“I’ll keep them distracted.” We followed the group, and I pointed out the window at the terrace and the view. With them occupied, Vince charged for the closet to hide the sex pillow in one of the million built-in cabinets. The view didn’t distract them long, and soon the four women were in the master bathroom, which was split so that the tub was on one side and the shower was on the other, with closets and sinks on both ends.
“I’ve never seen such a huge bathroom,” Becky exclaimed. “It’s bigger than my bedroom.”
“And look at this closet,” Bridgett shouted, snooping in the back. “It’s insane!”
“All right, ladies, shall we move on?” Vince was wearing a pink hue, hoping they wouldn’t pry into every nook and cranny and discover the pillow. He waved them out in a commanding manner.
“Very impressive,” Danielle said as we entered the game room again. “I’ve noticed you have a lot of art all over. Are they all mostly fantasy-oriented?”
“A lot of them, yeah,” he answered. “I’ve contracted some local artists to paint fantasy and sci-fi scenes. As you can see, a lot are of majestic landscape stuff and space battles. That one over there”—he pointed to a giant canvas between the last two windows—“is the cover of Towers of Midnight, a fantasy book that I loved, and I actually contracted the original artist to replicate it.”
“I bet that cost a lot,” Bridgett said, off-hand.
“It did indeed,” Vince laughed. “These were much cheaper.” He tapped the poster of a soup bowl by his shoulder. Inside the bowl were quotes from “Seinfeld” with the tagline “No Soup for You” in bright red font. “These I bought at the Saturday market. There are a dozen or so throughout the house. If you’ll follow me up the stairs here, I’ll show you the guest rooms.” We explored the three rooms, but they were pretty minimal and standard, except one room was full of boxes with all of Vince’s toys and collectibles, including binders of basketball cards. It didn’t take long to poke around, and we were soon downstairs in his office. Two desks took up most of the room, a Mac display on one and a PC on the other, both towers hidden in the cabinets.
The utility room lay next to the office, which looked like a skinny kitchen, including a sink and a second dishwasher. We entered the kitchen, which shared the same floor as the open dining area, where a depressed-looking Alma was setting up the table. Beyond the dining area through three arches lay the final room of the tour.
Vince leaned into Alma’s ear and whispered something before he joined us. “The Envoy calls this the ‘Living Room,’ but I like to think of it as my library, as you can imagine why.” Bookcases twice my height covered every wall in the room. Vince even had a tiny stepladder to grab the top-shelf books. There must have been thousands of paperbacks. A fireplace sat at the far end, unlit and unused.
Bridgett glanced outside with interest. “Is that a life-sized chessboard?”
We all flocked to the last window. In the corner, a light outside revealed a giant checkered floor with huge chess pieces aligned as if ready to start a game. “Yeah,” Vince replied. “I’ve never used it, but it’s a cool idea. You’re welcome to play later if you’d like.”
“I’ll play you, Bridgett,” Ashley said. I had seen Ashley and Danielle play chess a few times over the years, and as with everything else, she was very competitive.
Bridgett smiled. “Maybe when the weather warms up.”
Vince drew our attention. “So that concludes the tour,” he said, clapping his hands. “I believe the risotto is done.” He glanced at Alma for confirmation, and she nodded at him, so we all sat down around the colossal table.
Vince took the head of the table, so I sat to his right, with Danielle and Ashley beside me, Alma across from me, and Becky and Bridgett next to her. Everyone had wine except for me. “Danielle, do you want to see Vince’s tap selection?”
“No, I’m fine with wine,” she said, placing a cloth napkin on her lap.
“Really, I think you should take a look at it.” I grabbed her arm and cleared my throat.
“Oh, right. You were going to have me taste that one,” she said, getting the hint. We withdrew from the table and crossed the long hallway to the game room. “I know this isn’t about beer, so what’s the deal?”
“It’s Alma.”
“What about her?”
“I just wanted to know your impression of her,” I said, masking my feelings toward her.
“She seems really sad and lonely,” Danielle answered, looking over the taps.
