ream of concept drawings for a gay-oriented housing project, pinned between their two rock solid bodies...
Damn. Rock solid. Just like his cock.
He was never going to get to sleep as long as he had to listen to them fuck.
Paul tossed off the sheet covering him and slipped out through the sliding glass doors onto the balcony overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He didn't bother to dress. Dense shrubs on either side of the isolated beach house created a privacy screen from anyone walking along the cliffs. The only people he was likely to encounter were otherwise ... engaged.
Two long flights of stairs descended from the deck to meet a short expanse of pristine white sand. Paul didn't feel comfortable going near the water, in part because walking around in the dark in a strange, wild area had "potentially fatal" written all over it, but also because it took him farther away from where he really wanted to be. Inside. In the living room. On his knees. Sucking Alex's cock while Toby pounded into him from behind.
Like that's going to happen. Face it, Paulie, you may be ready, willing and able to bat for the home team, but that doesn't mean you'll get a chance to play in this ballpark.
Paul lifted his face to the ocean breeze, trying to clear his mind. He failed, miserably. No matter what lust-killing thoughts he injected into his brain, his libido returned him to the action inside. Toby's large frame, black skin over corded muscle, wrapped around Alex's lithe Latino body. Fucking like bunnies.
If it were just about the sex, he might have stood a chance at stemming this hormonal rampage, but Paul admired their internal qualities too. Both had high IQs and more ambition than a rookie Triple-A player after a spot on a major league bench. They were risk takers. Adrenaline junkies. And it was a good thing, because it would take as much guts as money to make their fledgling company, Out-Houses, a success.
But if anyone could do it, Toby and Alex were capable of pulling it off. Paul wasn't sure how these two alpha males managed to work together so well, or how long their partnership, in and out of bed, could last. Meeting them through their website had been a fluke when Paul needed help with his bathroom plumbing. They'd needed an architect though, and he was ready for a change in jobs. However, the youth of their business and their relationship made signing on with them a gamble. If they broke up, chances were the company wouldn't survive. Paul chose to take the risk with them. It was hard to walk away from a dream job.
And his dream of joining Alex and Toby during one of their lunchtime quickies.
Paul relaxed against the balcony rail. Moonlight spilled over his milk white skin, giving it a silvery sheen. He ran his hand down his chest, following the thin arrow of reddish-blond hair to his cock. In order to get any sleep at all, he'd have to appease his woodie sooner or later. Might as well be now.
But not quickly. Not something that would be over and forgotten in a minute like a quick jerk-off during a morning shower. Paul wanted to treat himself to something special. Something he'd remember for a long time to make up for the erotic ménage memories he'd have to live without.
A few moments of deep thought produced a workable plan. He was no Olympic athlete, but he had flexibility and balance. Therefore, it was no big deal to put one leg over the rail, his thigh resting on the weather-beaten wood so his balls and asshole were exposed to the night air. He massaged his sac with one hand and pumped his rapidly hardening dick with the other.
Paul had plenty of fantasy material, courtesy of his employers. Toby's long, thick boner jutting out from between his legs, ready for action. Alex's muscular ass being stretched wide, waiting to be fucked. How Paul would love to be the middle man, plunging his tongue into Alex's tight hole while Toby stuffed him completely from behind.
His imaginings were potent, nearly as good as being there. Or so he tried to fool himself into believing. It worked pretty well. His body was halfway to heaven already. Pre-cum leaked from his slit, leaving a thin, sticky trail across the plump head. Paul paused to bring a taste of that salty fluid to his lips. He pretended it belonged to one of his bosses as he lapped it up. "Mmm. Hot jiz."
Returning to his pulsing erection, he ran a finger around the head of his cock, spreading the sticky stuff around. Sometimes Paul dreamed of being fucked hard and fast. Sometimes slow and romantic. This time he wanted it all. A gradual buildup of passion until he hovered on the edge of orgasm, then fast, deep thrusts to drive him over it. Too bad he didn't have another pair of hands--or cocks--to help him get there...