“Fuck,” I groaned, the word hot against his skin. “I want to taste you both.”
Mike’s hand, still tangled in my hair, stilled. I felt the sudden tension in the air, a shift as palpable as a door slamming shut.
Jake, whose thigh I was straddling, let out a low whistle. “Whoa, Erica. You’re full of surprises tonight.”
An hour ago, that wouldn’t have been true.
The pulsing bass of the Waikiki club had been a tangible force, pushing bodies together under the neon haze. My best friend Katrina and I, dressed in shimmering fabrics that clung to every curve, had been a united front on the dance floor, laughing and moving with the easy confidence of a girls’ night out. That’s where we’d caught their eyes. Mike, tall and athletic with a calm, watchful gaze, and Jake, his build more compact, with a quick, disarming smile. The connection was instant, electric—a shared round of shots, bodies pressing closer on the crowded dance floor, whispered compliments lost in the music. The plan was simple, deliciously predictable: take the party back to my apartment.
The vibe was perfect. Low lights, good music from my speaker, the clink of glasses as we mixed another round of drinks. Katrina was flirting brilliantly with Jake, her laughter ringing out, while Mike’s intense focus was entirely on me, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my bare arm. The promise of a paired-off, straightforward night hung in the air, sweet and inevitable.
Then Katrina’s phone buzzed. The frantic call from her younger sister, stranded with a dead car battery across town. Her face fell. “I’m so sorry, you guys. I have to go.”
The deflation was mutual, but she insisted we stay. “Don’t let me ruin the night! Seriously, Erica, enjoy yourself.” A quick hug, a meaningful glance at me, and she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving a sudden, heavy silence with two near-strangers in my living room.
The dynamic shifted, awkwardly at first. But the drinks were there, and the attraction hadn’t vanished. We talked, the conversation dipping into more personal territory without Katrina’s buoyant presence. Both Jake and Mike worked at a supermarket. I felt their eyes on me, a dual attention that began to coil something low in my belly, something more complicated than a simple one-on-one hookup. The idea didn’t form in words, not at first. It was a heat, a want that expanded, filling the space Katrina left behind. Why choose?
I topped off our glasses, my movements deliberate. “So,” I said, my voice a little huskier than I intended. “Change of plans.”
I stood up, the silky fabric of my dress whispering against my thighs. I didn’t look at Mike, whose hesitation I could already feel radiating from the couch. My focus was on Jake, who watched me with open, intrigued curiosity. I stepped between his knees where he sat in the armchair.
“You’re staying, right?” I asked, though it wasn’t really a question.
Jake’s grin was all the answer I needed. I leaned down, capturing his mouth in a deep, slow kiss, tasting the rum on his tongue. My hands went to the thin straps of my dress. I broke the kiss, holding his gaze as I slid the first strap down my shoulder, then the second. The cobalt-blue material pooled at my breasts for a heartbeat before I let it fall to my waist, then completely, piling at my feet. I stood before them in a sheer lacy black bra and no panties, revealing my clean-shaven pussy.
Mike’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound. I turned to him, finally. His jaw was tight, conflict warring in his dark eyes. “Erica, I don’t know…”
“Shhh,” I murmured, crossing back to the couch. I knelt on the cushion beside him, my fingers going to the button of his jeans. “Just feel.” The denim was rough under my fingertips. I popped the button, tugged the zipper down. His erection strained against his boxers, a clear, tempting outline. I hooked my fingers into the waistbands of both jeans and boxers and pulled, freeing him.
He was thick, beautifully so, already glistening at the tip. I didn’t hesitate. I bent my head and took him into my mouth, all at once, swallowing him deep. Salt and heat and pure male. His hips jerked off the couch, a choked groan tearing from his throat. My tongue swirled around the head, then traced the rigid vein along his shaft.
While I lavished attention on Mike, my left hand snaked across the cushion, reaching for Jake. He’d already moved, drawn to the spectacle. He stood beside the couch, his own pants pushed down to his thighs. My fingers found him, wrapping around his hard length. He was different—longer, slightly curved. I began to stroke him in a slow, firm rhythm, my thumb rubbing over his slick tip on each upstroke.
