The Best Man At My Brother's Wedding

[StoriesByTroy]

The Best Man : INTRODUCTION

A forbidden, slow-burn wedding saga about a mouthy young brat and the man he was never supposed to want.

​

It’s supposed to be the happiest week of Nathan Monroe’s life - a luxury wedding at a countryside estate, surrounded by friends, family, and enough champagne to keep everyone glowing until vows are exchanged.

But for Mason, the groom’s younger brother, it’s something else entirely.

He’s back in town, trying to behave. Trying not to look too long at Calvin Hale - Nathan’s best friend since high school, and now the best man. Mason spent years pretending he didn’t have a thing for him. Spent most of his twenties trying to forget the Instagram photos, the fantasies, the heat he never got over. But now they’re at the same guest house for the wedding.

And Calvin?
He only got hotter.

Big. Broad. Tattooed. The kind of man who doesn’t say much but when he looks at you, it’s already too late. Mason talks back, plays it cool, stretches in his tight yoga pants like it’s nothing. But the moment Calvin calls him Pretty Boy in that low voice?

He’s wrecked.

This is a story about control. About slow teasing. About tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. It’s about the wedding week Mason thought he’d survive with a little yoga and some sarcasm and the best man who’s about to break him open, one filthy, whispered order at a time.

Main Cast - The Best Man

Mason Monroe​

29. Boyish, beautiful, big problem, secretly obedient. The kind of guy who talks back just to see how far he can be pushed. Spent most of high school pretending he didn't have a thing for his brother’s best friend. He’s back home for the wedding now, trying to behave. But the guy he used to crush on? He’s only got hotter.

Calvin Hale​

33. Broad, bulky, tattooed. One of those quietly dangerous men with big hands, big arms, and no patience for teasing. Has full blackwork across his shoulders and chest, maybe more. Doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it lands. Was once just Nathan’s best friend. Now he’s the Best Man. And he’s watching Mason like he knows exactly what he wants from him.

Nathan Monroe​

32. Golden boy. The kind of brother everyone loves. Engaged, excited, and deeply unaware of the tension pulsing through his guesthouse. He thinks this is just a normal week of family, vows, and celebration. He doesn’t know Mason’s been crushing on Calvin for years.

He doesn’t know what they’re about to do.



An erotic, filth-soaked slow-burn about power, control, and the man you were never supposed to want.

One room. One bed. One mistake you’ll beg not to regret.

 

[StoriesByTroy]

The Best Man | Part 1: Welcome to the Estate

I arrived three days before the wedding, freshly stretched from a yoga retreat that had left me calm, tan, and exactly zero percent prepared to be back here.

The estate was huge; the kind of countryside property with winding gravel roads, white stone archways, and someone’s Pinterest mood board brought to life with strings of lights and overpriced flower arrangements. My brother’s fiancée was going all in. And knowing Nathan, he was probably helping her fold napkins into swans.

I wasn’t here for the swans. I was here because I was the younger brother. Which meant family photos, polite nods, awkward hugs, and pretending I hadn’t spent half my teenage years jerking off to his best friend’s Instagram. And that man; the reason I learned how to clear my browser history.... stepped out of the guesthouse right as I pulled up.

Calvin Hale.

He was worse now. Broader. Tatted. Shirt half-buttoned, black slacks hanging low, forearms massive. Sunglasses hooked into the front of his open collar. He looked like he’d been hired as security for the estate and just decided to stay for the view.

My mouth went dry before he even opened it.

"That you, Monroe?", Calvin’s voice cut through the air, low and rough as he walked towards the car.

Before I could think of some sarcastic or halfway-witty reply, the front door opened again and Nathan came jogging out like a golden retriever off-leash.

“Mase!” he beamed, running straight at me. His hair was a little longer now, cheeks flushed, shirt rolled up like he’d been lifting boxes or charming the catering staff. “You lo

ok… like LA threw up on you.”

“I missed you too,” I muttered into his shoulder.

He pulled back, grinning, still too warm and too perfect. Then he turned and casually threw an arm around Calvin’s massive shoulder like the size difference between them wasn’t shocking. “You remember Calvin, right?” Nathan said. “He's my best man.”




Oh, I remembered.

I remembered every shirtless post, every smug gym selfie, every thirst trap he used to drop like he wasn’t fully aware of what he was doing. The way his chest looked when it was soaked in sweat, the tattoos curling across his shoulders like they were drawn there just to make you stare. I used to jerk off to those pictures in the middle of the night with my phone angled low and my sheets pulled tight. And now he was right in front of me, bigger, broader, real.

The mere sight of him made my cock throb against the inside of my pants, thick and twitching already, like my body remembered what to do before my brain caught up. One glance at his arms, the way that tight shirt hugged his chest, and I was hard enough to embarrass myself if anyone looked too closely. I looked him up and down as they bro-hugged.. Calvin’s shoulder stretching his shirt so tight it looked painted on.

“Yeah,” I said. “Supposed to be me, but sure... go with the walking muscle porn.”


Nathan laughed. Calvin didn’t.

He turned toward me, sunglasses now dangling from his fingers, and looked me over again...slower this time. From the half-unbuttoned shirt down to the way my pants clung to my thighs. His eyes didn’t rush. They took their time.

