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Sabotaging No Nut November - Chapter 3
🕑 Added 2025-11-11 22:00:05 +0000 UTCThe play-fighting stopped. Instantly. We froze, chests heaving, water streaming over us. His eyes locked onto mine, wide, pupils blown dark with shock and something else. Something dangerous. The air crackled. I could smell his soap, his sweat, the raw, musky scent of his arousal cutting through the steam. My own cock stirred, trapped against his thigh.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word ragged. He didn't move away. His grip on my wrist tightened, not hurting, but holding. Anchoring.
I moved. Subtly. Not pulling away. Shifting my hips just enough so my hardening length slid against the slick, hard muscle of his thigh. A low groan ripped from his throat. His eyes fluttered shut for a second.
That was the fracture point. He surged forward, his mouth crashing down onto mine. Not gentle. Desperate. Hungry. His tongue plunging past my lips, hot and demanding. His free hand tangled in my wet hair, pulling me closer, while the other slid down my back, gripping my ass, grinding his erection hard against my hip. The kiss was pure claiming, all teeth and slick heat. I kissed back with equal ferocity, biting his lip, my hand dropping from his wrist to wrap around the thick base of his cock. It jumped in my grip, impossibly hard, slick with water and pre-cum. I squeezed, pumping roughly, feeling the heavy vein pulsing beneath my fingers.
"Jesus, Evan," he gasped against my mouth, his hips bucking into my fist. His hand left my ass, shoving between our bodies, fumbling, then closing around my cock. His grip was almost too tight, calloused and urgent. He stroked me with frantic, jerky motions, his thumb smearing pre-cum over my head. We were a desperate tangle of limbs and steam and pounding water, grinding against each other, hands working furiously.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted, his breath hot on my neck. I could feel him swelling, pulsing in my hand. I twisted my wrist on the upstroke, thumb pressing hard under the swollen head. "Gonna… Evan, I'm gonna…!"
"Come on, Mace," I growled, my own release coiling tight. "Show me. Show me what you've been holding back." I dropped to my knees on the wet tiles, the water pounding my shoulders. I took him in my mouth, deep and fast, no finesse, just raw need. His cock hit the back of my throat. He tasted of salt and skin and pure lust. I sucked hard, hollowing my cheeks, one hand pumping the base, the other gripping his rock-hard ass.
He cried out, a sound ripped from deep in his chest. His fingers tightened in my hair, holding my head still as his hips snapped forward. "FUCK! YES! EAT IT!" he roared, his voice echoing in the tiled chamber. The hot, bitter flood hit the back of my throat, thick spurts pumping down. I swallowed, sucking him through it as he shuddered violently above me, his cock pulsing, his thighs trembling. He came like an explosion, guttural groans tearing out of him as he emptied himself into my mouth.
He sagged back against the tile, gasping, eyes glazed. Water streamed over his heaving chest. I stayed on my knees, catching my breath, the taste of him sharp on my tongue. My cock ached, throbbing and neglected. But that wasn't the point.
Then it happened. The sharp, insistent vibration. Not on my watch. On his.
Mason looked down at his wrist. The sleek face glowed an unmistakable, accusatory red. A sustained heart rate spike alert. Paired with the very obvious evidence dripping down my chin. His face, flushed with pleasure a second ago, drained of color. Horror replaced the dazed satisfaction in his eyes.
He was out. Day fucking three.
I slowly stood up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, a slow, predatory grin spreading across my face. The water suddenly felt cold. "Whoops," I said, my voice rough. "Looks like cold showers aren't foolproof, huh, Mace?"
He just stared at his watch, then at me, a mixture of shock, fury, and dawning humiliation twisting his features. He didn’t say a word. He just turned off the water with a violent twist, grabbed his towel, and stalked towards the lockers, leaving wet footprints on the tiles.
I leaned back against the shower wall, the adrenaline singing in my veins. One down. The faint vibration on my own wrist – my own heart pounding a frantic rhythm – was a secondary thrill. Tyler next? Or maybe the wildcard, Leo? The game was just getting interesting. My grin widened. Who’s next?
