Rooftop First: His Best Friend’s Father Takes Him

The air over the city hung thick and wet, the kind of late-summer night that glued clothes to skin and made every breath taste like concrete and heat. Dante had the rooftop pool deck to himself for the first half-hour after Victor’s son left for his date—nineteen, lean from a summer of loading trucks, dark hair still damp from a quick shower, wearing nothing but black swim trunks that clung low on his hips. He sprawled on one of the wide loungers near the glowing blue water, legs spread, a cold beer sweating in his fist, and tried not to think about the man who owned the place.

Victor appeared through the glass doors like he owned the night itself. Forty-eight, divorced two years, still built like the architect who spent weekends on job sites instead of behind a desk: thick chest dusted with silvering hair, shoulders that filled out a plain white undershirt, dark jeans riding low on a narrow waist that hadn’t gone soft. He carried two fresh bottles, bare feet silent on the warm stone. His eyes found Dante immediately and stayed there, slow and deliberate, dragging from the younger man’s throat down the flat stomach to the soft bulge in those trunks and back up again.

“Thought you might want another,” Victor said, voice low, rough from a day of site meetings. He set one bottle on the low table beside Dante’s lounger and dropped onto the one next to it, close enough that their knees almost brushed. “Kid’s out till late. Place is ours.”

Dante’s cock twitched hard under the thin fabric. He took the beer, fingers brushing Victor’s for a second too long. “Thanks. Tyler said you wouldn’t mind me crashing the summer. Appreciate it.”

“I don’t mind.” Victor’s gaze stayed locked. “Been watching you around here for months. Every time you come over. Every time you peel that shirt off by the pool. You know that?”

Heat flooded Dante’s face and dropped straight to his balls. He shifted, the lounger creaking, trunks tightening. “I… noticed you looking.” His voice came out rougher than he meant. “Didn’t think I should say anything. Your son’s my best friend.”

Victor leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the undershirt stretching across his pecs. The city lights caught the silver at his temples and the heavy line of his jaw. “He’s not here. Just us. And I’ve been hard thinking about what that mouth of yours would look like stretched around me since the first night you stayed over and walked out of the guest shower in a towel.” He reached out—slow enough Dante could have pulled away—and set his palm flat on Dante’s bare thigh, fingers spreading, thumb stroking the inner seam of muscle. “You want me to stop, say it.”

Dante’s breath punched out. He didn’t say it. Instead he opened his legs wider, letting the older man’s hand slide higher until the knuckles grazed the edge of his trunks. His cock was fully hard now, tenting the wet fabric, a dark spot already spreading where the head leaked. “Fuck. No. Don’t stop.”

Victor’s chuckle was filthy, private. He squeezed once, hard enough to make Dante’s hips jerk, then dragged his palm up and cupped the whole package through the trunks, kneading slow. “Nineteen and already dripping for your best friend’s dad. Look at that. Thick little cock. Bet it tastes sweet.” He kept stroking, thumb finding the ridge of the head and rubbing circles that soaked the fabric further. “I’ve jerked off thinking about bending you over the edge of this pool, spitting on that tight hole, and pushing in raw while the whole city watches and doesn’t know shit.”

Dante whimpered—actual fucking whimpered—and shoved his hips up into the touch. His free hand scrabbled at the waistband of his trunks, shoving them down just enough to free his cock. It slapped against his stomach, flushed dark, already shiny at the tip. Victor’s eyes went black with hunger. He wrapped his fist around it without asking again, skin hot and rough from work, and stroked from base to tip in one long pull that dragged a moan out of Dante’s throat.

“Yeah, that’s it. Fuck my hand. Show me how bad you’ve wanted this.” Victor’s other hand shoved his own jeans open. His cock sprang out heavy and thick, darker than Dante’s, veined, the head already wet. He spit into his palm and started jerking himself in the same rhythm, matching the strokes he gave the younger man. “Months of watching you laugh with my son, knowing I wanted to ruin you. Wanted to breed that ass while he was in the next room. You gonna let me?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—” Dante’s head fell back against the lounger. The night air kissed his bare cock; Victor’s fist squeezed tighter on every upstroke. Precome slicked the way, making wet sounds that mixed with the soft lap of the pool. He reached across the gap and wrapped his fingers around Victor’s shaft, groaning at the heat and girth of it. “Jesus, you’re big. Been staring at the outline in your pants every time you walked past.”