“Masey-boy,” he said, dragging it out like he wanted me to flinch. His voice was low. Lazy. Like he already knew something I didn’t. Then, with a smirk that curled at the edges, he added, “Trust me. We’ll figure out a good use for you, pretty boy”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

If he meant to be used by him; bent over, face down, ruined on crisp white guesthouse sheets... then yeah, sure. Sign me up.

But guys like Calvin? They were straight. Fucking a new girl every time they opened their mouth. Tattooed, cocky, probably hadn’t questioned shit since high school. The kind of man who didn’t even have to try to destroy you.

I gave him nothing. Just grabbed my bag, kept my head high, and followed them toward the guesthouse.

The gravel crunched under my shoes. The sun was still too bright. And Calvin was walking in front of me, broad shoulders flexing beneath that damn shirt.

God help me. This week was going to ruin me..... if Calvin didn’t do it first.

--------------------------------


The rest of the afternoon blurred into estate logistics. Groomsmen arrival times. Cake tasting. I was told where to be, when to smile, and how not to get grass stains on my cream-colored shirt. I kept catching glimpses of Calvin -clipboard in one hand, pen tucked behind his ear, shirt sleeves rolled and clinging to arms that did not belong at a wedding.

Every time I caught a glimpse of him moving across the garden, the fabric of that white dress shirt strained at his back like it was barely surviving. The tattoos on his forearm flexed as he wrote something down. His mouth stayed tight and focused, except for the occasional smirk when someone tried to micromanage him.

By early evening, I was halfway through a glass of wine, leaning against a column in the garden when Calvin passed by in a deeper blue dress shirt, this one tighter, opened a little too low.

“New shirt?” I asked, eyes blatantly on his chest.

He didn’t look up from the schedule. “You’re obsessed with me already, Pretty Boy?”

I blinked. “Did you just call me that again?”

He finally looked up. Smirked. “Fits, doesn’t it?”

There was no wink. No laugh. Just that quiet confidence, like he knew exactly how I’d take it. Like he could see the flush blooming under my collar.

I hated how good it sounded coming from his mouth. Pretty Boy. Said like a challenge. Like he’d already figured out what I looked like on my knees.

I wanted to say something smart. Something cutting. Instead, I watched him walk away, broad back stretching the seams of that shirt. I wanted to punch him in the chest and suck his dick in the same breath.


Later, I was helping Nathan carry some of his stuff into the guesthouse when he dropped the news. “Hey, slight change,” he said casually, adjusting a duffel. “Tessa’s family arrived early. The guest rooms are filling up faster than we planned.”

I froze halfway up the stairs.

“…Okay? And?”

“You’ve got one of the bigger suites, figured we’d use the space,” Nathan said, adjusting his duffel like this wasn’t a bomb. “I already asked the staff to move your stuff to Calvin’s room. Hope you don’t mind, baby brother.”

My stomach dropped through the floor. I didn’t even have time to fake an objection. He was already walking away, yelling something about table linens. I stood there like an idiot with a hard-on I was pretending not to have. Down the hallway, Calvin’s voice drifted from the room:

“You coming, Pretty Boy? Or just standing there thinking about it?”

_________________________________

Parts 2 and 3 of this story have already been released on my patreon StoriesByTroy.

The Best Man | Part 2: Sharing A Room
The Best Man | Part 3: Hard to Sleep


Thank you for all the support on my other stories. I love reading your comments.
Stay tuned for more updates on this story.

 

[tommy69]

Great start. I got hard thinking of Calvin. Can't wait to read more.

 

[alan882324]

We all here thirsting for calvin

Great start. I got hard thinking of Calvin. Can't wait to read more.

 

[StoriesByTroy]

Great start. I got hard thinking of Calvin. Can't wait to read more.

We all here thirsting for calvin

Haha. Calvin is fucking hot. I love that you guys are enjoying his character.

 

[R.ALVI]

Waitinnnnng

 

[StoriesByTroy]

The Best Man | Part 2: Sharing A Room

Calvin was already waiting for me in the hallway in that deep blue shirt from earlier, sleeves pushed up, collar open just enough to draw the eye. The tattoos along his forearms looked darker against the crisp fabric, like the ink itself had thickened since this morning. He leaned against the doorframe with one arm braced high, the other casually resting on his thighs. His watch caught the light. His smirk didn’t move.

“You coming, Pretty Boy? Or just standing there thinking about it?”

I followed. Hesitantly.

I mean, yeah, I was excited to be close to him. Who wouldn’t be? But I didn’t trust my dick at all. It had been trained to get hard just from looking at him. Sharing a room with Calvin Hale meant things would get hard. Literally.

Still, I followed. Slowly. Like I was walking into a trap I couldn’t help but want.

The room was bigger than I expected. High ceilings. Open windows. Warm light pooling onto hardwood floors from the bedside lamp. But I barely registered any of that. Because his scent was still in the air. And the only thing I could focus on was how long I could hide this hard-on before it became a problem.

The staff had already moved my suitcase. It was near the edge of the bed, beside Calvin’s messy pile of stuff.