“Anything else? Any other vibes?”
She cocked her head at me and glared. “Maci, would you just ask me what you want to ask?”
“Does she bat for your team or mine?”
She rolled her eyes. “Did you seriously just ask me if she was gay with a baseball metaphor?”
I threw out my arms unintentionally. “Is she, or not, Danielle?”
“No. I don’t think she’s gay,” she said, turning back to the tap. She found a clean glass and poured herself a pale, unfiltered ale. “Why does it matter?”
“Because look at her!”
“Your point?”
I folded my arms across my chest, glancing over my shoulder at the hallway. “Vince and her dated, remember. . .? But they never had sex.”
“Never?”
“According to him.”
“Maybe he lied about it,” she said, taking a sip. The drink left a foam mustache afterward.
“Why would—you have foam on your lip,” I said, rubbing my fingers across my upper lip to show her where. “Why would he lie about it?”
She wiped the foam away and licked her finger. “Thanks. Maybe he did it to make things less awkward between you and her. I don’t know. What I do know is she’s definitely not gay.”
“Do you think you could test her?”
“Jesus, Maci.”
“Ashley then,” I said, with desperation in my voice.
“No, I’m not going to ask her either. You’ll just have to take my word for it, okay?” She shot me a look that said she was done with the conversation. “Why don’t you just ask Vince later what happened between them?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I grabbed myself a glass and poured another porter. She started back for the hall and I tailed her. “But if you change your mind, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Forget it,” she said with finality.
“All right, all right. God, so touchy . . . I thought you’d enjoy the challenge.”
She shook her head, grinning. “I’m not going to take the bait, Maci.”
“Had to try,” I said, entering the kitchen, almost spilling my drink. We took our seats, and I did spill a little on the tablecloth, but luckily missed Danielle. I didn’t want to push her over the edge into crabbiness.
The rest of the dinner went well, mostly just introduction talk, including what my friends did for professions, which prompted Ashley to talk about her investment firm. She boldly asked if Vince would be interested in a proposition. Polite as ever, he agreed to hear her out later in the evening. Alma remained silent through much of it, her sadness visibly growing deeper the more wine she drank—and she drank a lot of it. We cleared our dishes to the counter by the sink. Becky was the last at the table, talking more than eating, a factor I hoped didn’t pertain to her weight loss.
Vince was rinsing off the plates when Becky got up and made her way to the sink, but she tripped over the thick mat in front of the sink, spilling what remained on her plate all over his crotch. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry.” She snatched up a towel from the counter, bent down, and started wiping away the sticky cheese, her strokes spanning from his waist to his mid-thigh, right over his penis. It was as if she was rubbing him down to get him hard.
I’d never been the jealous type, but seeing her down there, stroking like she was, launched a wave of jealousy in me. It was then that I knew I’d definitely never be comfortable with a threesome.
Vince looked at me in panic, his wide eyes asking
what to do, before he finally stepped back. “That’s all right, I’ll just go change. That’s what they invented washing machines for anyway, right?”
She giggled, straightening up. “So sorry. I didn’t see the mat.”
“It’s fine,” he insisted.
“Where’s your broom?” she asked. “Do you have a mop?”
“Becky, really, don’t worry about it. Go join the others.” Vince nodded at the group that had shifted into the library, now scanning his shelves. “I’ll handle it. Go.”
She nodded slowly. “O—okay.” She put down the rag and joined the others.
“She was a little enthusiastic, don’t you think?” I said, picking up the plate from the floor.
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? She was practically jacking you off.”
“She’s your friend,” he said in defense. “Besides, I think she was more frantic than intentional.”
I grinned at him. “If you say so.”
ALMA WAS THE FIRST to leave, swearing she had work to do in the morning, but really she was falling asleep from too much alcohol. It was good she was rich and had a driver, though she could have stayed in one of Vince’s guest rooms. Bridgett left second, and then the rest left a few minutes later at about one in the morning.
“That was fun,” Vince said, removing his bowtie.