Victor’s hips punched forward into the grip. “Good boy. Keep stroking. Get it wet for when I finally shove it in you.” He leaned over farther, mouths almost touching, breath shared. “Not tonight’s full story. But I’m going to edge you until you’re shaking, then make you beg to stay on this roof while I open you up with my fingers. You good with that?”

Dante nodded hard, fist working faster on the thick cock in his hand, thumb smearing the slick head. “Want it. Want your fingers, your cock, whatever you’ll give me. Just—don’t stop touching me.”

Victor kissed him then—deep, filthy, tongue pushing in like he already owned the mouth. At the same time he twisted his fist on Dante’s cock and thumbed the slit, milking another thick bead of precome. Dante moaned into the kiss, hips fucking up in short desperate thrusts. The older man’s free hand slid under him, cupped one ass cheek through the rucked-down trunks, middle finger pressing the cleft and finding the tight furl of his hole through the fabric. He rubbed there in firm circles while he stroked and kissed, not pushing in yet, just promising.

When they broke for air, strings of spit connected their mouths. Victor’s voice dropped to a growl against Dante’s ear. “Feel that? That’s where I’m going. Going to stretch this virgin hole open on the edge of my son’s pool while you’re dripping all over the stone. Going to make you take every inch raw and hold you down until I’m pumping you full. You still want it?”

“Yes. God, yes. Please—” Dante’s cock jerked hard in Victor’s fist, balls drawing up. He was already close, trembling, thighs shaking under the older man’s grip. “I’m gonna come if you keep—”

Victor eased the strokes immediately, squeezing the base tight enough to hurt sweet. “Not yet. You come when I say. We’re just getting started.” He stood, jeans shoved halfway down his thighs, cock bobbing heavy and wet, and hauled Dante up by the hips until the younger man was standing too, trunks around his ankles. Their cocks slapped together; Victor fisted both in one big hand and stroked them as one, grinding the undersides together. “Feel how hard I am for you? Been like this every night you slept down the hall. Every morning you walked out bare-chested. I’m going to wreck you on this roof, Dante. And you’re going to thank me for it.”

Dante’s forehead dropped to Victor’s shoulder. He thrust into the dual grip, moaning brokenly, fingers digging into the older man’s back. The city hummed below them, lights glittering, no one looking up. Victor’s finger finally slipped under the edge of the trunks still tangled at Dante’s feet and pressed bare against his hole—dry, insistent, circling. Not entering. Just owning the rim while he jacked their cocks and bit down on Dante’s neck hard enough to mark.

“Tell me again,” Victor rasped. “Tell me you want your best friend’s father to raw-breed you right here.”

“I want it,” Dante gasped, hips rocking back onto that fingertip and forward into the fist. “Want you to fuck me open on this roof. Want your load in me. Please—Victor—don’t make me wait all night—”

Victor’s laugh was dark and pleased. He pulled his hand free, leaving Dante’s hole twitching and empty, and stepped back just far enough that their cocks slipped apart. Both of them glistened, throbbing, desperate. He licked his palm clean of their mixed precome, eyes never leaving Dante’s face.

“Oh, you’ll wait a little longer. I’m going to make you ache for it first. Get on your knees by the water. Hands behind your back. Mouth open. We’re going to see how pretty you look with my cock on your tongue before I decide how deep I open that ass tonight.”

Dante dropped like he’d been waiting his whole life for the order, knees hitting the warm stone, trunks kicked away, cock slapping up against his stomach again. He laced his fingers behind his back, tilted his face up, lips parted, tongue out. Victor stepped in close, the heavy head of his cock dragging across Dante’s lower lip, smearing wetness there. The younger man’s eyes fluttered shut in pure want.