And his things were everywhere.

One of his cologne bottles was half-uncapped on the dresser, thick and masculine with that dangerous, woodsy smell that made my knees soft. His belt was coiled on the floor beside it like it had been yanked off in a rush. A white button-down, the one from earlier had been tossed across the back of a chair. His underwear, dark gray and clearly worn, sat beside the bed like a warning sign.

“Damn,” I muttered, stepping in. “You’re messy.”

Calvin kicked the door shut behind us with one boot and rolled his shoulders. “I travel light.”

“Looks like your boxers traveled straight to the floor.”

He didn’t answer. Just walked past me, grabbing the shirt off the chair and slinging it into a half-zipped duffel like it didn’t matter. His back moved with every step; those broad shoulders flexing under that shirt like they knew I was watching.

“You’re on that side Mase” he said, nodding toward the left.

I dropped my bag, still pretending I wasn’t painfully hard from just being in the same space. The bed was big. But not that big.

“Don’t worry,” Calvin added, already unbuttoning his cuffs, “I don’t bite.”

He paused. Glanced back over his shoulder.

“…unless you ask nicely.”

I turned away too fast. My face was on fire.
My dick? Hard enough to snap the waistband of my underwear.

What the hell was I supposed to say to that?

He started unpacking without fanfare; a deodorant, a second pair of boots that looked expensive and fully unnecessary. I caught myself looking too long when he bent to adjust something under the bed, that tight shirt clinging to his back like it was stitched on.

I tried to busy myself with my own stuff: charger, moisturizer, overpriced night cream and told myself I was being normal. That I could survive a few nights like this. But when I turned back around, he was standing way too close.

“Forgot something,” he said.

Then reached past me; deliberately... to grab something from my side of the bed. His cologne bottle. His fingers brushed mine on purpose. His body was a wall of heat.

I didn't move.

And then his scent hit me.

Rich. Heavy. Masculine in the way that clung to your skin and made your mouth water. It wasn’t light or polite. It was the kind of smell that made you want to bite down and beg. My cock twitched, thickening fast, pressing hard against the front of my pants. My hole clenched like it already knew what it wanted, who it wanted... like my body was one step ahead of my pride. I stood there, frozen, pulsing, too aware of how close he was and how fucking good he smelled.

He grabbed the bottle. Kept it on his side of the bed. Said nothing. Just smirked like he knew I was about to fall apart.

I couldn’t take it.

“Uhm ... let me check if they brought my duffel bag from the other room,” I blurted. “Think they forgot.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I bolted.

Down the hall. Around the corner. Anywhere I could get a second to breathe and pray my cock didn’t prematurely cum right there in my pants like some desperate, submissive little bitch who couldn’t handle being in the same room as him.

Which, apparently, I was.

I tried to wait it out.

Ended up sitting on a old velvet sofa in the living room of the estate, now turned reception area, where candles flickered against the stone walls and the florists had already started prepping fake flower arrangements for a photo-op. I sat there, legs crossed tight, scrolling through nothing on my phone, willing the ache in my pants to settle. I couldn’t be seen like that; not with a full hard-on and my brother’s best man two rooms away looking like the way he did.

But waiting didn’t help.

The more I sat there, the worse it got. I kept thinking about the smell of him. The weight of his body just inches from mine. The way his voice dropped when he said Pretty Boy like he already knew what it did to me.

After a few minutes, I gave up.

I walked down the hall, ducked into my old bedroom....grabbed my duffel from the corner, and made my way back to Calvin’s room. My stomach was still tight. My cock not fully soft.

When I walked in, the shower was running.

Steam slid out from under the bathroom door. Calvin’s blue shirt was slung carelessly over the chair. His pants were bunched up on the floor beside the door, one sock half inside out like he’d peeled them off in a rush. His belt had been dropped beside the dresser again... wide, leather, thick enough to do damage.

I swallowed and looked away.

Dropped my duffel next to my other suitcase. Fished through it, grabbed a pair of my boxers. Usually, I sleep with nothing on just skin and sheets but tonight? I couldn’t trust my cock with Calvin Hale in the same room. So I changed. Quietly. Quickly. Pulled the waistband high and tried not to imagine him wet, nude, dripping on the other side of that door.

I climbed onto my side of the bed and tucked myself under the blanket, willing myself to breathe normally. Just lie down. Just sleep. Just don’t think about—

The bathroom door opened.

And my eyes, completely betraying me, drifted over.

Calvin stepped out in nothing but a pair of black trunks; tight, high on the thigh, clinging like they’d been painted on. His skin was still damp, glistening under the light. Water dripped from his collarbone down his chest, sliding between two ridged pecs before vanishing across his abs. His arms looked thicker wet. Veins visible. Shoulders wide enough to block out the doorframe behind him.

His tattoos; thick blackwork along one shoulder, curling across his chest like smoke were even darker now, soaking into every inch of skin like they belonged there. His hair was wet, messy, pushed back with his fingers. And his cock, heavy and outlined through those trunks, swung slightly with each step like it didn’t give a single fuck what room he was walking into.

I blinked.

