Mark

The balcony door creaked open again, and K’s face lit up before the figure even stepped into full view.

“Mark,” she said, grinning. “Look at you.”

“Look at you,” Mark replied, stepping into the light with that same laid-back energy he always carried—like nothing ever really rattled him. He was broader than Liam remembered. Still athletic. Hoodie zipped low over a tight tank. His jeans hung loose around a visible bulge that told its own story. The kind of man who didn’t need to act big—he was.

Liam stiffened a little, his drink forgotten in his hand.

Mark looked at both of them, beaming. “This is wild. You two still hanging out?”

“We weren’t,” K said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Not until tonight.”

Mark chuckled. “Guess I got lucky, then.”

He stepped closer, eyes drifting down to her chest—completely bare, soaked and smeared in the layered aftermath of half a dozen guys, the skin flushed and streaked, glistening in the low light. Mark didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. He crouched down and reached out like he was greeting an old friend.

“Jesus,” he murmured, gently lifting the underside of one breast, watching it wobble and drip. “Still the softest damn thing I’ve ever touched.”

K let out a hum of pleasure, eyes half-lidded. “Still remember how to handle them?”

“I could do it in my sleep,” Mark said with a grin. “My hands have muscle memory.”

Liam watched, tension building in his chest as Mark pulled his cock free—long, thick, heavy even before he was fully hard. It looked like too much for anyone, yet he guided it between her breasts with ease, letting the cum-slick folds swallow it like a sheath molded just for him.

K shifted slightly, pressing her arms against the outside of her breasts to help squeeze them together. “Still fits,” she said.

“Barely,” Mark teased, starting to move—slow, steady strokes, cock vanishing into the mess of her cleavage with obscene wet sounds.

They all fell into a strange, surreal rhythm—easy, familiar conversation layered over raw, physical use.

“You remember that field trip to the history museum?” Mark asked.

K grinned. “When you slipped your hand down my shirt on the bus ride home?”

Mark nodded, thrusting deeper. “You just looked at me like, ‘go ahead.’ Didn’t even blink.”

Liam flushed. “I never heard about that.”

K gave him a soft smile. “I didn’t tell anyone back then. I was still pretending I had to protect something.”

Mark chuckled, panting slightly now. “We all pretended. Shit, half the school was pretending not to jerk off to you in the computer lab.”

“I was popular,” she said, mockingly modest.

“You were a goddamn religion,” Mark said, voice tighter now as his cock slid deeper between the folds. “And this”—he groaned, pushing harder—“this was the holy grail.” He grunted softly, thrusting deeper into the squish of her breasts, pushing other men’s cum out the sides like overfilled frosting.

K laughed lightly, then sighed as he ground in deeper, cock completely buried in her softness. His movements began to shudder, and then he stiffened—spurting again and again, thick pulses lost in the already overloaded folds of her chest, some of it squirting high across her collarbone, other streaks adding fresh sheen over dried layers.

Liam watched, stunned, as Mark kept thrusting even after, smearing it all in with slow, lingering grinds, like he was massaging it into her skin.

Mark finally let out a long breath, sat back on his heels, and looked over at Liam. “You ever get a turn?”

Liam shook his head.

“No shit,” Mark said, brows raised. “Damn. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“He’s thinking about it,” K said, smiling at Liam.

“I can see that,” Mark said, pulling a folded napkin from his hoodie pocket to dab his hands. “No pressure, man. But if I were you? I wouldn’t wait another ten years.”

He gave K’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, then stood. “Still the best, Kay. I mean it.”

“You always say that,” she said.

“And I’ll keep saying it,” he said with a wink.

Liam exhaled slowly. K turned to him, her breasts still spread in her lap, the newest load pooling into the older ones, slowly dripping over the sides like icing too thick for the cake.

“Do you hate me?” she asked, quiet.

Liam didn’t answer her.

He just stood up, pulling his belt open with one hand, the buckle clinking as it hit the concrete. He fumbled with his fly like a man whose hands didn’t quite trust what they were doing—like the decision had already outrun his mind.

K leaned back slightly, legs apart, breasts spread out in her lap like overripe fruit, glistening, coated in the filth of every man who came before.

He pulled himself free—hard, already leaking—and stepped forward, dropping to his knees in front of her like he was praying to something holy and obscene.

His hands found her chest, and he didn’t hold back. No tenderness. No caution. Just frantic, shaking need as he dug his cock deep between her breasts, using the cum-slick folds like a sleeve molded for him and no one else.

K gasped as he thrust, not surprised—just catching her breath. Her arms came up around her breasts, squeezing them in, trapping him with her body. Mess squelched around him, already warm, already thick with everyone else’s desire—but now it was his, and he took it like he’d waited his entire life for this one moment.

Behind him, Mark was there.

Shirtless, loose joggers low on his hips. His cock was out again, thick and wet at the tip, already hardening as he leaned casually against the frame, stroking himself slowly.

He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t speak.

He just watched—like he was proud. Or curious. Or both.

Inside the apartment, a few heads turned. A couple paused mid-drink, drawn to the open door, to the sound of skin on skin. Someone stepped closer. Then another. Wordless men, shadowed by the party’s flickering light, forming a loose semicircle just inside the glass, watching Liam finally fuck the tits he’d been dreaming about for years.

K let out a moan—not dramatic. Just honest. His thrusts were wild now, slapping into her skin, pushing into folds already swollen and red. He was rough, but not to hurt her—like he couldn’t slow down if he tried. Every motion was a gasp for air after drowning.

He looked up at her face once—just once—and something like grief passed through his eyes.

“I wanted this for so long,” he said, panting.

“I know,” she whispered.

He growled, thrusting deeper, his cock sliding through layers of other men, and for once, he didn’t care. He didn’t care about the mess. About being seen. About what it meant.

He cared about burying himself in her—in her body, in his memory of her, in everything he never got to touch.

Behind him, Mark’s breathing grew heavier. The slick sound of his hand stroking his thick shaft filled the silence between thrusts. Someone else in the doorway undid their belt.

But all Liam saw was K. Her chest swallowing him, accepting him, being his, even if just for a minute.

His thighs tightened. His hands clenched. His jaw locked.

And then he came, hard, emptying himself between her breasts, his cum firing in ropes over the folds already soaked with so many others, his own mixing in, the texture thicker now, heavier, a new layer of proof that he’d finally been there too.

He stayed there, cock twitching, breath ragged.

Mark’s voice came from behind, low and impressed.

“About damn time.”

Another man stepped outside.

No one rushed him.

They all just waited.

K looked down at Liam, her face flushed, her lips parted.

“You don’t hate me,” she said again.

And this time, he didn’t even try to speak.

He just nodded—and stayed right there, nestled in the warmth, the mess, the truth of her.