The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends

by Kayley Loring

  “Shhhhh.”

  This is so the opposite of how I saw things going when I got up this morning and I have never been so happy about being wrong.

  Everything about this woman and this moment feels right.

  I thrust my fingers in and out fast while my thumb works her clit. I need to make her come quickly, and that’s all it takes to make her tense up and then start vibrating harder than she did on the roller coaster. I keep my hand still in place until her aftershocks die down, while trying to calm my own breaths. I can’t wait to hear these noises she’s making later, when she doesn’t have to hold back.

  I remove my hand from Aimee’s mouth and press my mouth against hers.

  Her breathing is long and loud and deep, and it’s too dark to see if she’s flushed or not, but how could she not be.

  I slowly pull my fingers out. She sighs and her hands drop to her sides. She licks her lips and rolls her head around before zipping up her jeans.

  “Well, I’m having a really fun night so far,” she whispers.

  We both crack up and I have to go for a quick little pace back and forth before we return to the oblivious crowds.

  Aimee has barely said a word since we walked from the boardwalk to the Nathan’s Famous cart by the Wonder Wheel. She has definitely worked up an appetite. She’s chowing down on her hot dog and sucking on her lemonade straw so hard that I might have to go for another walk to get rid of the bulge that’s trying to break out of my pants. I can tell she’s embarrassed, and I don’t want her to feel anything but good.

  A change of subject might do the trick.

  “You ever heard the story of Deno and the Wonder Wheel?”

  She shakes her head and I nearly forget the story I’m about to tell her when I watch her lick the mustard from the side of her lips.

  I clear my throat and continue. “Deno Vourderis was born in Greece, 1920. Family emigrated here when he was a teenager and his first job was selling hot dogs from his dad’s pushcart in Manhattan. He meets Lula, also here from Greece, and they spend their dates around Coney Island in the summer. One day, in the 1940s, he proposes to her and says, ‘I don’t have money for a ring right now, but if you turn and look at that big wheel over there, I promise that one day I’ll buy that for you. A ring so big that everyone in the world can see how much I love you.’”

  Aimee’s deep blue eyes are tearing up. I haven’t cried since I was five, but it moves me. Something about this woman moves me, more than music, more than my drive to succeed, more than loyalty. That something is lovely and delicate but dangerous—a poisonous flower that could bring me to my knees.

  The deep blues look to me to continue, so I do. “Deno eventually gets a job fixing the kiddie rides here, and in 1983 he buys the Wonder Wheel for two hundred fifty-thousand dollars. They restored it. Deno and Lula had four kids, and his family still runs the Wonder Wheel and the amusement park around it. Sweet, huh?”

  She exhales. “That is so sweet. I love that story.”

  “There are a lot of stories like that, about immigrants living the American dream around here. That’s probably the most famous one in Coney Island. That’s why I love small businesses.”

  She nods. “Me too.”

  I wait for her to ask me about my business, but she doesn’t, which is fine. Pretty hard to talk about it without talking about Keaton. While she’s finishing up her lemonade, I ask, “Hey, I heard you got laid-off a few weeks ago. You doing okay?”

  Her eyes widen and she starts choking. She covers her mouth. I rub her back.

  “You alright?”

  She nods while coughing a few times, her eyes are tearing up again.

  “I’m fine,” she says, her voice tight and hoarse. Finally, she’s able to answer. “I got a bit of severance, and I had a really good interview the other day, so I’m … hopeful that it will all work out.”

  “That’s great. Well, I hope it works out, but let me know if you need help. I can ask around. What is it you specialize in, exactly? You’re a business consultant, right?”

  She looks around, almost as if she’s looking for a distraction. “Yeah, where do we throw these away?” She takes my trash from me and deposits everything in the nearest bins. “Oh hey!” she exclaims, when she spots the Zoltar Speaks machine. “This is that thing from the movie Big!” She’s so excited, it’s pretty cute.

  “Yeah, but it’s not exactly like the one in the movie,” I say, walking over to join her. “You don’t make a wish, but you do pay him a buck for a fortune. Wanna try?”

  “Well, let me get this,” she says, reaching inside her purse and feeding a dollar into the machine before I can protest.

  The creepy animatronic fortune teller comes to life, his hand moving around the crystal-looking ball in front of him inside the glass box. “Zoltar is here, to give you the wisdom of the ancients,” he says in some exotic accent. “Do with it what you will!” He then advises us to live each day as if it’s our last, because one day it will be, and suggests giving him more money for more instructions, then the machine spits out a card. She gestures for me to take it.

  “All yours,” I tell her.

  She pulls it out of the slot and reads it, smiling and biting her lower lip.

  “What’s it say?”