I could not believe the sight of him. Calvin Hale.. in his fucking underwear... huge, walking toward the bed like it was just another night and he wasn’t the living embodiment of every single orgasm I’d had in the last 10 years.

I gripped the blanket tighter.


“Masey-boy,” he said from across the room. “You find your bag?”

I hesitated. My brain stalled. I was too busy trying to will my hard-on down while pretending I hadn’t just been staring at the shape of his cock through those tight black trunks. His chest was still damp. His abs flexed every time he moved. I forced myself to look away, cleared my throat, and nodded like my voice wasn’t seconds from cracking.


_________________________________

Parts 3, 4 and 5 of this story have already been released on my patreon StoriesByTroy.

The Best Man | Part 3: Hard to Sleep


Thank you for all the support on my other stories. I love reading your comments.
Stay tuned for more updates on this story.

 

[George_Pantelis]

Love the start of this

 

[tommy69]

Hope there’s some action soon

 

[StoriesByTroy]

Love the start of this

Hope there’s some action soon

Thanks boys! Yes, you'll see some action in the next part

 

[alan882324]

Thanks boys! Yes, you'll see some action in the next part

(Im)Patiently waiting!

 

[StoriesByTroy]

The Best Man | Part 3: Hard to Sleep

“Masey boy,” Calvin said again, drying his hair with the towel. “You find your bag?”

I nodded, still gripping the blanket like it could hide the very obvious hard-on in my briefs. “Yeah. The staff already brought it up,” I muttered, not trusting myself to say more. My eyes flicked down once more before I could stop them. His cock was still swinging gently in those black trunks, heavy and outlined like it was half-awake and didn’t care who saw. I tried not to stare. Failed miserably.

Calvin tossed the towel on the chair and walked over to the bed like

nothing about this was unusual. Like he wasn’t shirtless. Like he wasn’t built like a fucking greek god.

He pulled the covers back on his side and sat down with a grunt. “Glad you found your bag,” he said, leaning into the pillows. “Otherwise you’d be stuck wearing my suit tomorrow.”

I glanced over, then immediately regretted it. One arm behind his head. The other resting casually on the sheet, just above where the outline of his cock was barely hidden.

“You’re fucking massive,” I muttered. “I doubt it’d even fit.”

Calvin turned his head, smirked. “I get that a lot,” he said. “But it’s usually not about my clothes.”

He winked.

I barked a laugh before I could stop myself. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

But my cock didn’t think it was funny. It thought it was the hottest thing I’d ever heard. The heat in my cheeks flared instantly. I turned my face to the side, trying to keep it casual, but every muscle in my body was tense. My cock was throbbing under the blanket, already leaking into the fabric of my briefs. I shifted, trying to discreetly adjust without drawing attention.

Calvin shifted beside me, adjusting his arms and settling deeper into the bed like he’d already claimed his space. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and I could feel the warmth of his body bleeding into mine, his legs occasionally brushing against me beneath the sheets. Casual. Effortless. Torture.

His scent drifted in with it. Clean skin, heat, the faint musk of sweat that hadn’t quite been washed away. Sharp, intimate, dizzying. Like he'd stepped straight out of a sauna and into my bed. I couldn’t stop breathing it in.

My cock grew harder, thick and aching under the sheets. I couldn’t hold off anymore.

Slowly, I glanced over my shoulder. Calvin’s eyes were closed, his breathing steady. Still. Unbothered.

Carefully, I slid my hand into my boxers. My fingers curled around my length, and I started to stroke; slow, quiet, desperate. My mind flooded with him. Calvin. Inches away from me. In bed. Shirtless. Smelling like heat and sweat and skin.

It reminded me of those nights I used to jerk off to his pictures on Instagram. Shirtless mirror selfies. Post-workout shots. That cocky grin. And now; now I didn’t have to scroll. He was right fucking there. His massive chest rising with every breath. That scent surrounding me. Too close. Too real.

My strokes got faster. I could feel my fingers wet with precum, leaking from the sheer thought of it; a hot fucking man lying beside me like it was nothing. Especially Calvin. Especially him.

It felt too casual. Too easy. Like my body didn’t get the memo that this wasn’t supposed to happen. I was scared of waking him up. But I’d been hard all day. Watching him in the estate, working, moving around like he owned the place. That white shirt in the morning, half buttoned, sleeves rolled. Then later, the blue one stretched across his back. Didn’t matter what he wore. It always clung to him like it knew exactly how badly I wanted to peel it off.

I bit down on a gasp, my strokes quickening under the covers, precum slick between my fingers. The image of him; shirt sticking to his chest, forearms flexing as he worked, that easy grin was too much. Too fucking much.

And then....

“I was waiting to see how long it’d take you to touch yourself.” His voice cut through the dark like it had weight. Heavy. Low. Calm.

My hand froze, still wrapped around my cock, fingers covered in wet precum, trying not to breathe too loud. Not to move. Like if I stayed still enough, I could pretend he hadn’t just said that.

His body shifted behind me. The mattress dipped. I could feel him turning toward me, that same impossible calm in his voice. “I knew you were hard earlier,” he said. “Back when you made that excuse to go look for your bag.”

I swallowed, throat dry. Turned my head just enough to look over my shoulder.