I sat on his bed. “Yeah, it went really well,” I agreed.
“Your friend Ashley is a tenacious one. She wants to set up a meeting at her firm to discuss handling my financial portfolio.”
“Really? She asked you that tonight?”
“Yeah, it was all right. People ask me stuff like that all the time. They know I’m young and have a lot of money. I might take her up on her offer and see what they can do.” He kicked off his shoes and advanced toward the bed. “But I think we have other business to discuss.”
“You mean Alma?”
Vince halted, taken aback. “Alma? You mean her drinking? She does that from time to time. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant, though it was odd,” I said. “I actually wanted to talk about your relationship with her.”
“Oh.” He resumed his trek from the closet to the bed. “What do you want to know?”
“How long did you date?” I lay back on the pillows. “You never really clarified that.”
He had taken off his pants and it was slightly distracting. He sat down, his back against the right bedpost. His penis bulged in the boxer-briefs he had changed into after the accident. “From February to June in two thousand sixteen, so about four months,” he replied, his voice steady.
“How come you never slept with her?” The words slipped out faster than I could filter them.
“It just never worked out,” he said passively. “I guess we never connected that way. No chemistry, you know? Then we mutually broke things off soon after we graduated with our Masters and started the company.”
“No chemistry? But she’s so pretty?” I stared at him, unconvinced by his explanation. “Both Ashley and Danielle were commenting on her looks all night. Even if there’s no chemistry, wouldn’t you at least try once, to see if it’s just nerves?”
He frowned and gave me a small shrug. “I don’t know what you want me to say. We never had sex and that’s the truth. Are you saying you don’t believe me?”
“No, I believe you. I’m just trying to understand why not.”
He laughed. “Would you prefer that I had slept with her?”
I considered the question for a minute. “No,” I said at last. “I’m just a little shocked that it never happened.”
He scooted closer and ran a finger up my thigh. “Well, if it means anything, I think we have a lot of chemistry.”
The soft touch awoke the passion from earlier in the evening. “Is that so?”
His finger went up and down my leggings, each time getting closer to my clit, and soon I forgot all about my fears concerning him and Alma. I gasped when his palm stopped on my clit and held. I looked down at his bulge, the underwear barely containing his hard-on. The transition from discussion to arousal was so fast, it seemed like desire had suddenly flooded my body, and there was no way I could stop it—but I didn’t want to even if it were possible.
He withdrew his hand and pulled out his notepad with the list. “Which one do you want to cross off tonight?” We regarded the thirteen remaining fantasies together. When my eyes hit number thirteen I knew what I wanted. I pointed. “This one.”
His penis responded with a jerk, fighting to break through the cotton. “Pick up where we started?”
I nodded. He stood and pulled down his tight boxer-briefs. His erection bounced with life. I crawled off the bed, my eyes hungry. My lips wrapped around his smooth skin, sucking, as I slid down his shaft as far as I could go. It was so strange how simultaneously soft and hard his erection was. His hips thrust forward, and I gagged, but didn’t flee like I had before, trying to stay calm.
I slowly glided back and rolled my tongue around his tip. He shuddered with a groan. His stomach and hips flexed, and while I glanced up, I could see each muscle of his six-pack. Seeing his toned body urged me on even more. I ran my fingers across his chiseled stomach as I sucked harder and another groan escaped his mouth. My left hand grazed his skin, stopping on his butt for support—and because I liked to squeeze it. I moved down the length of his shaft, deeper than before, almost to the base, but it was too big for me to reach. I kept reminding myself to breathe through my nose so I wouldn’t choke as his body reacted.
One of his hands reached around and cupped my hair. He opened his eyes and gazed down at me, his brown eyes boiling with passion. “You look so sexy when you do that,” he breathed. His hips flexed again, forcing his shaft deeper, and I sucked harder in response.