For a moment, it was just the sounds: wet, sucking pulls on Mike, the soft friction of my hand on Jake, their ragged breathing harmonizing. The duality of it overwhelmed my senses—the full, stretching sensation in my mouth, the smooth, hot weight in my hand. This. This is what I wanted.
I pulled off Mike with a lewd pop, a string of saliva connecting my lips to his glistening crown. I turned my head, maintaining eye contact with Jake as I guided him to my mouth. I took him in, his different shape a new pleasure to explore. My right hand immediately found Mike again, stroking him with the same pace I’d used on Jake, keeping him hard, keeping him wanting.
Back and forth I went, a rhythm building. Sucking Jake deep, feeling him hit the back of my throat, while my fist worked relentlessly on Mike. Then switching, taking Mike back into the warm, wet depths of my mouth, my other hand never stopping its motion on Jake. The men began to move, tentatively at first, then with more urgency. Mike’s fingers speared into my hair, not guiding, just holding on. Jake braced a hand on the back of the couch, his hips pushing forward gently, meeting my mouth.
“God, your mouth,” Jake gasped.
“Don’t stop,” Mike gritted out, his voice strained.
I didn’t. The scent of them, the taste, the symphony of their pleasure, it was intoxicating. My own need was a throbbing ache between my legs, ignored but growing with every gasp I drew from them. This was power. This was hunger. I was the conductor, and their bodies were my instruments. I lost myself in the mechanics of it, the flawless, filthy coordination. Suck, stroke. Switch. Suck, stroke. My world narrowed to cock and taste and sound.
Jake’s movements became less controlled, his thrusts into my mouth more deliberate. “Erica, I’m gonna…” he warned, his voice tight.
I hummed in response, the vibration making Mike shout. I quickened my pace on him, my hand a blur. I wanted them there, on the edge, together. For me.
Jake’s voice, ragged and thick with need, cuts through the wet sounds of my mouth on Mike. “Enough,” he growls.
His hands are suddenly on my shoulders, pulling me up. My lips slide off Mike with a gasp, a string of saliva snapping against my chin. The sudden change in altitude makes my head spin, the room tilting for a second.
“Up,” Jake commands, his voice leaving no room for debate. He’s not rough, but he’s decisive. His grip is firm, steering me by the shoulders until I’m standing on shaky legs between them. The cool air of the apartment hits my wet lips, my flushed cheeks. I can feel both of them, hard and eager, brushing against my thighs.
Mike is still seated on the couch, his chest heaving, his cock jutting up, flushed and slick from my mouth. He watches, his dark eyes wide, conflicted, but burning with a heat that mirrors my own.
Jake doesn’t hesitate. He turns me, my back to his chest. His hands slide down my arms, over the lace of my bra, coming to rest on my hips. “Bend over,” he murmurs into my ear, his breath hot. “Right here.”
He guides me forward, toward the back of the plush couch. I comply, my own heartbeat a frantic drum in my ears. The soft fabric meets my palms as I lean over, my ass pushed out toward him. The position is obscene, vulnerable, and it sends a fresh, sharp jolt of desire straight to my core. My bare pussy…eager and ready.
I look back over my shoulder. Jake is kicking his pants the rest of the way off, his erection bobbing free. He meets my gaze, his charming smile gone, replaced by a focused, predatory intensity. Behind him, Mike stands up, moving like a man in a trance. He comes to stand beside the couch, near my head.
“You okay?” Mike asks, his voice low, strained. The question isn’t about consent—that ship has sailed—it’s about something deeper, a thread of concern he can’t seem to sever.
I answer by opening my mouth, by leaning my head toward him. An invitation. A demand. I need you both.
He understands. He closes the distance, his fingers gently brushing my hair back from my face before he guides himself to my lips. I take him back in, the familiar, thick weight a comfort, a promise. The taste of him, of me, of us, floods my senses.