“Ca—lvin.”

He held my gaze, eyes half-lidded, voice dipping even lower.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s kinda hot. Having someone jerk off to the thought of you.”

I tried to speak. My voice came out low, rough. “You are awake.”

“Yeah, all that breathing,” he said, his voice dark with amusement. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

His gaze dipped. “You want help with that Monroe?"

I blinked. My throat went dry. “Uh-okay.”

That was all it took.

His body shifted behind me, turning fully now, closer than before. I could feel the heat of him at my back, the brush of his thigh sliding against mine under the sheets. Then came his hand...steady, warm...gliding over my shoulder and down my chest. Slow, unhurried, teasing me.

His hand dropped lower. Slid beneath the waistband of my boxers without hesitation. I exhaled, sharp and heavy, as his fingers closed around my cock; already wet, already pulsing in his grip.

He leaned in, breath brushing the shell of my ear. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so wet.”

His body shifted behind me. Closer. His thigh slid between mine, and I felt it then; his cock, hard and thick, pressing against the curve of my ass through his briefs. Not grinding. Just there. Hot. Heavy. Intentional.

His fist tightened just slightly around me, stroking once, slow and possessive. I bit back a sound. My body arched, desperate without meaning to.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even pause.
His cock pressed harder against my ass. His breath behind my neck. His grip; tight, slick, perfect fisting around my cock like he owned it.

Fuck. I’d been hard all day. Watching him. Thinking about this. There was no way I could hold it.

“Uh..fuck-”

I came. Hot spurts over his hand, my stomach, the inside of my boxers. My body jerked in his grasp, breath shattered, heart pounding.

“Shit,” I gasped. “Sorry. I didn’t have time to warn you.”

He laughed; low, cruel, amused. “You’re such a slut, Monroe.” His hand came up from between my legs. Wet fingers dragging up my chest, past my throat, until they reached my face. He pressed two of them against my lips without waiting.

I took them. Opened up. Sucked the cum from his fingers like I’d been craving it. Let my tongue drag along every inch, lips closing around him slow. I could feel his breath catch just behind me.

He leaned in, voice rough at my ear.

“The next time,” he said, “I’ll let you taste mine.”

His fingers slipped out of my mouth with a soft, wet sound. The taste of my cum still lingered on my tongue, warm and heady, but it was his presence I craved more; the heat of him, the weight of him, the way his voice settled into my skin like a bruise.

He didn’t speak right away. Just shifted behind me, his body pulling back slightly. I felt the change before I heard it; the slow fade of tension in his breath, the subtle amusement curling at the edges of his voice. “This wedding's going to be fun,” he said, quiet and low, like a promise more than a tease. Then he moved, rolling onto his back with the kind of ease that only made it more frustrating. Like none of this had even scratched the surface for him.

“But not tonight.”

I blinked, disoriented by how quickly the heat had turned to cool air. He didn’t look at me when he said it, just folded one arm under his head and let the other rest across his stomach. Casual. Unbothered. Like he hadn’t just made me come in his hand and fed it to me like I belonged to him.

“Sleep, Monroe,” he added, lips twitching. “We’ve got to take the groomsmen golfing at seven.”

And just like that, the night shifted. But my body still buzzed with everything he didn’t finish.


_________________________________

Parts 4,5,6 of this story have already been released on my patreon StoriesByTroy.

The Best Man | Part 4: While the Groomsmen Played

Thank you for all the support on my stories. I love reading your comments.
Stay tuned for more updates on this story.

 

[tommy69]

I am jerking off to this. So hot

 

[StoriesByTroy]

I am jerking off to this. So hot

Hehe thank you! I am so glad that this made you hard. Many more horny parts coming up!

 

[StoriesByTroy]

The Best Man | Part 4: While the Groomsmen Played

I woke up sticky.

My underwear clung to me, the fabric damp and crusted in places; a clear reminder of everything Calvin had done to me last night. Everything he’d made me do. I hadn’t even gotten up to clean. Just collapsed after he turned away, aching and half-hard and buzzing with whatever the hell that had been.

A message from Calvin lit up the screen, timestamped half an hour ago.

Mase-boy
you slept in late
stop dreaming about me
meet me at the country club.

I blinked at it, wiped my face, and groaned.

Of course he was fine. Of course he was chipper and smug and calling me that dumb fucking nickname like he hadn’t spent last night with one massive hand wrapped around my cock and then feeding me my own cum like he owned me.

Those few seconds I’d sucked on his fingers, I couldn’t stop thinking about how it’d feel to suck him instead. How heavy he’d be on my tongue. How deep he’d make me take it.

And then he just rolled over. Told me to sleep. Like I was a problem he could bench until morning.

I pulled myself out of bed and got dressed. Went with the olive henley; it fit snug across my chest and hid the fact that I still hadn’t fully recovered from whatever the hell last night was. I slipped on some jeans, ran a hand through my hair, and headed out.

------------------------------------

The country club was exactly what you’d expect... trimmed hedges, old money, early morning sun catching on the dew like some over-designed postcard.

