Page 50 of Our Elliana

My climax lengthens and lasts as her body captures every drop of mine, and I wind up quivery by the time we flutter down from our extreme level of elation.

When she disconnects us and slides onto her side, Tristan catches her all too willingly.

Shoving his boxer briefs down in a rush, he growls out, “I’m coming on you now.”

Tristan strokes himself just once and sprays all over her hip, thigh, and stomach. She sighs, leans into him, and plants a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on his lips. Noah, hand over his pajama-clad erection, jumps up without warning and flees the room.

“Noah?” she cries out to him, sounding concerned, but he doesn’t come back.

TWENTY-ONE: Too Much

NOAH

I barely clear the room and lower my pajama bottoms and boxers in time to fountain all over my hand. Even then, I make a mess that spills down onto Elle’s carpet. Worse, I’m still hard. I think I might hear her calling out to me, but that may have been my imagination.

Bolting to my bedroom, I lock the door, then run to the bathroom and lock that, too. Secreted away like this, I rub another one out. My lungs seem to scream for oxygen once I’m finished, making me huff and puff like a freight train. After that, though, my body settles down.

Too bad my thoughts are still in turmoil.

I know I should feel like a sinner. Back at my church, I was taught that cleanliness is next to godliness, and what just transpired in Elliana’s room was anything but godly. I should feel dirty and disgraced. And part of me does. The boy who sat in a million bible studies and prayed before every meal does.

But I no longer feel like that innocent boy.

Maybe because I’m not.

Sex feels so good. Really, really good. And I care about Elle. So do Tristan and Jackson. I can tell. They’re upstanding guys who are beginning to feel more and more like my friends.

But I do have to wonder if what I witnessed between Jackson and Elle tonight was similar to how I looked while having relations with her on the dining room table. Had everything been that intense and... explicit?

What I’m feeling right now isn’t good, though. I feel disturbed. Rattled. Because while I appreciated the beauty of Elle’s feminine form, I also appreciated the men’s nudity.

And that’s not okay.

I slam my eyes shut on the visual of Tristan’s long length. I can remember every detail and every specification. His size and shape. His coloration and that he’s uncut. The throbbing pulse of it when he came. I never let myself notice any of this prior to tonight, and the minute I did, I nearly lost control.

And Jackson and Elle together? Watching the veininess of his glistening member disappearing inside her as he brought a finger around Elle’s hip to bury within her...

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