As my mouth closes around Mike, I hear the tear of a foil packet. He came prepared. The sound is clinical, but the implication is wildly erotic. A moment later, I feel the broad, blunt head of him nudging against my entrance. I’m wet, so wet, my own arousal a slick, welcoming heat.
He doesn’t ask. He pushes in.
Oh, God.
It’s a full, stretching invasion. Jake is long, and he fills me in one slow, deliberate stroke. My mouth tightens around Mike in a muffled moan. The dual sensation is overwhelming, catastrophic. The hard length in my mouth, the hard length sinking deep inside me. I’m pinned between them, a conduit for their pleasure, and it’s everything.
Jake sets a pace immediately, a deep, rhythmic fucking that rocks my whole body forward with each thrust. My tits, still confined in the lacy bra, press against the back cushions of the couch. Each impact sends a shockwave through me. He grips my hips hard, his fingers digging into my soft flesh, holding me in place for his relentless drives.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” Jake grunts, his voice strained with effort. “Taking me so deep, Erica.”
I can only answer with a hum around Mike’s cock, the vibration making him groan and fist his hand in my hair. My world has fractured into pure physical sensation. The slide of Jake in and out of me, a steady, building friction that coaxes a white-hot coil of pleasure tighter and tighter in my belly. The salty-sweet taste of Mike on my tongue, the way his hips begin to move in tiny, involuntary jerks, feeding me more of him.
I lose all sense of coordination. My hand, which had been braced on the couch, flies back, groping blindly. I find Jake’s thigh, the hard muscle flexing with every thrust. I dig my nails in, needing an anchor.
Jake’s pace quickens. He’s pounding into me now, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, a lewd counterpoint to the wet sucks and groans. Each drive pushes my face further onto Mike, and I take him deeper, my throat opening, relaxing to accept him. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes from the intensity, from the sheer, filthy fullness.
“Look at her,” Jake pants, his words coming in bursts between thrusts. “Look at her take us both, Mike.”
Mike’s moan is a broken sound. His control is slipping. His thrusts into my mouth become more pronounced, a mirror of Jake’s rhythm. I’m the pivot point between their motions, a living, breathing hinge of pleasure. Jake’s cock is hitting a spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. My own moans are trapped around Mike, vibrating through his shaft.
Jake leans over me, his chest plastered to my sweaty back. One hand leaves my hip and slides around my waist, down, his fingers seeking the aching, swollen bud between my legs. He finds it instantly, a rough, circling pressure that makes my entire body seize.
The coil snaps.
My orgasm crashes into me without warning, a tidal wave of pure, mindless ecstasy. My back arches violently, pulling my mouth off Mike with a choked cry. My inner muscles clamp down on Jake’s thrusting cock in a series of frantic, fluttering pulses. Pleasure radiates out from my core, washing down my thighs, up my spine, turning my limbs to liquid. I’m screaming, but the sound is muffled by the couch cushion my face is pressed into.
“That’s it, come for me,” Jake grunts, never stopping his relentless fucking, riding out the violent contractions of my body. His fingers on my clit become relentless, driving the waves higher, longer.
Through the haze, I feel Mike’s hands on my face. He turns my head gently. His eyes are glazed, his expression one of raw, desperate need. He’s so close. I open my mouth for him again, a silent plea.
He doesn’t need more encouragement. He slides back in, and I suck him with a renewed, hungry focus, my body still quaking with the aftershocks of my own climax. The taste of him is all I know. The feel of Jake, still pounding into my sensitive, overspent flesh, is a brutal, exquisite contrast.
Jake’s rhythm becomes erratic, frantic. His hips stutter. “Gonna come,” he grunts, the words ripped from him. He slams into me one last time, hilting himself deep, and I feel the hot pulse of him through the condom, a final, intimate claim.
The sensation triggers something in Mike. With a ragged shout, his hands tightening in my hair, he thrusts deep into my mouth and stills. The salty, bitter rush hits the back of my throat. I swallow instinctively, again and again, taking all of him as his body shudders above me.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of three people gasping for air, the smell of sex and sweat heavy in the room. Jake collapses over me, his weight a warm, comforting pressure. He slowly pulls out, and I feel a sudden, hollow emptiness. Mike’s softening length slips from my lips.