I hopped into a golf cart and drove across the wide green lawn, towards the faint noise of laughter and straight boy competitiveness. The groomsmen were already out there, scattered in loose pairs, smacking golf balls and making jokes too loud for this kind of setting.

And then I saw him.

From a distance, Calvin looked like every rich man I used to resent; that tight navy polo clinging to his chest, tucked just enough to hint at the cut of his waist. His forearms flexed as he swung the club lazily, like he didn’t even have to try. Like he’d been born into this. One foot forward. A practiced turn. Smile like a smirk.

I should’ve hated him. But all I could think about was his voice last night, low at my ear.

"You’re so wet"

I gripped the steering wheel tighter and drove toward them. I parked the golf cart beside a huge tree and stepped out, trying to act normal as I walked towards the boys.

“Monroe’s finally here,” Ralph called out, mid-swing, missing the ball entirely.

Jake laughed like he’d been waiting for that moment. “Told you he’d show up hungover.”

Miguel grinned at me from where he was lining up his shot. “Hungover or just trying to avoid cause you suck at playing golf?”

“Neither,” I muttered, grabbing a club like I knew what I was doing.

It didn’t really matter. None of us were here to golf seriously; it was just a groom’s-day-out formality. Guys half-heartedly swinging, sipping spiked Arnold Palmers out of Yeti cups, making dumb bets about who’d land closest to the pin. It was Calvin’s idea. Of course it was.

He didn’t say much at first. Just a nod when I got close, a smirk tugging at his lip. We played through two holes... enough time for him to show off, for Ralph to somehow lose a ball into a bush, and for Jake to give up entirely and stretch out on the grass like a drunk model.

Calvin pulled out his phone, faked a frown, then looked up like he’d just remembered something urgent. “Shit..wedding planner just texted. Some issue with the seating chart. We’ve gotta call her.”

He glanced at me. “Need your help, Masey-boy.”

Before I could say anything, he added, loud enough for the others to hear,
“We’re gonna find a quiet spot. No reception out here.”

None of the guys cared. Jake was still sprawled on the grass like he was sunbathing. Ralph and Miguel were mid-swing, laughing about something that didn’t require my input. They barely looked up.

So I followed him. Down the slope, past the edge of the green, toward the golfcart I’d parked earlier under a huge tree. It was shaded, out of sight, a little pocket of silence in the middle of all this groomed perfection. I stopped by the tree and leaned back against it, arms crossing in front of me. The bark pressed into my shoulder blades. Calvin stood in front of me, close enough that I could see the sharp contrast between his navy polo and his tan skin, the light catching on the curve of his jaw.

I shifted my weight, eyes narrowing. “Alright. What’s she saying? The wedding planner?”

He pulled his phone out like he was checking something, then immediately locked it again without looking. “She’s not saying anything,” he said casually. “Made it up.”

My head tilted. “Seriously?”

He shrugged, smiling a little. “Wanted to get you alone" Calvin stepped in closer. His right hand lifted and planted on the tree beside my head, the thick tattooed forearm bracketing me in. I could smell him; sun, sweat, whatever expensive cologne he used so sparingly it just blended into him.

“Last night,” he said, voice low now, meant just for me, “you liked suck-ing on my fingers, didn’t you, boy?”

My breath caught.

His left hand came up slow, deliberate, and the pad of his thumb pressed gently against my mouth. My lips parted automatically. No thought involved. Just heat.

“There you go,” he murmured, watching my mouth. “Suck it.”
I did. Let my tongue swirl around the pad of his thumb, let my lips seal around it like it was something else entirely. My eyes stayed locked on his, and in my head, it wasn’t his thumb anymore. It was his cock. Thick. Heavy. Slipping past my lips as I moaned and sucked like I had something to prove.

Calvin tilted his head slightly, his smirk sharpening.

“You wish that was my dick, didn’t you?” he said, voice low and filthy. “You want it in your mouth so bad, you're making do with my thumb.”

I stared up at him, lips wet, jaw open, breathing hard. Didn’t say a word. That’s when he grabbed my face; one hand rough on my jaw, thumb still wet and shoved his mouth onto mine. He kissed like he owned me. Tongue deep from the start, lips crashing into mine, teeth dragging. My head hit bark. I moaned. He didn’t slow down.

He pressed in harder, his body grinding against mine, thigh between my legs, thick and solid. I clutched at his shirt, dizzy from how fast it happened. How fucking filthy it was.

He pulled back just a little, lips wet, breathing hard.

I leaned in without thinking, chasing the kiss, desperate for more. My hips shifted against him, needy. His fingers slid across my bottom lip, slow and taunting. “Look at you boy,” he murmured. “So fucking desperate to taste me.”

I sucked in a breath, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb pressed back into my mouth. I took it greedily, lips closing around it, tongue swirling like it was the only thing I needed.

He smirked, watching me. “Didn’t get enough last night, huh?”

I moaned around his thumb.

“Yeah,” he said, pushing it deeper. “That’s what I thought.”

Calvin's phone buzzed. He ignored it at first; kept watching me suck his thumb, breath shallow then finally pulled it out, thumbed the screen. “Jake,” he muttered.

He showed me the text.

where the fuck are you guys?
we took the second golfcart.
heading back to the estate.

