Page 24 of 4-Ever

Jesus.

Faise punched his hips forward and the twin gagged. Christ, my balls were drawing up so tight it was near painful. My climax was almost there.

“That’s it, take my cock like the needy slut you are,” Faise growled.

The bed creaked and groaned as Faise pumped his hips frantically. When his body tensed, the look of pure pleasure on his face was unmistakable.

“Yes!”

I didn’t bother to contain my own shout as I came all over my hand and stomach, flooding the sheets with ropes of cum.

Welcome to Berlin, baby.

Faise’s confidence—on stage and off—kept growing and it was something else. My dick was still half hard as I watched the twins masturbate, covering Faise’s chest and abs in their cum.

Fucking hell, that was the hottest thing I’d witnessed in a while. Watching each other was always sexy. We didn’t have hang ups about our bodies or sex. We were young and always primed to fuck. And to watch other people fuck. It was all good.

Until one of the twins crawled up Faise’s body and leaned in to kiss him. My stomach flipped over and not in a good way.

It’s just the hangover.

I looked away, rolling over. Holls and Anton were awake now and watching Faise and the twins too. Anton was sucking on Holls’s neck and whispering that he wanted to fuck him.

My dick twitched but I was too exhausted after that monster orgasm to do anything about it.

The last thing I heard before I passed out was Faise’s husky laughter. Which surprised me. But more than that, I was annoyed. Because I was the one who made him laugh. Me.

I didn’t like this feeling at all.

CHAPTER 7

FAISE

AGE 24

The crowd was chanting “Wayward Lane! Wayward Lane!” as I sat behind my kit waiting for the curtain to rise.

I adjusted my earpiece and nodded at Ronin, who was warming up on his bass.

Then he sauntered towards me, and I swiveled on my stool. He crouched down in front of me, reaching out to place his hand around the back of my neck as I reached up and did the same to him, our foreheads touching.

It was our thing, before every performance. It started out the first time we did a show. Ronin was so nervous he thought he was having a literal heart attack. Until I placed a comforting hand on him and reassured the big guy that he was okay. We were gonna rock the shit outta that show. And we did. And we were still doing it.

I looked into Ronin’s summer blues and nodded, feeling grounded, and at the same time, ready to kick ass.

He pulled his hand back and I watched him walk back to take his mark on the stage. A few rolls of his shoulders and he was ready to go.

So was I. In more ways than one.

Touching my best friend was becoming a dangerous distraction. So, I did my own shoulder shrug, shaking off the intense ache that started in my chest and spread to the rest of my body.

This, I didn’t need.

Not now. Not ever.

I could never lose Ronin, so I had to remind my body to get the fuck over it. These feelings were worse than playing with fire. And letting them loose would be setting my whole world ablaze.

Besides, I had plenty of male attention. Whenever we’d have a show, there were guys lined up to meet us. Before and after. Add to that, a hit of coke, a couple of drinks, and my feelings for my BFF faded away like my worries.

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