Victor cradled the back of his head but didn’t push yet. “Look at me while you take it. And remember—when my son gets home later, you’re going to smile like nothing happened while my come is still leaking out of you. That clear?”

Dante opened his eyes, dark and blown, and nodded with the thick cock already resting on his tongue. “Clear. Please. Give it to me.”

Victor fed the first few inches in slow, watching Dante’s lips stretch, feeling the hot wet suction start. He held there, pulsing on the tongue, one hand firm in Dante’s hair, the night thick around them, the pool lights painting everything blue and filthy. Tension coiled tighter with every shallow thrust he allowed, every muffled moan that vibrated around his shaft. He wasn’t going to finish this yet. Wasn’t going to give the full breeding tonight’s first hour demanded. But he was going to keep Dante on the edge of that lounger and that hole until the boy was shaking and begging loud enough the whole roof could hear—if anyone had been listening.

And somewhere under the heat and the wet sounds and the forbidden pulse of it, both of them knew the real fucking had only just begun to threaten.

Victor’s cock slid deeper across Dante’s tongue, hot and heavy, the salt-sweet taste of precome flooding the younger man’s mouth. Dante moaned around the thick shaft, cheeks hollowing as he sucked, eyes locked on Victor’s face exactly as ordered. The older man’s fingers tightened in his damp hair, not forcing, just holding him steady while he fed another inch past those stretched lips.

“Fuck, look at you,” Victor growled, hips rolling in shallow thrusts that bumped the head against the back of Dante’s throat. “Nineteen years old, on your knees for your best friend’s dad like you were built for it. Those tight little swim trunks you prance around in every damn day—Christ, they barely cover that ass. I’ve watched them ride up every time you dive in. Drove me crazy.”

Dante’s cock throbbed untouched against his stomach, leaking a long string of precome onto the warm stone between his knees. He hollowed his cheeks harder, tongue working the underside of Victor’s thick cock, tasting every ridge and vein. The confession hit him like a fist around his balls; his dick jumped hard, slapping wetly against his abs.

Victor pulled free with a filthy wet pop, the heavy shaft gleaming with spit, and dragged the swollen head across Dante’s lips again, painting them shiny. “Been wanting to bend my son’s best friend over for years. Ever since you first started coming around looking like that—lean, cocky, those trunks clinging to every inch. I’d jerk off in the shower thinking about splitting you open right here on the roof. You hear me, Dante? Years.”

“Fuck—” Dante’s voice cracked, raw from the stretch. His cock was steel-hard now, pulsing visibly, a fresh bead welling at the slit and rolling down the shaft. “I’ve wanted it too. Every time Tyler left the room I’d stare at you. Imagined this.”

That was all the pretense left. Victor hauled him up by the arms, crushing their mouths together in a bruising kiss that tasted of cock and beer and pure want. Hands turned hungry, desperate. Dante shoved the white undershirt up Victor’s thick chest, palms dragging over the silver-dusted pecs, thumbs flicking the hard nipples. Victor ripped it the rest of the way off and flung it aside. Then those work-rough hands were everywhere on Dante—yanking the younger man flush, squeezing his ass, sliding up his back, tearing at whatever space still existed between them.

Jeans hit the stone next. Victor kicked them free, standing naked and massive in the blue pool light, cock jutting heavy and dark against Dante’s flatter stomach. Dante’s trunks were already gone; now Victor’s fists filled with the younger man’s bare cheeks, spreading them open while they ground cock to cock, shafts slick and hot, precome smearing between their abs.

“This is so fucking wrong,” Victor snarled against Dante’s mouth, biting his lower lip hard enough to sting. He spun him roughly, chest to back, one arm locked around Dante’s waist, the other fist wrapping both their cocks again and stroking them together in a filthy dual glide. “You’re Tyler’s best friend. I’m supposed to be the responsible one. But I’m going to wreck that virgin hole anyway. Gonna stretch it until it remembers the shape of me every time you sit down.”

Dante shoved back into him, ass cheeks cradling the thick length, the head of Victor’s cock nestling right against his hole and sliding up the cleft on every stroke. “Do it. Ruin me. I don’t care how wrong it is—just fuck me.”

