by London James
I glance down at her body and zone in on her breasts. I haven’t had a chance to play with them enough.
I’m not an energetic twenty-one-year-old anymore, so it takes me a few minutes to get hard again. The wait makes me think a little too much.
We’ve scratched the itch, yes, but now I want more. If we had all the time in the world, I would take her again and again through the middle of the night. But we don’t have that luxury. We have to return to the party eventually, and then what? Pretend this didn’t happen?
I really like Briony but hopping into a relationship based on sexual compatibility and friendship would be an awful idea. My idiotic brain would find every way to sabotage it, and I don’t want to fuck things up between the two of us and Ben again. I’m not even sure if I’m capable of being a normal, settled-down guy.
I sigh.
“You okay?” Briony asks, inching her way closer to me little by little.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I stare up at the ceiling. “I’m just wondering what we should do.”
“About this?” she asks. “This meaning whatever we are?”
“Yeah.” I roll over, so I’m facing her. “I’m not sure if we should do this again.”
Is that a hint of disappointment in her eyes? Even so, she says, “I agree. We scratched the itch, but I think we should try to put this behind us. Things would be too messy since we’re both looking for different things.”
“Good.” I study her face, trying to tamp down the rush of attraction I feel toward her. She’s beautiful, especially with the post-sex flush across her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes. “I’ve never been just friends with a woman I’ve slept with, but I’ll figure it out. I like hanging out with you, and I need to stop thinking with my dick all the time.”
She smiles. “I’ll try to keep myself under control too.”
“Cool.”
We lay in silence again, feeling each other breathing through where we’re touching. I glance down at her breasts for a second and feel my cock stir against my will. I’ve never smoked or anything along those lines, but now I understand why people try and fail to break their bad habits. We just talked about how complicated a fuck-buddy situation would be and yet, I’m still looking at the clock, trying to figure out if we can stay in the room long enough for a quickie.
Just one more time. Then we’ll be done. I run my fingers down her upper arm.
“Um…” Briony sits up a little, her breasts jiggling in the most mouthwatering way. “Since we’re putting this behind us after today, do you want to do it one more time?”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” I grin and roll her onto her back, kissing the junction of her neck and shoulder. She throws her leg over my hip and grinds against me.
If we just have one more time, I want to make it count.
She leans forward and kisses me tightly, clamping down hard on my lips with her own. I feel my eyes roll back into my head with how good her mouth feels against mine. The scent of her overwhelms my senses: she tastes like the summer breeze.
I reach my arms around her again and run my fingers down her shoulders, savoring every inch of her body underneath my touch. She shudders, whimpering against me. She takes one hand and runs it up and down my chest, softly brushing her fingertips against my rock-hard muscles.
I kiss her again, deeply, and start to move as if I’m going to get back on top of her. She stops me with a hand, then looks up at me, with a glint in her eye, and shakes her head. Her beautiful black curls cascade down her shoulders when she does it.
“Nuh-uh,” she winks. “My turn.”
She pushes me back down and lifts herself up, throwing a leg over me until she’s straddling me and I’m on my back. Briony grins and bites her lip, leaning forward to plant kisses all the way up my chest, only making my cock strain even harder. Her hair brushes against my abs, sending tiny pinpricks of warmth straight down to my stiff rod.
“Besides, you promised me something,” she continues.
I grin and reach my hands to her breasts, reveling in the warm fullness of them against my hands. I pinch her nipples, one at a time, and she moans in pleasure.
Briony sits straight up, still with my hands clasped to her breasts, and lowers herself onto my desperate cock. The sensation of being inside her once again—even if it’s the last time—drives me absolutely wild.
After a few seconds of adjusting, Briony starts to bounce up and down on me, increasing in speed. I buck my hips underneath her, trying to match her rhythm while still maintaining a firm grasp on her breasts. She grips the sheet for balance and somehow starts bouncing even faster, which only serves to drive all rational thought from my mind and replace it with thoughts of Briony.
I remove my hands from her boobs and instead wrap them around her back, pulling her down against me. They land right in my face, and I take the opportunity to start licking and sucking her nipples while she continues to rock her hips against me.
My hands start wandering down and grip her ass firmly. Briony responds by gripping my shoulders and digging her nails into them. She hangs on for dear life and lets out a cry, convulsing with waves of lust. I can tell she’s getting close to coming again. I’m not too far behind.
I start rocking my own hips faster now, taking over the work. She rolls her eyes back into her head and stops thrusting, but her hips and whole body are convulsing. Briony leans forward and clamps her teeth onto my shoulder, letting out a scream. She comes again, gasping heavily for breath against me.
I take the opportunity to pound into her even harder as she rides the waves of her own orgasm, building up to mine. I clench my fingers deeper into the flesh of her ass, and with one last push, I feel myself explode.
We lay there for a few moments, each barely able to catch our breath.
Briony finally lifts her head from my chest and looks me in the eyes. Her expression is deliriously happy, satiated—and yet, somehow, sad.
“Okay. We really should get back to the party,” she says.
I know she’s right. But the truth doesn’t make me feel any better.
