Blake Hart
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The Team's Slut Chapter 8: Aftercare
🕑 Added 2025-06-25 20:00:08 +0000 UTCEveryone in this story is 18+
The room was quiet now. The others had gone out — to bars, to pass out.
I was still sticky. Cleaned up as best I could. Fresh boxers. Hoodie on. Face flushed with something that wouldn’t leave.
Chase hadn’t said much since. Until now.
He knocked once on the door to the hotel bedroom. Opened it.
I looked up and as he stepped in and closed the door behind him.
“You okay?” he asked, voice quieter than I expected.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He stepped closer. “You were… kind of unbelievable.”
I laughed, embarrassed. “That’s one word for it.”
“No,” he said. “I mean it.”
I looked at him. Really looked. Still shirtless. Hair messy. Eyes locked on me like I was something fragile, or dangerous, maybe both.
He sat on the bed. Close to me.
“You hard again?”
I blinked. “What?”
He smirked. “I saw how you came earlier. You liked that it happened again, didn’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
He reached out — slowly — and placed a hand on my thigh.
“You were always mine, you know,” he said.
My breath caught in my freaking throat.
“They just borrowed you.”
Then he leaned in and kissed me. Slow, soft and gentle.
Just warmth. Our Tongues. His strong arms holding me tight.
Then his palm pressed against my erection — already twitching.
“Let me make you feel good,” he whispered.
I nodded.
He kissed down my neck and chest.
Pulled my boxers down. He smirked when he saw how hard I was, how the tip glistened.
Then, in one long movement, he sucked me. Slow. Deep. And way too Possessive.
I moaned. Hands in his hair.
This wasn’t about the party anymore.
This was about us.
He brought me to the edge again and again. Never rushed. Just knew what I liked.
And when I gave him what he wanted, my seed — hard, shaking, spilling over his lips — he swallowed every signle drop.
Then looked up.
“You’re still my best man,” he said.
“But tonight, you’re just mine.”
The fucking wedding was tomorrow.
The tuxes were steamed. The rings polished. The venue perfect.
Everything was set. Except him, except us.
He didn’t speak at first. Then, finally—“This is it, huh?”
“I keep thinking,” he said, his voice rough, “this’ll be the last time I get to fuck you.”
My breath caught as his hand slid up my thigh.
“Last time I get to hear you moan my name.”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.
Because a second later, his mouth was back on mine — rough, desperate, owned. And then his body pressed me down. Between my legs. Against my skin.
His cock was already rock-hard.
“You ready for me?” he asked.
I just nodded and he didn’t waste time.
Pulled my legs straight up, spat at my hole. Pressed against me, spat at his dick.
And slid in. No hesitation. No teasing. Just him, his cock, bare and thick and deep inside me like he was saying goodbye with every thrust.
“Fuck—feels too good—”
“I’m gonna miss this hole—”
“You were always my favorite part of the party—of the locker room, of senior year…”
I gasped. Gripped the sheets.
He slammed into me harder, faster, hips smacking against my ass. His hand on my throat. My legs shaking.
“One last load,” he growled.
“One more. For you, just you.”
And then he shoved in deep — and unloaded, and I mean fucking unloaded!. It was thick. Hot. Flooding me. Filling me until it leaked down the backs of my thighs, I could feel every spasm. He stayed there, breathing hard. Still inside me. Still twitching.
Then he pulled out, slow. Watched his cum drip from me onto the sheets.
“Don’t clean up yet,” he said.
“I want you to walk into my wedding tomorrow with my load still inside you and with your load still in my tummy.”
Shit…! Was all I could think, and I didn’t know whether it was too hot, or too much, maybe both. Probably both.