Victor’s laugh was pure dirt. He walked them both forward until Dante’s thighs hit the edge of a lounger near the glowing water. One big hand planted between Dante’s shoulder blades and shoved him down until his chest met the cushion, ass high and presented. The night air licked cool over his exposed hole; Victor’s thumbs immediately spread him wider, staring.

“Pretty little pucker. Tight as fuck. Never had anything in it?”

“Nothing,” Dante gasped, hips canting back for more. “Fingers sometimes—my own—but never a cock. Never anything like you.”

Victor spit directly onto the hole, thick and wet, and rubbed it in with two thick fingertips. He circled, pressed, then pushed the first finger in slow. Dante’s rim clenched hard around the intrusion, a broken moan ripping out of him as the digit sank knuckle-deep into virgin heat.

“Jesus Christ, you’re clamping down like a fist.” Victor worked it deeper, twisting, searching until he crooked against the spot that made Dante’s whole body jolt. “There it is. Feel that? That’s where I’m going to live tonight.” A second finger joined the first, stretching him open on spit and raw need. Victor scissored them, scissoring wider, then shoved deep and held while Dante writhed, cock dripping steadily onto the lounger fabric below.

“Fuck—Victor—more—”

“You’ll get more.” Victor pulled free just long enough to spit again, louder, messier, then drove three fingers in with a steady pressure that forced a shout from Dante’s throat. The stretch burned sweet and dirty; Dante’s hole fluttered and gave, taking the thick digits to the last knuckle while Victor fucked them in and out, knuckles bumping his rim on every thrust. “Look at you opening up for your best friend’s father. Ass sucking my fingers like it already knows who owns it.”

Dante’s thighs shook. He reached back blindly, grabbed one of Victor’s wrists, and shoved the fingers deeper into himself, fucking back onto them with shameless rolls of his hips. Precome poured from his neglected cock in steady pulses. “Breed me. You said you would. Stop teasing and put it in.”

Victor extracted his fingers with a wet sound and slapped the slick head of his cock right against the loosened hole, rubbing in slow circles that made Dante whine. He leaned over the younger man’s back, chest hair scraping sweat-slick skin, and growled low in his ear.

“Not yet. I want you dripping and crazy first. Want you so open you’ll take every inch without fighting me.” He spit once more into his palm, slicked his shaft thoroughly, then pressed just the fat head inside. The rim stretched obscenely around the crown, white-hot and perfect. Dante cried out, half pain half pure relief, pushing back instinctively to take more.

Victor held him there—only the head buried, pulsing—while one hand snaked around to fist Dante’s cock in long, tight strokes. “Feel that stretch? That’s just the start. I’m going to feed you the rest inch by inch until your guts know my name. Then I’m going to fuck you raw on this rooftop until you come untouched and I’m flooding that virgin hole so deep you’ll feel me dripping down your thighs when Tyler gets home.”

Dante’s answer was a broken “yes, fuck, yes—more—” as he tried to shove back and take the next thick inch. Victor gave it to him, slow and relentless, the veined shaft disappearing into the gripping heat. Halfway, he paused again, breathing hard, balls already drawn tight against Dante’s taint.

“So fucking wrong,” Victor repeated, voice wrecked, hips giving tiny shallow thrusts that worked him deeper by degrees. “My son’s best friend. Nineteen. Virgin ass wrapping my cock like it was made for breeding. And you’re taking it. Begging for it.”

Dante’s forehead pressed to the lounger, mouth open, drooling onto the fabric while the massive cock split him open. Every nerve lit up; the burn melted into thick, filthy pleasure that made his toes curl against the stone. “Don’t stop. Wreck me. I want every inch. Want your load. Want to walk around this place tomorrow still feeling you inside me.”

Victor bottomed out with a final filthy slide, hips flush to Dante’s ass, cock buried to the root. They both froze there, breathing ragged, the city lights glittering below like they were the only two people left alive. Victor’s hands gripped Dante’s hips hard enough to bruise, holding him impaled while the younger man’s hole fluttered and clenched in desperate little ripples around the invading heat.