We both looked up. The cart was already halfway down the hill, the guys hooting, tossing cans in the back, totally unaware.

Calvin slipped the phone into his pocket and turned back to me, slow and deliberate.

His eyes dragged over my mouth. “Now that we’re alone,” he said, voice rough, “you gonna show me what that pretty mouth does?”
_________________________________

Parts 5-7 of this story have already been released on my patreon StoriesByTroy.

The Best Man | Part 5: The GolfCart Mess

Thank you for all the support on my stories. I love reading your comments.
Stay tuned for more updates on this story.

 

[Curiousbi96]

This is crazy hot

 

[StoriesByTroy]

This is crazy hot

Thank you <3

 

[fmbttm]

The Best Man | Part 4: While the Groomsmen Played

I woke up sticky.

My underwear clung to me, the fabric damp and crusted in places; a clear reminder of everything Calvin had done to me last night. Everything he’d made me do. I hadn’t even gotten up to clean. Just collapsed after he turned away, aching and half-hard and buzzing with whatever the hell that had been.

A message from Calvin lit up the screen, timestamped half an hour ago.


I blinked at it, wiped my face, and groaned.

Of course he was fine. Of course he was chipper and smug and calling me that dumb fucking nickname like he hadn’t spent last night with one massive hand wrapped around my cock and then feeding me my own cum like he owned me.

Those few seconds I’d sucked on his fingers, I couldn’t stop thinking about how it’d feel to suck him instead. How heavy he’d be on my tongue. How deep he’d make me take it.

And then he just rolled over. Told me to sleep. Like I was a problem he could bench until morning.

I pulled myself out of bed and got dressed. Went with the olive henley; it fit snug across my chest and hid the fact that I still hadn’t fully recovered from whatever the hell last night was. I slipped on some jeans, ran a hand through my hair, and headed out.

------------------------------------

The country club was exactly what you’d expect... trimmed hedges, old money, early morning sun catching on the dew like some over-designed postcard.

I hopped into a golf cart and drove across the wide green lawn, towards the faint noise of laughter and straight boy competitiveness. The groomsmen were already out there, scattered in loose pairs, smacking golf balls and making jokes too loud for this kind of setting.

And then I saw him.

From a distance, Calvin looked like every rich man I used to resent; that tight navy polo clinging to his chest, tucked just enough to hint at the cut of his waist. His forearms flexed as he swung the club lazily, like he didn’t even have to try. Like he’d been born into this. One foot forward. A practiced turn. Smile like a smirk.

I should’ve hated him. But all I could think about was his voice last night, low at my ear.

"You’re so wet"

I gripped the steering wheel tighter and drove toward them. I parked the golf cart beside a huge tree and stepped out, trying to act normal as I walked towards the boys.

“Monroe’s finally here,” Ralph called out, mid-swing, missing the ball entirely.

Jake laughed like he’d been waiting for that moment. “Told you he’d show up hungover.”

Miguel grinned at me from where he was lining up his shot. “Hungover or just trying to avoid cause you suck at playing golf?”

“Neither,” I muttered, grabbing a club like I knew what I was doing.

It didn’t really matter. None of us were here to golf seriously; it was just a groom’s-day-out formality. Guys half-heartedly swinging, sipping spiked Arnold Palmers out of Yeti cups, making dumb bets about who’d land closest to the pin. It was Calvin’s idea. Of course it was.

He didn’t say much at first. Just a nod when I got close, a smirk tugging at his lip. We played through two holes... enough time for him to show off, for Ralph to somehow lose a ball into a bush, and for Jake to give up entirely and stretch out on the grass like a drunk model.

Calvin pulled out his phone, faked a frown, then looked up like he’d just remembered something urgent. “Shit..wedding planner just texted. Some issue with the seating chart. We’ve gotta call her.”

He glanced at me. “Need your help, Masey-boy.”

Before I could say anything, he added, loud enough for the others to hear,
“We’re gonna find a quiet spot. No reception out here.”

None of the guys cared. Jake was still sprawled on the grass like he was sunbathing. Ralph and Miguel were mid-swing, laughing about something that didn’t require my input. They barely looked up.

So I followed him. Down the slope, past the edge of the green, toward the golfcart I’d parked earlier under a huge tree. It was shaded, out of sight, a little pocket of silence in the middle of all this groomed perfection. I stopped by the tree and leaned back against it, arms crossing in front of me. The bark pressed into my shoulder blades. Calvin stood in front of me, close enough that I could see the sharp contrast between his navy polo and his tan skin, the light catching on the curve of his jaw.

I shifted my weight, eyes narrowing. “Alright. What’s she saying? The wedding planner?”

He pulled his phone out like he was checking something, then immediately locked it again without looking. “She’s not saying anything,” he said casually. “Made it up.”

My head tilted. “Seriously?”

He shrugged, smiling a little. “Wanted to get you alone" Calvin stepped in closer. His right hand lifted and planted on the tree beside my head, the thick tattooed forearm bracketing me in. I could smell him; sun, sweat, whatever expensive cologne he used so sparingly it just blended into him.

“Last night,” he said, voice low now, meant just for me, “you liked suck-ing on my fingers, didn’t you, boy?”

