Season 3 Episode 2 | My Best Friend’s Brother Dylan (Patreon)

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older. Everything portrayed is safe, sane, and consensual.

Episode 2: Legs Wide After Dinner

I stepped out of the bathroom with steam still clinging to my skin, towel knotted low around my hips. My hair was damp and messy, droplets sliding down my neck and chest. The apartment felt quieter now, the city hum muffled beyond the windows. Dylan had stepped out to his apartment next door to change. A few seconds later, he walked back in.

He had changed. Black hoodie zipped halfway up, sleeves pushed to his elbows, dark blue jeans that hugged his thighs just right. Hair pushed back, still a little wet from his own shower, smelling faintly of cedar and that sharp gym soap he always used. He stopped in the doorway, eyes dragging over me slow and deliberate, like he was deciding where to start.

“Damn,” he said, voice low. “You clean up nice, Spaghetti Noodle.”

Heat crawled up my throat. I laughed, short and nervous. “It’s just a towel.”

“Yeah. Exactly” He crossed the room in three steps, thumbs brushing the bare skin above the towel where my hips dipped. “And you look like a fucking problem in it.”

He leaned in, nose grazing the side of my neck, inhaling deep. “Smell good too. Could eat you right here.”

My pulse jumped. “We’re supposed to be going out.”

Dylan smirked against my skin. “I like seeing you like this first.” His mouth brushed mine, quick and possessive, just enough to make my knees soften. Then he pulled back, eyes dark and amused. “Get dressed before I change my mind.”

I nodded, legs unsteady, and moved to the bedroom. I pulled on dark jeans that sat low on my hips, a soft charcoal sweater that clung a little, and a light jacket. When I came back out Dylan was leaning against the counter, scrolling his phone, looking every bit the guy who knew exactly what he was doing to me.

He glanced up, gave one slow nod. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

We left together. The hallway light buzzed overhead as we took the stairs down. Outside the evening air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain that hadn’t fallen yet. Dylan walked close, his hand settling on my waist, thumb brushing the hem of my sweater every few steps. It wasn’t overt, but it felt like a claim. Every time our shoulders touched I felt the heat of him through the layers.

The restaurant was small, tucked on a narrow street a few blocks from his new place. Warm light spilled from the windows, candle flames flickering behind glass. Inside it smelled like garlic, red wine, and fresh bread. The host led us to a corner booth, half-hidden by a low partition. We slid in across from each other, knees brushing under the table.

Dylan ordered wine without asking—deep red, bold. When the waiter left he leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching me like I was the only thing in the room.

“So,” he said. “Tell me about your days.”

I took a sip of wine. It was good, warming my chest. “Patisserie’s quiet most mornings. Madame Claire yells at the delivery guy in French, then smiles at me like nothing happened. I pour coffee, stack croissants, sketch on napkins when it’s slow.”

He nodded, small smile tugging his mouth. “Saw one of your sketches in a LifeInParis story. The steam off the espresso cup. Looked real.”

“You watch them?”

“Every one.” He shrugged, casual, but his eyes didn’t leave mine. “Don’t tell Jake I’m lurking. He’ll never let me live it down.”

I laughed. “He already sends me screenshots of my own posts like I haven’t seen them.”

Dylan grinned. “That’s Jake. Always gotta be the hype man.”

The food came fast—steak frites for him, pasta with brown butter and sage for me. We ate slowly, talking about nothing heavy. He told me about the protein brand shoots: long hours under bright lights, influencers who talked too much, how Paris felt different when he wasn’t just crashing for a weekend. I told him about the old man who came in every day for the same black coffee, how he always left exact change and a nod like we shared a secret.

Halfway through the meal his foot nudged mine under the table. I froze. He did it again, deliberate, the toe of his sneaker sliding along my calf.

“You’re distracting me,” I said quietly.

“Good.” His voice dropped. “Been hard since you walked out in that towel. Thinking about getting you back to my place. Legs wide. Saying my name while I take you apart.”

My fork paused. Heat pooled low in my stomach. “We’re in public.”

“Exactly.” His knee pressed firmer against mine. “Makes it better.”

I swallowed, took another sip of wine to steady myself. He watched every movement—my throat working, the way my lips touched the glass. His hand slid under the table, resting high on my thigh, thumb stroking slow circles through denim. Not high enough to be obvious, but high enough that I had to shift in my seat to adjust my boner.

“You’re evil,” I muttered.

He smirked. “You like evil.”

The rest of dinner blurred. We talked less, touched more. His fingers never left my leg. Mine found his knee, squeezing once. By the time the check came I was half-hard under the table, pulse loud in my ears.

Dylan paid, hand firm on my lower back as we stepped outside. The street was quieter now, lamps casting long shadows. We walked slow, his arm sliding around my shoulders, pulling me close. I could feel the heat rolling off him, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Back at his old apartment—the smaller one he’d been using for the last few months… the one right across from mine—the door clicked shut behind us. He didn’t bother with lights. Moonlight came through the tall windows, silvering the edges of the couch, the low coffee table, the open bedroom door.

He turned to me, backing me against the wall just inside the entry. Hands on my hips, mouth hovering over mine.

“Been thinking about this all through dinner,” he said. “You under me. Begging.”

I exhaled shaky. “Then do it.”

He kissed me deep, slow, filthy. Tongue sliding against mine, one hand cupping my jaw to tilt my head exactly how he wanted. The other slid under my sweater, palm flat against my stomach, fingers spreading wide. I arched into the touch.

When he pulled back his eyes were dark, pupils blown. “Take these off.”

I tugged the sweater over my head, tossed it. Jeans next—button, zipper, shoved down. He watched every second, arms crossed, biceps flexing under the hoodie sleeves.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “So fucking pretty.”

He stepped closer, hands roaming my bare chest, thumbs brushing my nipples until I hissed. Then he dropped to one knee, yanking my underwear down in one rough pull. I stepped out, naked now, cock hard and leaking against my stomach.

Dylan stayed on his knees a moment longer, looking up at me. “Ahh.. The real dessert.”

I moved fast, heart hammering. He followed, shedding his hoodie and jeans as he went. When he reached the bedroom he was naked too; thick, hard, veins standing out along his eight inch girthy cock. He crawled over me, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand.

“Been way too horny tonight,” he said, voice rough. “Gonna make it last.”

He kissed down my throat, teeth grazing my collarbone, then lower….chest, stomach, hips. I arched, desperate. He spread my thighs wide, settling between them.

But before he could go further he pulled back, sitting on his heels, looking down at me.

“By the way,” he said, casual, like we weren’t both breathing hard. “I’m vacating this place tomorrow. Shifting to the new one a few streets over. Bigger. Better view.”

I blinked up at him, brain hazy. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” He smirked, hand sliding down to wrap around my cock, stroking once slow. “So might as well make a mess in this apartment tonight. Ruin the sheets. Leave it smelling like us.”

My laugh came out breathless. “You’re disgusting.”

“Disgustingly good at fucking you.” He leaned down, mouth brushing my ear. “Gonna fill you up so deep you feel me for days. Then do it again in the new place. Break that bed too.”

I groaned, hips jerking into his hand. “Then stop talking and do it.”

He laughed low, kissed me once more….hard, claiming…then shifted, lining himself up.

Season 3 Episode 3 | My Best Friend’s Brother Dylan