Jake rolls off to the side, sinking onto the couch beside me. I don’t move, still bent over, my arms trembling. Mike slowly sinks to his knees in front of me, his breathing gradually slowing. He reaches out, his thumb wiping a stray tear from my cheek. His expression is unreadable—awe, confusion, satiation.
“Erica…” he starts, his voice hoarse.
Jake’s question hangs in the air, unfinished, lost to the heavy stillness. The room smells of us—sweat, sex, salt. My body is a limp, boneless thing draped over the couch, my panties still tangled around my knees. I feel hollowed out, yet thrumming with a residual energy. Not enough. It’s a quiet, insistent whisper in the back of my skull.
Mike’s thumb is still on my cheek, a warm point of contact. His gaze searches mine, looking for something I’m not sure I have the capacity to give. Answers. Regret. Something other than the pure, carnal hunger that’s already beginning to stir again, rising from the ashes of my climax.
“I’m…” he begins again, but I push myself up, my arms trembling. The movement breaks his touch.
“I’m not done,” I say, my voice rough, raw from taking him so deep. It’s not a statement to him. It’s a declaration to the room, to myself.
I turn, my back against the couch, and slide down to sit on the floor between them. Jake is sprawled on the couch to my left, one arm flung over his eyes, his chest still glistening. Mike kneels on the floor to my right, his body a beautiful, tense sculpture in the low light. I look from one to the other, the taste of both of them still on my tongue.
Mike pulls on his boxers, then his jeans, the zipper sounding harsh in the quiet. He finds his shirt, shrugs it on without buttoning it.
“Mike?” My voice is a rasp.
He finally glances at me, but his gaze slides away, focusing on a point somewhere over my head. His jaw is tight, that beautiful conflict from earlier back in full force, but now it’s hardened into something else. Regret? Disgust? I can’t tell.
“I should go,” he says, his voice flat.
“What? Why?” Jake asks, shifting beside me. He sounds more curious than concerned.
Mike just shakes his head, a short, sharp movement. “This was… a lot.” He finally meets my eyes, and there’s a distance there that feels like a physical slap. “I’m not… built for this, Erica.”
The disappointment hits me like a wave, cold and shocking. It’s not just about the sex ending. It’s him. The one whose intensity had felt like a deeper connection, whose hesitation had felt like a challenge I’d wanted to win. The one I’d preferred. And he’s walking away, dressed and detached, like the last hour was a mistake.
“You don’t have to leave,” I say, but the words lack conviction. I don’t want to beg.
“Yeah, I do.” He finds his shoes, shoves his feet into them without untying the laces. He’s at the door in three long strides. He pauses, hand on the knob, and looks back one last time. Not at Jake. At me. His dark eyes are unreadable pools. “Take care of yourself.”
Then he’s gone. The door clicks shut, a soft, final sound.
The room feels instantly emptier, colder. The ghost of him is still in the air—his scent, the memory of his deep, measured thrusts, the taste of him on my tongue. I slump back, sitting on the floor, the cool hardwood a shock against my bare skin.
“Well,” Jake says, breaking the silence. He sounds utterly unbothered. “His loss.”
I glance at him. He’s leaning back against the couch, completely at ease, his softening cock resting on his thigh. He grins at me, that charming, disarming smile back in place. “Don’t look so down, gorgeous. The night’s still young.”
Is it? I feel a sudden, crushing weariness. But beneath it, under the disappointment, the raw, aching need is still there. It didn’t leave with Mike. It’s a low, persistent throb between my legs, a hungry echo of the intense sensations that just rocked my body. My flesh is still sensitive, still wet. The emptiness Mike left inside me feels like a craving.
Jake sees it. His eyes drop to where my thighs are pressed together. His smile turns predatory again. “You’re still hungry, aren’t you?”
I don’t trust myself to speak. I just nod.
