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Home Court Advantage

The custom-made bed was ridiculous. It was a sprawling expanse of high-thread-count sheets and memory foam, wider than a standard California King, designed with only one purpose in mind: to fit three full-grown professional athletes without anyone catching an elbow to the face in the middle of the night.

Rylan Pierce stood at the foot of it, arms crossed over his chest, admiring the purchase.

“It’s too big,” Asher said, though the way he tested the mattress with his hand suggested he didn’t actually mind.

“It’s necessary,” Rylan corrected. He loosened his tie—they’d just come back from a foundation gala, and all three were still dressed in formal wear that cost more than most cars. “Damon sleeps like a starfish, and you cling like a koala. I need space to breathe.”

“I do not cling,” Asher protested, flushing pink.

“You cling,” Damon Kix rumbled from the doorway. He’d already ditched his jacket and was unbuttoning his dress shirt, revealing the geometric ink that curled over his golden-tan chest. “But I like it. Makes it easier to know you’re still there.”

Damon walked into the room, the heavy thud of his steps muffled by the plush carpet. He stopped behind Asher, wrapping thick arms around the rookie’s waist and pulling him back against his chest.

“We haven’t properly christened it yet,” Damon murmured into Asher’s ear, his voice dropping to that low, rough register that made Asher’s knees weak. “We’ve slept in it. We’ve messed around in it. But we haven’t used it.”

Rylan’s eyes, icy blue and sharp, locked onto Asher’s. “Damon’s right. For a bed this expensive, I expect a return on investment.”

Asher swallowed hard, the heat already pooling low in his belly. “What kind of return?”

“The kind where you don’t move until we say so,” Rylan said, his voice dropping into that cool, commanding tone that Asher craved. “The kind where we remind you exactly who owns this house, this bed, and you.”

“Strip,” Rylan ordered.

Asher moved to obey, but Damon’s hands tightened on his hips.

“No,” Damon said. “Let us.”

Rylan smiled—a rare, predatory thing—and moved to join them. “I like that idea.”

What followed was a slow, methodical dismantling. Rylan worked on the buttons of Asher’s shirt, his long, elegant fingers precise and efficient. Damon worked from behind, his hands sliding under the fabric to map the planes of Asher’s stomach, his thumbs digging into the V of Asher’s hips.

“You’re tense,” Damon noted, biting gently at the sensitive cord of Asher’s neck.

“Anticipation,” Asher gasped as Rylan pushed the shirt off his shoulders. “You two look like you’re about to devour me.”

“We are,” Rylan promised. He dropped to his knees—a movement so fluid it shouldn’t have been possible for a man of his height—and began to work on Asher’s belt. “We’ve had to be good all night. Smiling for cameras. Shaking hands with donors. Pretending we weren’t thinking about this exact moment for four hours straight.”

The belt clicked open. The zipper hissed. Rylan pulled Asher’s trousers down, leaving him in just his boxer briefs, already tented with need.

“Beautiful,” Rylan murmured, his breath hot against Asher’s thigh. “Look at you. So eager for us.”

Damon kicked off his own pants and guided Asher onto the bed. The mattress absorbed their weight instantly. Asher lay back in the center, looking up at the two men who had completely upended his life.

Rylan, lean and terrifyingly controlled. Damon, broad and raw and powerful.

And both of them looking at him like he was the only thing in the world worth winning.

“Arms up,” Rylan commanded.

Asher reached for the headboard. Rylan didn’t tie him—they didn’t need ropes tonight. Rylan’s gaze was tether enough.

“Spread your legs.”

Asher obeyed, and Rylan settled between his knees, while Damon crawled up the bed to hover over him, creating a canopy of muscle and heat.

“I missed you today,” Damon said, bracing his weight on his forearms so he didn’t crush Asher. He kissed him, slow and deep, tasting of champagne and possessiveness.

While Damon occupied his mouth, Rylan went to work on his body. He stripped the boxer briefs away with a quick tug, tossing them to the floor.

“Good boy,” Rylan praised when Asher lifted his hips to help. “Always so responsive.”

Rylan’s hands were cool, likely from the gel he was applying, and when he touched Asher—slick, confident strokes—Asher bucked into the contact.

“Easy,” Damon rumbled against his lips. He broke the kiss to trail wet heat down Asher’s throat. “We have all night. No one is watching. No cameras. Just us.”

“Please,” Asher begged, his head tossing on the pillow. “Rylan, please.”

“Please what?” Rylan asked, his thumb pressing purposefully against Asher’s entrance. “Use your words, Rookie.”

“Stretch me,” Asher gasped. “Make me ready. I want—I want both of you.”

Rylan’s eyes darkened. “Greedy.”