“Stay just like that,” Victor ordered, voice dark with promise. “I’m going to fuck you now. Hard. Deep. And you’re going to take every drop I give you. But first—” He pulled almost all the way out until only the head remained, then slammed back home in one brutal stroke that punched a raw shout from Dante’s lungs. “First you’re going to feel exactly how long I’ve waited to ruin you.”

He set a punishing rhythm—long, deep strokes that dragged every inch over Dante’s prostate on the way out and buried balls-deep on the way in. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed across the empty rooftop. Dante’s cock swung heavily beneath him, untouched now, flinging ropes of precome with every impact. Victor’s heavy balls spanked his taint; the older man’s chest draped over his back, mouth latching onto the side of his neck to suck another dark mark while he pounded that virgin hole open for good.

“Years,” Victor snarled between thrusts, cock pistoning, stretching Dante wider with every brutal snap of his hips. “Wanted this tight little ass for years. Going to fill it until it can’t hold any more. Going to make you mine right here where anyone could look up and see.”

Dante could only moan and push back to meet every stroke, hole gripping and sucking, body shaking apart under the onslaught. The stretch was everything—too much and nowhere near enough. His orgasm coiled tight and vicious at the base of his spine, but Victor’s hand suddenly clamped hard around the base of his cock, denying it.

“Not yet. You come on my cock when I say, and not a second before. We’re just getting started wrecking you.”

Victor kept fucking him through it—deep, relentless, filthy—holding them both right on the razor edge while the night air cooled the sweat on their skin and the forbidden heat burned hotter with every wet, perfect thrust.

Victor dragged his cock almost free of Dante’s clenching hole, the thick head catching on the rim before he slammed home again hard enough to shove the younger man flat against the lounger. Dante’s raw shout bounced off the glass walls and out over the glowing pool. The older man’s hips kept pistoning—long, brutal strokes that dragged every veined inch across Dante’s prostate and buried balls-deep until the wet slap of skin on skin filled the night.

Then Victor pulled out completely. Dante’s empty hole fluttered, gaping and shiny, a broken whimper ripping from his throat at the sudden loss. Before he could beg, Victor hauled him upright by the hair and the hip, spun him, and marched him three hard steps to the low concrete ledge that ran along the open side of the roof. City lights glittered thirty stories down. Victor pinned Dante’s bare chest and stomach against the warm stone, one big hand locked around the back of his neck, the other guiding that heavy cock to the younger man’s lips.

“Open. Wide. I want to feel your throat before I ruin that ass the rest of the way.”

Dante opened on command, tongue out, eyes blown black. Victor fed the spit-slick length straight over it and kept pushing—past the soft palate, into the tight squeeze of Dante’s throat. The nineteen-year-old gagged hard, eyes watering instantly, but he didn’t pull back. He took it. Victor’s hips snapped forward, burying every thick inch until Dante’s nose mashed against the silver-dusted base and his throat convulsed around the invading cock.

“Fuck—look at you choking on your best friend’s father’s cock,” Victor snarled, fucking his face in short, deep strokes. Spit flooded around the shaft, thick ropes of it spilling from the corners of Dante’s stretched lips and dripping down his chin onto the ledge. He drooled freely, wet choking sounds punched out of him every time Victor bottomed out. Tears tracked down his cheeks; his own untouched cock slapped against the stone, leaking steadily. Victor held him there, buried to the root, grinding, letting Dante’s throat milk him while the younger man shuddered and drooled and took it like he was starving for it.

“Years I’ve wanted this mouth,” Victor growled, pulling back just enough for Dante to drag a wet, desperate breath before slamming back in. “Every time you laughed with Tyler I pictured you just like this—gagging, drooling, my cock owning your throat. You’re gonna remember the taste of me every time you sit across from him at dinner.”

Dante’s answer was a choked, needy moan vibrating around the shaft. His hands scrabbled at Victor’s thick thighs, not pushing away—pulling him deeper. Spit poured down his chin in shiny strings. Victor fucked his face mercilessly for another dozen strokes, watching the mess he made, until Dante’s eyes were glassy and his hole was twitching empty and desperate behind him.