He pushes off the couch and sinks to his knees in front of me. His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my legs apart, reaching the lips of my wet pussy. His touch is possessive, sure. “I can fix that.”
He leans in, two fingers enter me, and his mouth finds mine in a deep, claiming kiss. It’s not gentle. It’s a reclamation. His tongue pushes past my lips, and I taste myself on him, mixed with the salt of his skin. The kiss stokes the embers inside me, fans them back into a low flame. My hands come up, gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer.
He breaks the kiss, his breath hot on my face. “One more time,” he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. “Just you and me.”
He guides me onto my back on the floor. The hardwood is unforgiving, but I don’t care. He settles between my legs, his weight a welcome anchor. He reaches for his discarded jeans, fumbling in a pocket. He pulls out the empty foil packet, then pats the other pocket. His brow furrows. He checks the pockets again, more frantically.
“Shit,” he mutters.
“What?”
“Out. I’m out.” He looks down at me, his expression a mix of frustration and raw desire. “That was the last one.”
The significance hangs between us. The condom. The barrier. The thin line between what we’ve been doing and something else. My mind screams a dozen warnings, but my body screams louder. It’s a throbbing, insistent demand. The memory of being filled, first by him, then by Mike, is too fresh, too potent. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to think.
I look up at him, at the desire burning in his eyes. What the hell.
“Just… don’t stop,” I breathe.
His eyes widen for a fraction of a second, then darken with pure, unadulterated lust. “You sure?”
“Yes.” The word is a gasp.
He doesn’t need more. He braces himself above me, his cock nudging against my soaked entrance. This time, there’s no latex, no barrier. Just skin on skin. The feeling is electrifying. The heat of him is more intense, more real. The slick, velvety head of him presses against me, and I gasp at the intimate contact.
He pushes in.
Oh, God.
It’s different. So different. I can feel every ridge, every pulse of him. The sensation is overwhelming, almost too much. He’s thick, and the bare friction as he slides deeper is a white-hot brand of pleasure. I cry out, my back arching off the floor.
“Fuck, Erica,” he groans, his voice shattered. “You feel… incredible.”
He starts to move, and it’s like the first time all over again, but magnified, intensified. Each thrust is a deep, searing stroke that scrapes against my most sensitive inner walls. The wet, slapping sound of our bodies meeting is lewder, more primal. I can feel the exact moment he’s fully seated inside me, the press of his pelvis against my clit sending jolts of pure lightning through my core.
He sets a brutal, relentless pace. There’s no finesse now, no playful command. It’s pure, raw fucking. His hips piston against mine, driving the air from my lungs with each impact. My nails scrape down his back, needing to hold on, to ground myself in this torrent of sensation. The hardwood floor is unforgiving, grinding against my shoulder blades, but the pain is a distant counterpoint to the pleasure ripping through me.
“Take it,” he grunts, his face buried in the crook of my neck. “Take all of me.”
I’m so full. So utterly, completely filled. The feeling of him, bare and urgent inside me, unlocks something feral. My legs wrap around his waist, locking him in, pulling him deeper with every drive. My heels dig into the small of his back, urging him on. The coil in my belly, so recently spent, tightens again with shocking speed. This is different—a deeper, more visceral build. It’s not just about friction; it’s about the raw, intimate connection, the terrifying, thrilling risk of it.
His rhythm becomes frantic, desperate. He’s panting, his sweat dripping onto my chest. “I’m close,” he warns, his voice a raw scrape. “So close.”
“Don’t pull out,” I gasp, the words shocking even me. I don’t want him to. In this moment, I want the ultimate culmination, the final, messy proof of this night. “Just… give it to me…I need your cum in my pussy.”
His control shatters. With a ragged, guttural shout, he slams into me one last time, hilting himself impossibly deep. I feel him pulse, a hot, throbbing rush that floods my core. The sensation is unmistakable—a series of intense, wet bursts deep inside me. It’s warm, intimate, claiming.
The feeling triggers my own climax. It crashes over me, a wave of pure, convulsive ecstasy that has me screaming into the empty room. My body locks around his, milking him, drawing out every last hot drop as my own pleasure rips through me in violent, shuddering waves. It’s longer, deeper than the others, a full-body surrender that leaves me trembling and breathless.
