Taming Tyler

Chapter Sixteen

Tyler

I ’m kissing Mitch. Okay, let’s just rewind. I, Tyler, am kissing Mitch. But that’s not even the craziest part. The craziest part is that Mitch is kissing me back. And he’s not just kissing me. No, he’s basically invading my mouth, his tongue licking into it, circling around my tongue, sucking it into his soft, warm mouth with an unparalleled hunger. Shit, I guess he wasn’t kidding. He wants me. They want me, too. And as fucked up as it probably is, I can’t seem to care. Because, holy fuck, while Mitch is kissing me like there’s no tomorrow, Cal has moved up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. As Mitch plunders my mouth, growling around my tongue, Cal whispers sweet nothings against my neck like ours, precious, safe. And baby . Oh, so many babies .

At this point, I’m almost certain that I’m dreaming. I must be. Things like this don’t happen to a guy like me. With the amount of alcohol I inhaled tonight, I think I probably went into a coma and now I’m dreaming all this shit up. I must be. Well, fuck it. I’ll deal with the brutal reality when I wake up. Please, drunk body, never wake up.

And then I’m suddenly flying above the ground and maybe I’m not dreaming after all. Maybe I’m already dead, and the good ol’ Lord beamed me up to heaven. Although, I never in a million years figured the elevator would be going up. But here I am, going up, up, up.

Two large hands are grabbing the back of my thighs, and I now realize that they’re Mitch’s hands, hoisting me up into his arms. On instinct, I wrap my legs around his waist, slinging my arms around his shoulders and holy fucking fuck train, Mitch is hard. All over. Hard planes of muscle beneath my fingers, making my mouth water. Whining pitifully, I ground my hips against him, our mouths still fused together. Shit, he smells good. Like all musky and manly and… like top-tier potent pheromones. His scent is like crack and it’s doing stuff to my body, to my dick. To my hole. It’s full-on clenching and unclenching, almost like it’s trying to clap some horny-ass tune. Fill me, fill me, fill me riiiight uuuupppp!

“We need to talk,” Mitch groans into my mouth, interrupting my butthole serenading his dick. I miss the connection instantly as he pulls away from me. Chasing his lips, I keep my eyes squeezed tight, because fuck no! No, no, no, I do not want to talk. I don’t. Talk is overrated. It always gets me into trouble and rarely the good kind. “Look at me,” Mitch chuckles, his chest rumbling against mine, his flannel-clad, bulky belly warm and soft against my bare stomach. “Look at me, love,” he purrs, and I slowly blink my eyes open. And holy hotness, Mitch looks fucking wrecked. His eyes are swimming with want, his lips all bruised and puffy, glistening with saliva. His hair looks fucking wild, too, sticking out in all directions, an explosion of browns and grays. He looks 100% edible, fuckable.. and now he wants to talk.

Shaking my head, I decide to bring forward my most sophisticated weapon: the bratty pout. I have many kinds of pouts in stock, ranging from the pretend-offended to the mock-horrified, but the bratty has, to this day, proven to be the most effective. It landed me a trip to St. Croix once when Mom forgot my birthday in one of her valium hazes, and a Gucci biker jacket to die for from a lover who wanted to watch me pee. Huh, I haven’t seen that in a while. Not the pee. The jacket. Wonder where it went.

“Ty,” Mitch sighs.

“I don’t wanna,” I whine, batting my eyelashes for good measure.

“Jesus,” Cal laughs, shaking his head. “Does that usually work?” He leans in, pressing a deliciously scruffy kiss against my cheek. “We. Need. To. Talk.” He presses the words into my skin with each kiss. Squirming, I shoot him my deadliest death glare.

“I. Don’t. Wanna!” I pout like I fucking mean it, and if I weren’t hanging around Mitch’s neck like a bratty baby kangaroo, I would be stomping my feet by now. “I wanna make out,” I huff and puff, then huff some more in Mitch’s arms. Fuck me, he’s strong. Ruthless. I wonder if he fucks ruthlessly, too. I bet he does.

“Yeah, there’ll be none of that before we’ve talked,” Mitch laughs and fuck, if that deep, growly, grizzly laugh of his doesn’t drive me even wilder with want for him. But from the look on his face—and the stern and extremely hot, manties-melting glare that Cal is shooting my way—I know they won’t cave. And somehow that’s even hotter than I thought. It’s like good cop, mean cop, only they’re both mean Daddies. Oh shit, I clamp my mouth tightly because I think I just said that out loud.

Scowling at him from under my eyelashes, I see Mitch looking at me, stunned, his mouth agape like his jaw is two seconds from falling right off and hitting the floor. Electricity crackles between us, and I try to wiggle my way out of his arms as I gulp, “I mean… I… that was not…” Mitch continues to hold me close, a fire in his eyes that I haven’t seen before. Does he…? Did he find that… hot ? The Daddy stuff?

