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In the Heat of the Moment

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“God, get up here, you fucking hazard,” Randal groans, throwing an arm over his eyes, his hat falling off his head and onto the floor. “Becks, I don’t know how you deal with the fucking battering ram this guy has in his mouth, but shit gets sensitive after a while.” He squirms on the bed, pulling away from Dante, who laughs as he sits back on his knees.

“No complaints from my department,” Becky says from her chair by the bed. At eight months pregnant, her sex drive is pretty unpredictable while her guys remain steadily horny through rain or shine. But, alas, she’s always been a bit of a voyeur, so she knits crappy baby booties while Dante eats Randal out on the edge of the bed like he’s starving. “Just knock him on the head with your knee when you’ve had enough.”

Dante pulls back, wiping his mouth on his wrist. “Hey, one more concussion and they won’t let me play for the NFL,” he says, tugging Randal in by the hips, hands pressed to the back of Randal’s thighs like he’s ready to dive in for more. Randal’s ass is already rubbed completely red and raw from beard burn.

Becky decides she likes Randal like this—the man is never quiet, but when he’s getting his ass reamed, he’ll at least stop bitching for ten or fifteen minutes. And she knows what Dante can do with an ass. He’s excellent with a pussy, don’t get her wrong, but the man knows his way around the backdoor, and none of them are sophisticated enough to deny they’re all gross, kinky motherfuckers.

“God, are you fucking—you know, fine, wring another one out of me,” Randal says, breath hitching as he tangles his hand in Dante’s dark hair, back arching off the bed as Dante spreads his legs and goes in again. His cock is wet and red against his belly. “I’m easy. I’ll admit it.”

Becky snorts out a laugh and changes out her knitting needles. By the time she finds the skein of powder-blue yarn that rolled under the bed, Randal is shouting and writhing, toes curling, practically suffocating Dante between his legs as he comes for the second time, untouched, cock jerking against his stomach. Becky feels her cunt twinge in sympathy, but she’s way too tired to join in, so she settles on grinding her thighs together to the sound of Randal getting off on her husband’s mouth.

“Okay, you can fuck off now,” Randal says, voice gone hoarse and tired. He tugs at Dante’s hair, pulling him up onto the bed. “Don’t touch for me for like a week, I swear. Sometimes I’m worried you’ll get fucking lost down there.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” Dante says, good-natured and dopey and happy as ever, and motions Randal to come in for a sweaty, breathless kiss. “I know how to treat ‘em.”

Randel kisses him back, hard and sloppy, before flopping onto his back, chest still pumping as he catches his breath.

Becky laughs, working at a bad stitch, not bothering to hide her glee.

“Oh, god, what are you laughing at? Men can have multiple orgasms, too. I read it in Cosmo,” Randal says, flipping her the bird.

“It’s not that,” Becky says cheerfully. “It’s just…you went ass to mouth.” She grins at Randal, wide and radiant. “Your own ass to your own mouth.”

Dante groans, burying his face in a pillow, and Randal sits upright, face paling. “No,” he says, slowly. “I mean, that doesn’t count, does it? That’s not the true porn definition of ATM. Right?”

“If you’re going to puke, do it in the bathroom,” Dante says, voice muffled in the pillow.

“I’m not going to puke,” Randal says, throat stopping at the last word. “I’m chill. I mean, it’s just my own ass and my own…” he gags before racing off to the bathroom, stark naked, ass and thighs still chafed red from Dante’s beard.

Becky laughs, enjoying the scene from her safe chair in the corner. “There’s mouthwash in the cabinet,” she calls after him.

Dante peeks out from behind the pillow. “You just had to tell him that, didn’t you,” he says, but he’s smiling, too. “You know I have to kiss you now.”

“Oh,” Becky says, brandishing a knitting needle, “I dare you.”