He collapses on top of me, his weight heavy, his breath hot and ragged in my ear. We lie there, tangled on the hard floor, for what feels like an eternity. The only sound is our harsh breathing. Slowly, softening, he slips out of me. I feel the immediate, warm trickle between my thighs, a visceral reminder.
He rolls off with a groan, landing on his back beside me. “Holy fuck,” he breathes.
I don’t answer. I can’t. My body is humming, every nerve alight. The disappointment over Mike is still there, a dull ache in my chest, but it’s buried under a mountain of physical satiation and the sheer, reckless thrill of what we just did.
Fatigue hits me like a truck. The adrenaline, the alcohol, the multiple, shattering orgasms—it all catches up at once. My limbs feel like lead. I don’t remember moving to the couch. I must have, because the next thing I know, I’m curled on the soft cushions, a blanket somehow over me. Jake is beside me, his arm thrown over my waist, his breathing already deep and even.
Darkness swallows me whole.
*
Morning light is a brutal intruder, slicing through the gaps in my blinds. I groan, my body protesting as I shift. Every muscle aches with a deep, pleasant soreness. Memories flood back—the club, Katrina leaving, the taste of two men, Mike’s retreat, the raw, condomless intensity with Jake.
I’m alone on the couch. For a second, I think Jake left like Mike. Then I hear the soft clink of a mug from the kitchen.
I sit up, wincing. The blanket falls away. I’m still naked, and the evidence of last night is dried on my inner thighs. I grab the blanket, wrapping it around myself like a shield, and pad into the kitchen.
Jake is there, shirtless, wearing his jeans from last night. He’s found my coffee and is pouring a cup. He looks… comfortable. At home.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says, smiling that easy smile. He holds out the mug. “Coffee?”
I take it, the heat seeping into my hands. “Thanks.”
He leans against the counter, sipping his own coffee, watching me. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like the dead.” I sip the coffee, avoiding his eyes. The domesticity of the scene feels wrong, clashing violently with the memories of what we did on this floor just hours ago.
“Good.” He sets his mug down. “So, I was thinking… I don’t have any plans today. We could grab some brunch, maybe hit the beach later? I know a great spot.”
He says it casually, but the intention is clear. He’s not planning on leaving. He’s settling in. Unknowingly, the word from my own fantasy echoes in my head. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that for me, this was about the night. The thrill. The fuck. Mike was the connection I’d wanted to linger; Jake was the perfect, daring finish. But that’s all it was. A finish.
A cold knot forms in my stomach. I look at the clock on the microwave. “I… actually, I have to get ready for work.”
His smile falters. “Work? It’s Saturday.”
“Retail,” I say, the lie coming easily. “Big sale weekend. I’m on in an hour.” I turn, walking back toward the bedroom, clutching the blanket tight. “I need to shower and head out.”
I feel his gaze on my back, confused, a little hurt. But I don’t turn around. In the bathroom, under the scalding spray, I wash away the night—the sweat, the salt, the dried traces of him. The water is hot, but I still feel a chill. The emptiness is back, but it’s different. It’s not just physical.
I dress quickly in jeans and a simple top, pulling my hair into a messy bun. When I emerge, Jake is still in the kitchen, his coffee gone cold. He looks like a stranger.
“I gotta run,” I say, grabbing my purse and keys.
“Oh. Okay.” He tries for the charming smile again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I’ll see you around? At the club or something?”
“Maybe,” I say, already at the door. “Thanks for… last night.” The words feel cheap.
I don’t wait for a response. I slip out, closing the door on him, on the mess, on the lingering scent of sex. The morning air outside is clean and fresh. I start walking to the supermarket where i work, the click of my sandals on the sidewalk a steady rhythm.
My body is sated, sore in the best way. But my mind is already somewhere else. It drifts back to dark, intense eyes, to a hesitation that felt like depth, to a connection that felt like it could have been something before it vanished out the door.
Mike…