Chapter Eleven
Ash
I still hate getting to the gym at 5:30 a.m., but I know I need a workout more than anything. My mood is in the shitter and has been since the party. It’s like I’ve come down from an endorphin high and can’t get back up. Briony and I spent a little more time together, hoping no one would notice that we were both gone. And when she went back up to the party without me, no one seemed to connect the dots.
Ben notices how bad I’m feeling right when I get in the locker room, but he also knows I won’t feel like a human being until I’m well into the workout. So he fills the air when he can.
“My coworkers keep raving about those cocktails from the party,” Ben starts as we switch places at the squat rack. I add a few more plates at the end of the bar.
“That’s great,” I say absently, preparing for my lift. Sometimes I hate working out as much as I hate getting up early, but I do it anyway, no matter how much I ache. I do my set of squats, groaning on the last one. If there’s anything I have going for me, it’s my discipline.
In the days since the engagement party, my discipline is being tested. I’ve wound myself up tighter and tighter, trying to not think about Briony, but I’m failing miserably. I want to text her and ask if she wants to hang out, but I know that if we didn’t have an external force keeping us apart, like being in public or needing to be somewhere later that day, I would crack.
I can’tcrack. But I can spend a horrifying amount of my free time jerking off to take the edge off. It’s almost like I’m sixteen again. I go at it in the morning, when I wake up, and in the evening when I’m trying to wind down. I’m going to strain a wrist muscle at this rate. How could I even explain that to Ben? I can’t say, ‘Sorry, can’t work out because I jerked off too hard to your sister’.
On the upside, I’ve thrown myself into my work to distract myself, and it’s paying
off. I’ve never been so productive in my life. Even my assistant noticed that I’m answering his emails almost immediately these days, which never happens. I shrugged and told him I’ve just had a lot of coffee lately, which helps me work. He’s a smart kid—I know he knows I’m bullshitting him. But thankfully, he also has good judgment and hasn’t asked me what’s wrong.
I watch Ben pump out his next set of squats; then we move on to the bench press. I go first, and he spots me. I focus on every aspect of the lift, engaging the right muscles, and breathing at just the right time. How long can this last? I can’t keep myself distracted all the time. Maybe it will get better with time. After all, this is the first time I’ve ever been in this situation. I’ve kept my feelings and sex far, far apart from each other and now they’re mixed up. I’ve been through worse, though. If I could make it through SEAL training, I can make it through anything. I just need to try harder.
“Fuck, my shoulders.” Ben winces and rolls them forward.
“Getting old, man?” I chuckle. Ben rolls his eyes a little. I wish it didn’t remind me of Briony, but it does. They don’t look like twins or anything, but the sibling resemblance is apparent if you see a photo of them. It’s mainly their mannerisms that make it clear that they’re close. It’s a little eerie seeing their whole family together—I can see where both of them got certain parts of their personality, like the eye rolling. That’s from their mom, who’s the straight arrow to their dad’s jokester.
“More like getting sick of sitting at my desk all day. I guess I’ve been tense.” He shakes out his arms. “I have a red-eye flight tonight, so I’ll probably feel even worse.”
“Where are you heading?”
“San Francisco. It’s only a short trip, so I’ll be on planes back-to-back without any time to loosen up,” he sighs. “I can’t wait to be back home, and I haven’t even left.”
“I know the feeling.” Sometimes business trips are just a pain, even if they’re productive. Maybe I can get a trip on my calendar to distract me from Briony.
God, why can’t I go more than five minutes without thinking of her?
I put my barbell plates back a little harder than necessary. I want to be friends with Briony without breaking her heart or Ben’s trust, but can I handle it with my will intact?
We make it through the rest of the workout and go our separate ways after we shower, him to his office in lower Manhattan and me to mine in Dumbo. I grab coffee and a breakfast burrito on the way. As usual, I’m the first person in. No one else is going to arrive for another hour or so, around 8:30, so I have time to get some focused work in before things get hectic.
I start with my email, noticing that there’s one from Dad’s nurse Nora. She sends updates every few days or so.
Hi Ash,
William’s last check-up was fine—his blood sugar was normal, as was his blood pressure. His appetite is normal, but he’s not gaining any weight. He’s been complaining of headaches lately. I’ll keep his doctor posted. His mood is as it usually is.
I smirk. Nora is a good person, but even she has her limits. That’s good to know because if she put up with him without any complaint, I’d think she was a cyborg.
Forgive me if this is crossing a boundary, but I did want to point out that he seems to play up his symptoms more when you’re around. I’m not sure why, but I thought I would bring it to your attention. Most days he seems to be okay, so please don’t worry if he seems in bad shape when you see him. I’ll let you know if anything changes.
Best,
Nora
I close the email, sitting back in my seat. I’m no stranger to my dad manipulating me, even though I don’t always see it without someone else pointing it out to me. Usually, Ben is the one who does since he gets me in ways that most don’t. But now Nora is bringing it up, too.