Victor yanked free with a filthy wet pop. Dante gasped, coughing spit and precome, chin and chest glistening. Before the younger man could speak, Victor spun him again, shoved him the few steps back to the lounger, and bent him hard over the end of it so his chest hit the cushion and his ass jutted high. One big hand cracked across a cheek, leaving a red print; the other spread him open.

Victor spit directly onto the loosened hole—thick, loud, messy—and rubbed it in with two thumbs. Then he lined up and slammed every inch home in one brutal thrust. Dante screamed into the lounger fabric, hole stretching wide around the sudden invasion, the burn white-hot and perfect. Victor didn’t give him time to adjust. He planted both hands on Dante’s hips and pounded him in long, savage strokes that slapped balls against taint and drove the younger man forward with every impact.

“Take it. Take every fucking inch,” Victor snarled, cock pistoning, the wet filthy sounds of raw fucking echoing across the empty roof. “This is what you begged for—your best friend’s dad raw-dogging this tight virgin ass on his own rooftop. Feel how deep I am? I’m going to breed you so full you’ll leak me for days.”

Dante shoved back to meet every thrust, hole gripping and sucking, precome pouring from his swinging cock onto the lounger. “Yes—fuck—ruin me—wreck Tyler’s best friend’s hole—please—” His voice cracked on every word, broken and shameless. Interior heat coiled tight at the base of his spine; every drag across his prostate lit him up brighter. He could feel Victor’s heavy cock reshaping him, claiming him, the stretch so complete it felt like the older man was living inside his guts.

Victor fucked him like that for long minutes—brutal, relentless, sweat dripping from his chest onto Dante’s back—until the younger man’s thighs shook and his moans turned continuous. Then the older man pulled out again, flipped Dante onto his back like he weighed nothing, and folded those lean legs high over his own shoulders. He drove back in to the root in one smooth savage stroke, folding Dante nearly in half, cock angled perfect to batter his prostate on every thrust.

Dante’s eyes rolled. His mouth fell open on a silent scream as Victor set a merciless breeding pace—deep, grinding, hips snapping hard enough the lounger creaked and scraped. The older man’s thick cock dragged out almost to the head then slammed home again and again, balls heavy and tight, the head flaring inside Dante’s guts like it was trying to plant roots.

“Gonna fill this tight little ass,” Victor grunted, sweat streaking the silver in his chest hair, eyes locked on where his cock disappeared into Dante’s stretched rim. “Gonna pump my son’s best friend full of come right here under the open sky. You’re mine now—this hole belongs to me. Every time Tyler looks at you he’s looking at the boy I ruined. Say it.”

“Yours—fuck—I’m yours—” Dante babbled, legs trembling over Victor’s shoulders, cock trapped between their stomachs and leaking steadily. “Ruining me—breeding Tyler’s best friend’s tight ass—don’t stop—fill me—please Victor I need it—” His hole clenched and fluttered wildly around the invading shaft; every brutal thrust punched filthy taboo truth out of both of them.

Victor leaned harder, folding him tighter, mouth crashing down to bite and suck at Dante’s neck while his hips never stopped slamming. “Feel that? That’s me owning you. Nineteen years old and taking your best friend’s father’s cock like you were built for breeding. I’m going to come so deep you’ll feel me dripping when you sit next to him tomorrow. Going to mark this ass so thoroughly it never forgets who stretched it first.”

Dante’s nails dug into Victor’s thick shoulders. He was right on the knife edge, balls drawn tight, every nerve screaming. The older man kept pounding—long strokes turning short and vicious, the wet slap of skin and the wet suck of hole around cock the only music on the roof. Both of them grunted filthy unbroken streams of taboo filth between gasps: Victor growling about how he’d wanted to ruin his son’s friend for years, how he was going to walk past Tyler’s closed door later knowing his load was still hot inside Dante; Dante sobbing out how wrong it was, how perfect, how he never wanted anyone else’s cock after this, how he wanted to be bred again and again until he couldn’t walk straight.