“He gets that from me,” Damon grinned, shifting his weight. He moved down, replacing Rylan’s hands with his mouth on Asher’s cock, taking him deep with a skill that made Asher’s vision white out.

At the same time, Rylan pushed one finger inside him, then two. The dual sensation—Damon’s hot mouth swirling around him and Rylan’s clinical, perfect stretching—was overwhelming.

Asher was trapped in a sensory overload of pleasure. The sound of Damon’s suction, the wet slick noise of Rylan working him open, the scent of expensive cologne and arousal filling the air.

“That’s it,” Rylan coached, adding a third finger. “Relax. Open up for us. You know you can take it.”

“Damon—” Asher choked out. “Too good—I’m gonna—”

Damon pulled off immediately, leaving Asher’s cock wet and glistening in the dim light. “Not yet. You don’t come until we’re both inside you.”

“Can I?” Asher looked between them, desperate. “Is it… will I fit?”

“You’ve done it before,” Rylan reminded him, withdrawing his hand and reaching for a condom. “And this time, we have the home court advantage. No rushing. No hiding.”

Damon sheathed himself and moved behind Asher, pulling him up so Asher was on his hands and knees.

“I want to see you take him,” Damon said to Rylan. “I want to watch you fill him up.”

Rylan positioned himself behind Asher. “You heard him. Arch your back.”

Asher dipped his spine, presenting himself. Rylan gripped his hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh, and pushed in.

It was one smooth, devastating motion. Rylan filled him completely, hitting that spot deep inside that made Asher’s toes curl.

“Fuck,” Rylan hissed, his forehead resting against Asher’s shoulder blades. “You feel incredible. So tight. So mine.”

“Ours,” Damon corrected.

He moved to the front, kneeling so he was face-to-face with Asher. “Open your mouth.”

Asher didn’t hesitate. He took Damon in, the thick familiarity of him grounding him while Rylan began to move behind him.

It was a rhythm they had perfected over the last few months. Rylan thrusting deep and slow, claiming him from behind, while Damon fed himself to Asher from the front, controlling the pace with his hands on the back of Asher’s head.

Asher was completely full. Stuffed. Surrounded.

Every thrust from Rylan pushed him further onto Damon. Every gag reflex was soothed by Damon’s hand in his hair, grounding him.

“Look at him,” Rylan groaned, his composure slipping as he picked up the pace. “Taking us both. Like he was made for it.”

“He was,” Damon growled.

Damon pulled out of Asher’s mouth, needing more contact. He pushed Asher down onto the mattress so he was flat on his stomach, Rylan still buried deep inside him.

Damon lay on top of Asher’s back, sandwiching him. He reached down, his large hand wrapping around Asher’s cock, which was pressed against the sheets.

“I’ve got you,” Damon whispered into his ear, while Rylan’s breath hitched above him.

The weight of them was heavy, crushing in the best way. Asher felt safe. He felt claimed. He felt loved.

Rylan was hitting that prostate spot with punishing accuracy now, his rhythm abandoning all finesse for raw need. “Asher. Asher, I’m close.”

“Let go,” Damon commanded Rylan. “Mark him.”

Rylan’s hand came around to join Damon’s on Asher’s cock. Four hands. Two men. One purpose.

“Come for us, Asher,” Rylan ordered, his voice rough and broken. “Now.”

Asher fell apart.

His orgasm ripped through him, a blinding flash of white light. His body clamped down around Rylan, which sent the veteran over the edge. Rylan shouted Asher’s name, driving in to the hilt and holding there, pouring himself into the condom, his body trembling against Asher’s back.

Damon held them both through the aftershocks, kissing the sweat from Asher’s temple, whispering praises that were filthy and sweet all at once.

“Good boy,” Damon murmured. “Perfect boy.”

They collapsed into a heap of tangled limbs. Rylan rolled off carefully, dealing with the cleanup efficiently before pulling the sheet up over them.

Asher lay in the middle of the massive bed, his heart rate slowly returning to normal. Rylan was on his left, arm thrown over his eyes. Damon was on his right, tracing the line of Asher’s jaw.

“Verdict?” Rylan asked after a long silence, turning his head to look at them.

“The bed works,” Asher said, a tired, happy smile spreading across his face.

“Good.” Rylan pulled Asher closer, tucking him against his side. “Because we have a lifetime of nights to fill it.”

Damon shifted, draping his arm over both of them, locking them into place. “Sleep now, Rookie. We’ve got practice in the morning.”

“I’m not a rookie anymore,” Asher mumbled, closing his eyes. “I’m a champion.”

“You’re our champion,” Rylan corrected softly, kissing his forehead.

Asher drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the warmth of the two men who had doubled teamed his heart and won.

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