I rested at his head and circled it with my tongue in big, wet strokes. He tasted salty and delicious, and I could feel the slickness of his pre-cum as my tongue maneuvered around his swelling head. He abruptly stopped me and lifted me to my feet. Kneeling, he tugged on my tight leggings and thong, inching them off in the steamiest way possible that made me crave his—cock. The word popped in my head. It sounded dirty and erotic . . . and I liked it. I wanted to please his cock as much as he had pleased my clit the week before.
His hands gripped my butt and pulled me forward. He smiled up at me as his tongue connected with my clit that sent a jolt of pleasure through my body. “You shaved, too,” he said, pleased. “It’s so smooth.” He explored the whole shaven region. Then he returned to my clit, and his tongue flattened as he applied pressure to his strokes. His hands squeezed my butt and I let out a soft moan. “So firm,” he whispered.
“I want you in my mouth,” I begged after a minute of his slow, methodic tongue massage.
He stood, wiping his mouth. His cock was so hard and engorged, it looked like he was going to come right then. “I bought this, too,” he said, taking a calm breath. He walked to his nightstand and took out a clear bottle from the top drawer. “It’s tangerine flavored.”
“Lube?” The word sounded so foreign and naughty to my ears. I hadn’t expected it, and I think it showed on my face.
“Was it a bad idea?” he asked, cautiously.
“I’ve just never used it before,” I said. “It was always a joke that it’s for old people, but after reading a few chapters of ‘The Guide,’ I know it’s definitely not.”
He smiled, relieved. “I think I should be on bottom. I don’t want to crush you.”
I moved forward and squeezed his cock, eliciting a grunt. “You’re so sweet.” I directed him to the bed, released my hold, and pushed him down. I took the sides of my dress and pulled it up, tossing it to the floor, then unhooked my bra, freeing my breasts. He buried his head in my cleavage as I pushed my boobs together. Withdrawing for breath, he ripped off the plastic packaging to the tube, popping up the lid, pouring a handful of lube onto his palm. His hand reached for m
y pussy and rubbed the entire area. A tremor shot through my body. I bit my lip, letting the feeling envelop me for a second while he kissed a nipple.
“My turn.” I extended my hand, palm up, wiggling my fingers. He squirted half my palm full. As he set down the bottle, I ran my hand down his cock to his balls, massaging them.
“Fuck,” he gasped. I pumped his shaft a few more times before swinging my legs over his. Swatting the pillow to the floor, he lay down, his back flat across the bed. I scooted back so that we were in perfect sixty-nine position. His fingers slid up my legs and around my waist, lowering my clit to his tongue. I wanted to scream in ecstasy, but held it in, focusing on the tip of his head. The lube tasted like sweet orange Creamsicle—delicious. I licked right underneath the tip, the male sweet spot, I found out. He thrust up, sending his cock into my mouth, and I could feel him at the back of my throat, tickling my uvula. I forced him back, sucking, swirling around and around.
His tongue penetrated my pussy, and then glided down to my clit, upside down. “I could eat this all day,” he said in a heady voice. Letting his words seduce me, I could feel that wonderful pressure building in my body, as his tongue and nose worked, rubbing, licking. The lube added a slippery, exciting aspect. I had felt wet on the inside before, but this time I knew I was wet on the outside, and then I noticed a finger massaging the entrance to my pussy. I cried out when he inserted it. Everything was so slick, it went right in. He added another finger after a minute.
Pumping his shaft with my right hand, I squeezed and fondled his balls with my left hand, playing with his tip all the while. I couldn’t tell who was louder, him or me, as I tried to focus on pleasing his cock. It grew more difficult by the second. My hips had a mind of their own, in rhythm with his fingers and tongue.
Pleasuring while being pleasured was the most erotic experience. There was nothing like it, but it was much harder to maintain, and at times I forgot what I was doing, falling away into the sweet sensations. Resuming my strokes, Vince called out, “Harder, harder.”
I grasped his shaft with more vigor, but he kept asking for more pressure, harder, harder, until I was squeezing as firmly as I could. His head had swelled so much, it barely fit in my mouth, so I continued with my tongue, swirling.
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