I take a sip of my coffee, even though it’s only adding to the dull, anxious ache in my gut. Dad is truly sick—he can’t fake that. But why would he play up his symptoms? He already has me wrapped around his finger, so he probably isn’t trying to milk more money from me. I’ve gotten him a personal, live-in nurse, I send in organic, healthy meals every day, and I even took over his medical bills. If I had done any less with the means I have, I couldn’t live with myself. It isn’t a lot of money to me in the big picture, which he has to be aware of. He knows of my approximate net worth from asking me questions and piecing together bits of news about the company.
What’s going on in his head? Will I ever find out? I’ve spent most of my life trying to get closer to the answer, but he has a gift for surprising me with new, nasty parts of his personality. It’s like he’s the world’s least pleasant piñata.
I push the thought aside and open up some happier emails. I’ve been tapped to speak at a veterans’ charity event at the end of September, and one of my old employees has gotten a promotion at her new gig. I shoot off a few responses to smaller things, immersing myself in the work.
I rarely like to congratulate myself before things are fully settled, but we’re kicking ass. We’re growing steadily, but not so quickly that we can’t keep the pace up for a few more years. We’ll have enough money to fund all of our projects and more. But our success means that we are more valuable, and with more value comes more pressure to take the company public. My father’s constant reminders of that fly into my head.
Before long, my employees start trickling in. Most of them wave at me or pop in to say hi. I know every single person who works for me personally—I’m not the kind of CEO to sit in an ivory tower without talking to anyone who isn’t a manager. That’s something I would miss if I gave up control of the company. Going into work is hard some days, but it’s always worth it to be around some smart, hard-working people.
After nine o’clock, I go from meeting to meeting, hopping on various conference calls, and can hardly take a minute to breathe until one. My assistant makes a group order for salads, to my relief, so I don’t have to leave. I close the door to my office — I’m firmly against the open floor plan, those glassed-in offices that are popular in tech—, taking my salad to my desk.
I pull up some mindless YouTube videos and my personal email to decompress, but of course, I notice Briony is online. We haven’t spoken since the party over the weekend, but there isn’t much of a reason for us to. Once we both agreed to put what we’d done behind us, we headed back to the party separately and stayed away from each other for the rest of the night. No one seemed to notice where we’d gone.
I miss her, though. We had fallen into the habit of talking throughout the day whenever we had a free moment. Since my free moments were few and far between, I usually had a nice little backlog of her random thoughts and favorite memes to go through in the afternoon.
She hasn’t sent me anything since the party.
I hover over her name in my chat list, debating whether to message her. If I’m trying to not screw things up between us, I need to give myself more time to calm down. I close my email instead.
The rest of the day goes by in a blur, and before I know it, it’s 7 p.m. I’m tired and hungry—all I want to do is pick up some dinner and head home to watch TV with Sarge on the couch.
On my walk to the train, my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. My stomach clenches, hoping it isn’t Dad or the hospital. To my surprise, it’s Briony.
We never talk on the phone, so why is she calling?
“Hello?” I ask, stepping to the side so people walking faster than me can get by.
“Ash?” Briony sounds like she’s been crying, and there’s a lot of noise going on wherever she is. “Can you hear me?”
“What’s wrong?” I ask. Panic starts to flood through me.
“My apartment,” she says, hiccupping and sniffing. “My building fucking caught on fire.”
“Holy shit. Are you okay? What about Zara and the cat?” I stop. My heart starts racing.
“I mean, I’m fine, and Zara wasn’t home. Chunk is good, too, since I wa
s able to wrap him in a blanket and carry him out, but I’m kind of freaking the fuck out,” she explains, still sounding shell-shocked. “Ben is on his flight and my parents are in Florida on vacation, so I called you. I’m not sure what to do, and I can’t seem to pull myself together.”
“I’m coming. Be there in less than twenty minutes,” I say. “Stay there.”
Before she can say anything, I hang up and snag a car. The driver must sense my worry because he books it to Briony’s apartment.
We can’t get onto the street itself because it’s packed with fire engines and news crews. The air is smoky, making the sky hazy. People are milling around the perimeter of the area, but I don’t see Briony.
I call her again, pushing through the crowd. She told me she was over between two fire engines.
I finally see her among the crowd, and a wave of relief washes over me. She really is safe.
She looks like hell. She must have been relaxing at home because she’s wearing cotton shorts and a tank top, her hair up in a messy bun. Her makeup has run down her face, and her eyes are red. Her bag is at her feet, along with a cat carrier that’s labeled PROPERTY OF FDNY. I can hear Chunk yowling away inside, possibly unaware that he just escaped death.
She hesitates a moment but opens her arms. I hug her, surprised at how relieved I am to hold her. She bursts into tears with her face buried in my shirt, her shoulders shaking. I stand still, trying not to tense up. Hearing her crying on the phone versus seeing her are two very different things. What the hell am I supposed to do? I want to make it better, but will I make things worse if I try to get her to calm down? Have I ever comforted someone as they cried?
“Thank you for coming,” she finally whispers, her crying slowing down.
“It’s no problem.” I pat her back softly. “Do you know what happened?”