Cal clears his throat, then croaks, “Let’s go to bed.” And because I apparently haven’t humiliated myself enough already, I stupidly blurt, “Yes, Daddy.”

“I… I know I should’ve tried harder. Back then. To fight for you,” Mitch whispers into the darkness, his chest heaving beneath my cheek. “I was afraid, I guess.”

“Of what?” I murmur, my fingers tangled in his T-shirt, Cal’s beefy arms wrapped around me from behind, as he presses soft kisses against my neck. It still feels surreal. This whole evening, night, whatever. Cal calling me baby . Mitch calling me love . Them telling me they want me. With them. All . The . Time . That’s what Mitch said. All the time. The kiss. The kiss of all kisses. Cal eventually taking charge, throwing me over his shoulder in a real firefighter-style carry, bringing me off to bed while I pretended to be all mortified, yelling, ‘ Let me go, you fucking brute. You ain’t the boss of me,’ while my slutty little boy heart secretly rejoiced, ‘ He is! He is! He sooo is the boss of you!’ Shut up, traitor heart! Go drown in the traitor soup!

“That it would blow back on you somehow. That Dale would take it out on you if I continued to fight.” There’s a slight tremble in Mitch’s voice, and I can tell it’s painful for him to talk about this. Talking about our shared past.

“Oh, he took it out on me, all right,” I chuckle bitterly. “But for entirely different reasons.”

“What do you mean?” Mitch stiffens beneath me and I know I probably shouldn’t, but I’m digging the protectiveness that oozes off him right now. Like earlier at the police station, too. The look that I now recognize as ‘ Where’s our boy?’ is written across Mitch and Cal’s faces again.

“He hurt you?” Cal grits behind me, getting up on his elbow, a storm moving across his tense face. He looks ready to murder someone.

“Not like that. Let’s just say that Dale the Dipshit had no lifelong dream tucked away of becoming a stepdaddy.” Cal seems to relax a little, and then he leans down, kissing Mitch first on the lips and then me on the forehead.

“He’ll never hurt you again,” Cal says, his voice unwavering. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

“That’s a big promise,” I tease. Jeez, they’re so serious.

“That’s an easy promise,” Mitch growls and fuck me; if I wasn’t already hard, I would be now. But I’ve been hard ever since that mind-blowing kiss that completely turned everything upside down. Then he claims my lips, sealing his promise with a deep kiss that has my toes curling and my heart fluttering in my chest. I moan into his mouth, high on the fact that for the first time in a long while, I feel safe. Cherished. Wanted. Cal shifts behind me, thrusting his hips against my ass, his hardness brushing against my crease.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasp into Mitch’s mouth and he swallows it, along with a string of whimpers. Because that’s what I am. A whimpering, needy mess. And just when I’m about to chastise myself for being too much, too needy, too… everything , Cal hums against my left ear, “Shit, baby boy, aren’t you just the sexiest fucking thing? Such a good little boy, aren’t you?” And before I can ask for a vowel—because what do you even fucking say to something like that?—Cal continues, his voice nothing but a low purr, “Isn’t he just the sexiest little thing ever, M? I bet he’s got the sweetest little cock, too.” And I’m done for. I’m gone. All the way to fucking La La Land where my mind has officially left the building or whatever.

“Daddy,” I whine, pushing my ass back against the outline of Cal’s hard cock behind his briefs while I cling to Mitch, just about ready to climb inside him and live there for all eternity.

“He is,” Mitch growls against my lips. “He’s the most precious boy in the world, Cal. And he’s ours.” Ours . That small pronoun echoes through my head while Cal’s warm hand finds its way down inside my briefs. The ‘ ours’ makes its way through every limb and every vein in my body as he cradles my cock like it’s a frail little bird, made out of the most precious porcelain.

“Ours,” Cal repeats as he pumps me tenderly, nibbling at my neck, biting the word into my skin.

“Ours,” Mitch presses the word against my lips again and again. So many times that I lose count. So many times I lose myself. In them. In this. Whatever it is. I don’t care if this is wrong. If it’s wrong, then I don’t want to be right. Because this feels right. It feels so fucking right, and I’ve gone so long feeling wrong. I don’t want to feel that way anymore. I want to feel cherished. Wanted. And loved. I want to feel loved. And this , right now, with them , the way they’re treating me, worshiping me, does feel a lot like love. It does.

“That’s it,” Cal coos, his hand grabbing me tighter, his movements still slow and steady as his bites become harder. “Such a good boy,” he moans, his dick digging into my ass. “Now come, baby. Come for me. Come for Mitch. Come for us.” And I do. I explode into a million little pieces, my Daddies’ names on my lips, tears trailing down my cheeks. I explode, but my Daddies hold me even tighter, keeping me together, keeping me from spinning out of control. Keeping me where I belong. Where I think I’ve always belonged.

With them.