Victor’s rhythm stuttered. His cock swelled even thicker inside the gripping heat. He slammed home one final time, buried to the balls, and started to pulse—thick ropes of come flooding Dante’s guts in heavy spurts. Dante felt every hot jet, felt the older man grinding deep to pump it as far in as it would go, felt his own orgasm ripping free untouched. His cock jerked hard between their stomachs and painted both their abs in thick white stripes while his hole milked Victor’s cock in frantic ripples, sucking every drop deeper.

They stayed locked like that, breathing wrecked, Victor’s cock still buried and twitching, more come leaking out around the shaft with every tiny aftershock. Dante’s legs slid weakly down from the older man’s shoulders but Victor didn’t pull out. He kept him impaled, hands stroking sweat-slick flanks, mouth dragging filthy praise and more taboo promises against his ear.

“Not done with you,” Victor rasped, voice ruined. “You’re staying full of me. Going to keep this hole open and used while the night’s still hot. Next time I fuck you I want my first load still inside so I can mix the second with it. You’re going to take me again before Tyler gets home—and you’re going to thank me for every drop.”

Dante’s spent cock gave a weak twitch against his stomach. He clenched deliberately around the softening length still stuffing him, feeling the warm slide of come already starting to seep out. “Yes. Keep me. Use me. Don’t pull out yet—just… stay. Ruin me more. I can take it.” His voice was hoarse from choking and shouting, eyes dark with the same hungry need that had started this. The city hummed far below them, oblivious, while Victor’s heavy body kept him pinned and full and owned, the night nowhere near finished with either of them.

Victor stayed buried, cock softening only a fraction while Dante’s hole kept pulsing around him in lazy aftershocks. Come already leaked out in slow warm rivulets that slid down Dante’s crack and pooled under his ass on the lounger. The older man rocked his hips in tiny circles, stirring the load deeper, and Dante’s spent cock twitched weakly between their stomachs every time the thick head dragged over his prostate.

“Feel that?” Victor murmured against the side of his throat, voice still rough. “That’s my first load still cooking inside you. Tyler’s best friend walking around this apartment tomorrow with my come painted up his guts. You’re going to sit across from him at breakfast and smile while it leaks into your underwear.”

Dante’s arms tightened around Victor’s broad back. Nineteen years old and already wrecked, thighs still trembling over the older man’s hips, he clenched deliberately. “Do it again. Mix the second one with it. I can take another.” His voice cracked, hoarse from the face-fucking earlier, but the need was raw and honest. “Want you hard again while I’m still full.”

Victor’s laugh was low and filthy. He pulled almost free—cock sliding out in a wet glisten of come and spit—then pushed straight back in to the root. Dante’s hole was looser now, used and slick, yet it still gripped like it hated to let go. The older man’s shaft thickened inside him almost at once, blood flooding back under the wet heat. Victor braced on his forearms and started fucking again in long, deep strokes that never quite left the clenched rim.

“Goddamn, you’re still tight even after I split you open.” He snapped his hips harder, the wet slap of skin returning, come squelching out around his cock with every thrust. “Look at this mess. My come already foaming out of you and you’re begging for more. Nineteen-year-old hole made for breeding by his best friend’s dad.”

Dante moaned unbroken, head thrown back against the lounger, dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. Every stroke dragged fire across his prostate; his cock filled again between them, sticky with the first load, leaking fresh precome that mixed with the drying stripes on their abs. He hooked his ankles higher behind Victor’s back and pulled him deeper. “Harder. I want to feel it tomorrow when I walk. Want every step to remind me you ruined me on this roof.”

Victor gave it to him. He folded Dante’s legs up again until the younger man’s knees nearly touched his own shoulders, changing the angle so every brutal thrust hammered straight into that sweet spot. The lounger scraped across the stone. Dante’s cries turned loud and shameless—half sobs, half filthy gratitude. Victor’s heavy balls slapped against his ass, still heavy with the second load he intended to dump. Come from the first round kept squeezing out in white streaks that painted Dante’s taint and Victor’s swinging sac.

