Page 61 of Carry Your Debt

Please let go.

Hermes’s tongue peeks from between rosy lips as he meets Apollo’s glower head on; both waiting for permission and challenging his resolve. Apollo’s fingers curl into the padded armrests of the chair and his nostrils flare. And like the quintessential brat that he is, Miller’s hand never stops stroking.

Please.

Minutes tick by.

Guys, I’m literally begging you here.

Please just take his fucking dick out of his pants.

Just as I swear I’m about to expire from the anticipation alone, Apollo looks down his aquiline nose at Hermes.

“Take it out,” he commands.

YES.

Hermes leans straight in, long fingers tugging down Apollo’s waistband in an eager bid to free his erection. When it springs forth, the head kisses Hermes’s cheek and leaves behind a thick trail of pre-cum.

Without another word, Apollo spears his hand through the golden locks that hover over his lap, guiding their owner roughly down. The entire length of him then disappears down Hermes’s throat in a move so hot it has me clenching down on absolutely nothing—like my pussy’s trying to telegraph an emergency message back to Dionysus:

L A K E M I L L E R S T O P

N O G A G R E F L E X S T O P

“Sogoodfor me,” Apollo grinds out.

I nod in enthusiastic agreement.So good.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly laments in a ragged voice, and I suck in a breath.

But it’s not an apology.

It’s awarning.

Because Apollo’s now holding Hermes’s head hostage and fucking up into his mouth with absolutelyzeromercy.

I realize then, thatthisis him: raw and uncut.

Without the crisp uniform and equally crisp sneer.

This is Tristan Sinclair finallygiving in.

And he’s unleashing more and more tension with each violent thrust.

Hermes takes every bit of the abuse; happily, if the consenting groans and the tent in his own sweatpants are anything to judge by. It makes me wonder just how often he lets him use him like this—like his throat’s nothing more than a therapeutic speed bag.

“Sogood,” Apollo pants a second time.

Christ.Just thesoundscoming from the pair of them, let alone the picture they make. These two are going to bela petite mortof me.

When I can no longer ignore the SOS call my clit’s transmitting, I slowly ease my weight forward and onto my knees, the hardwood floor now blessedly cool against my heated skin. My fingers snake beneath my skirt, seeking to grant any kind of relief they can. Thankfully, I’m alreadyright there, thanks to their unintentional edging.

The wet slaps of Apollo’s hips slowly start to bleed into the sights and sounds of another night.

Of the cold press of tiles lining a blue-lit nightclub restroom floor.

Of the distant thump of industrial bass.

---