My breath caught.

His left hand came up slow, deliberate, and the pad of his thumb pressed gently against my mouth. My lips parted automatically. No thought involved. Just heat.

“There you go,” he murmured, watching my mouth. “Suck it.”
I did. Let my tongue swirl around the pad of his thumb, let my lips seal around it like it was something else entirely. My eyes stayed locked on his, and in my head, it wasn’t his thumb anymore. It was his cock. Thick. Heavy. Slipping past my lips as I moaned and sucked like I had something to prove.

Calvin tilted his head slightly, his smirk sharpening.

“You wish that was my dick, didn’t you?” he said, voice low and filthy. “You want it in your mouth so bad, you're making do with my thumb.”

I stared up at him, lips wet, jaw open, breathing hard. Didn’t say a word. That’s when he grabbed my face; one hand rough on my jaw, thumb still wet and shoved his mouth onto mine. He kissed like he owned me. Tongue deep from the start, lips crashing into mine, teeth dragging. My head hit bark. I moaned. He didn’t slow down.

He pressed in harder, his body grinding against mine, thigh between my legs, thick and solid. I clutched at his shirt, dizzy from how fast it happened. How fucking filthy it was.

He pulled back just a little, lips wet, breathing hard.

I leaned in without thinking, chasing the kiss, desperate for more. My hips shifted against him, needy. His fingers slid across my bottom lip, slow and taunting. “Look at you boy,” he murmured. “So fucking desperate to taste me.”

I sucked in a breath, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb pressed back into my mouth. I took it greedily, lips closing around it, tongue swirling like it was the only thing I needed.

He smirked, watching me. “Didn’t get enough last night, huh?”

I moaned around his thumb.

“Yeah,” he said, pushing it deeper. “That’s what I thought.”

Calvin's phone buzzed. He ignored it at first; kept watching me suck his thumb, breath shallow then finally pulled it out, thumbed the screen. “Jake,” he muttered.

He showed me the text.



We both looked up. The cart was already halfway down the hill, the guys hooting, tossing cans in the back, totally unaware.

Calvin slipped the phone into his pocket and turned back to me, slow and deliberate.

His eyes dragged over my mouth. “Now that we’re alone,” he said, voice rough, “you gonna show me what that pretty mouth does?”
_________________________________

Parts 5-7 of this story have already been released on my patreon StoriesByTroy.

The Best Man | Part 5: The GolfCart Mess

Thank you for all the support on my stories. I love reading your comments.
Stay tuned for more updates on this story.

Calvin reminds me of an ex that liked to do similar things. Loving this story!

 

[StoriesByTroy]

Calvin reminds me of an ex that liked to do similar things. Loving this story!

Love hot men who have control over you haha. Thank you <3

 

[BKnyc]

The Best Man : INTRODUCTION

A forbidden, slow-burn wedding saga about a mouthy young brat and the man he was never supposed to want.

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View attachment 182079981​

It’s supposed to be the happiest week of Nathan Monroe’s life - a luxury wedding at a countryside estate, surrounded by friends, family, and enough champagne to keep everyone glowing until vows are exchanged.

But for Mason, the groom’s younger brother, it’s something else entirely.

He’s back in town, trying to behave. Trying not to look too long at Calvin Hale - Nathan’s best friend since high school, and now the best man. Mason spent years pretending he didn’t have a thing for him. Spent most of his twenties trying to forget the Instagram photos, the fantasies, the heat he never got over. But now they’re at the same guest house for the wedding.

And Calvin?
He only got hotter.

Big. Broad. Tattooed. The kind of man who doesn’t say much but when he looks at you, it’s already too late. Mason talks back, plays it cool, stretches in his tight yoga pants like it’s nothing. But the moment Calvin calls him Pretty Boy in that low voice?

He’s wrecked.

This is a story about control. About slow teasing. About tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. It’s about the wedding week Mason thought he’d survive with a little yoga and some sarcasm and the best man who’s about to break him open, one filthy, whispered order at a time.

Main Cast - The Best Man​

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Mason Monroe​

29. Boyish, beautiful, big problem, secretly obedient. The kind of guy who talks back just to see how far he can be pushed. Spent most of high school pretending he didn't have a thing for his brother’s best friend. He’s back home for the wedding now, trying to behave. But the guy he used to crush on? He’s only got hotter.

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Calvin Hale​

33. Broad, bulky, tattooed. One of those quietly dangerous men with big hands, big arms, and no patience for teasing. Has full blackwork across his shoulders and chest, maybe more. Doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it lands. Was once just Nathan’s best friend. Now he’s the Best Man. And he’s watching Mason like he knows exactly what he wants from him.

Nathan Monroe​

32. Golden boy. The kind of brother everyone loves. Engaged, excited, and deeply unaware of the tension pulsing through his guesthouse. He thinks this is just a normal week of family, vows, and celebration. He doesn’t know Mason’s been crushing on Calvin for years.

He doesn’t know what they’re about to do.



An erotic, filth-soaked slow-burn about power, control, and the man you were never supposed to want.

One room. One bed. One mistake you’ll beg not to regret.

Great set up for a story. About to dive in.