“You hear yourself?” Victor snarled between thrusts, sweat dripping from his chest onto Dante’s. “Tyler’s best friend begging to be bred again. Going to keep this hole open all summer. Going to sneak you up here every night that boy is out and pump another load into you while he thinks you’re just crashing.” He reached between them, wrapped a work-rough fist around Dante’s leaking cock, and stroked in time with his hips. “Come on my cock again. Milk me. Show me how much you love taking your best friend’s father’s dick.”

Dante’s orgasm hit like a truck. His hole clamped down in frantic ripples, cock jerking hard in Victor’s fist and shooting fresh thick ropes across his own chest and chin. The milking pull dragged Victor right to the edge. The older man fucked him through it—savage short strokes that forced more of the first load out in foamy white streaks—until Dante was shaking and oversensitive, still moaning for more.

Victor didn’t come yet. He pulled free with a wet filthy pop, cock glossy and dark, the head flared and dripping. Dante’s hole gaped, a visible pulse of come sliding out of the stretched pink rim and down toward the lounger. Victor hauled the nineteen-year-old upright by the hair and the arm, spun him off the lounger, and pushed him down onto his knees on the warm stone right at the edge of the glowing pool. City lights glittered behind them. Dante’s face was flushed dark, lips swollen, come already smeared on his chin from the second climax.

“Open that mouth. Tongue out. I want to watch you catch it this time.”

Dante obeyed instantly, eyes glassy with leftover heat, kneeling naked and used with come still leaking down the inside of one thigh. His cock hung half-hard and shiny between his legs. Victor stood over him, fist working the thick shaft in tight wet strokes, staring down at the boy he’d just bred raw. Spit and come slicked the way; he aimed the fat head right at Dante’s open mouth and tongue.

“Years of watching you,” Victor growled, stroking faster, balls drawing up tight. “Every time you stayed over I wanted this—wanted to paint my son’s best friend’s face and then kiss it clean. You’re mine now. This face, this hole, all of it.”

The first thick rope hit Dante’s tongue and lower lip with a heavy wet slap. Victor groaned deep, hips jerking, and kept pumping. Rope after rope of hot white come striped across Dante’s flushed cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his forehead, landing in thick messy patterns that dripped down toward his open mouth. Dante kept his tongue out like ordered, catching as much as he could, swallowing some and letting the rest coat his lips and chin. Victor milked the last pulses right onto the waiting tongue, smearing the head across it until every drop was painted on the nineteen-year-old’s face.

Dante knelt there panting, eyes half-lidded, face glazed and filthy, come sliding down his throat and dripping from his chin onto his chest. Victor’s cock gave a final twitch and softened. He reached down, cupped the back of Dante’s head, and hauled him up onto his feet. Their mouths crashed together—possessive, deep, tasting of salt and come and pure ownership. Victor licked into the younger man’s mouth, kissing him hard while come smeared between their lips and cheeks, claiming every messy inch.

When he finally pulled back he kept Dante close, one hand still fisted in his hair, the other sliding down to cup a come-slick ass cheek and press two fingers back into the loose hole just to feel the first load still warm inside. Dante shuddered and leaned into it, cock twitching again against Victor’s thigh.

“This is only the first,” Victor said against his come-smeared mouth, voice low and absolute. “First of many secret rooftop loads I’m going to pump into you all summer long while my son stays completely clueless. Every night he’s gone I’m bringing you up here. Going to breed this hole until it knows nothing else. Going to send you downstairs full and dripping and smiling like nothing happened. You understand me?”

Dante’s answer was a hoarse, wrecked “Yes.” He licked a stripe of come from Victor’s lower lip and kissed him again, slower this time, body pliant and owned. The night air cooled the sweat on their skin. Come cooled on Dante’s face and leaked steadily down his thighs. Victor’s fingers stayed buried lazy and deep, stirring the mess he’d left, while the city hummed thirty stories below and the pool lights painted everything blue and secret.

They stayed like that—kissing through the afterglow, Victor’s tongue still tasting his own load on the younger man’s mouth, one thick finger lazily fucking the used hole open—while the summer stretched out endless and forbidden in front of them.