  She holds the card to her chest and grins at me. “It’s a secret.” She puts it into her purse. “We going on the Wonder Wheel?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “You ready to rock?” I ask her, while we settle into the big metal cage. It’s not too busy, so we’re able to have the whole swinging car to ourselves. As we take the back seat, I put my arm around her shoulder and she leans into me. This feels right. This feels perfect.

  “This isn’t like a normal Ferris wheel, is it?” she asks.

  “Kinda.” I shrug.

  She punches my shoulder. “That’s not an answer.”

  For the first few seconds, we’re lifted up, and she coos at the pretty view of the park. Then all of a sudden the car slides forward really fast and then back again. It’s very unnerving. She squeals and swears and it’s awesome. It keeps swinging in place for a while, and she puts her hand on my thigh and smiles at me.

  When the car slides forward again she laughs gleefully.

  On our second round, while hanging out near the top, a young woman in the car in front of us squeals. Aimee squeezes my leg and tries to see if the woman is okay, but it’s too dark. Then we hear her scream: “I’m engaged! We’re fucking engaged, people! Wooohooooo!”

  Aimee yells out: “Congratulations!”

  “Thank you!” the woman yells back. “He just asked me to marry him up here!”

  “That’s so romantic!” Aimee yells. “That’s so cute,” she says to me. She seems to be genuinely happy for these total strangers that we can’t even see.

  When we get off the ride, this young couple is hugging, and the girl is telling the guy to take a selfie of them with her camera so she can hold her ring finger up.

  Aimee goes over and asks if they want her to take pictures for them.

  “Yaaaasssss!” the girl says.

  Aimee takes the phone from her and touches her hand and gushes over the ring. I stand out of the way and just watch as my date talks to these people and takes a hundred pictures of them like she’s known them forever. This woman? She’s beautiful inside and out.

  Years from now, I’m sure I’ll remember this as the moment when I really fell in love with her.

  But right now, all I can think about is how I need to get this woman to a hotel so I can see how beautiful she is underneath those clothes and worship every inch of her.

  8

  Aimee

  Chase is really serious about not wanting to take any chances on running into Keaton, even though he’s supposed to be in the Hamptons. That rules out either of our apartments, so he has checked us into a pretty big hotel by the Brooklyn Bridge, that both of us could walk home from in the morning. He is just as thoughtful about people�
�s time and feelings as he is about making me come when I desperately need that release.

  We are also not far from the downtown Brooklyn offices of SnapLegal-NYC, where we will both have a meeting tomorrow.

  But I’m not going to think about that now.

  That’s after tonight.

  A Sunday night in mid-June, the lobby is fairly quiet but not empty. As we wait for the elevator doors to open and take us to the executive room with a king bed, he snakes his arm around my waist and draws me closer to him. Ever since the Wonder Wheel, he hasn’t said much, but his constant touch has grown more urgent and possessive and I love it. His fingers find an area of exposed skin beneath my short jacket, where my ridiculous blouse and camisole are pulling away from the top of my jeans. Just the pads of his fingers on my waist send little shockwaves through me.

  When the elevator dings, it’s speaking for me. Ding! I’m done. Thoroughly-heated. Ready to be consumed.

  He leads me inside, presses a button and waits for the doors to slide shut before gently pushing my back up against the mirrored wall. His face is so close to mine, one hand resting lightly on my hip, the other tracing my jaw, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. Then his index finger lightly traces the scalloped edge of my camisole, barely touching the skin of my heaving bosom. All of my nerve endings are on high alert. All of me wants him.

  I have never craved another person like this before. Every single one of the trillions of cells in my body are begging—not for food, air and water—but for him.

  The tiny space between us, the gentle tentativeness, the way he’s staring into my eyes is driving me wild, but I am determined to take it slow. I am determined to prove to both of us that I am a sensual woman. I am not merely the horny-as-fuck-orgasm-deprived girl who rode his hand behind some building on the beach about an hour ago.

  His mouth hovers a few millimeters above mine when we reach our floor. I grin and push him aside, grab his hand and let him lead me to the door. Taking me to Coney Island and then bringing me to a hotel was a brilliant idea, because everyone knows that hotel sex is the best sex there is. Everyone knows this. Even people like me, who’ve never had hotel sex before.

  When I emerge from the bathroom, I’m wearing only my blouse, camisole and panties. We sensual women try to save time by removing our shoes and skinny jeans ourselves, when time with a hot guy is limited. I find Chase waiting for me, in the dimly-lit room. He has turned on music, and he’s resting his butt against the desk. He has removed his jacket. While I do love that sexy black leather motorcycle jacket, seeing his inked arms does unexpected things to me.

  There’s so much I want to know about this man, but it seems like all I need to know now is that we are here for each other’s pleasure, and I will give and get as much as I can in the next few hours.

  Chase’s hands grip the edge of the desk as he scans the lower half of my body. I love the way he looks at me, as if I’m the only thing he sees. He studies me, but not like some men do, where you can tell they’re just trying to figure out how to manipulate you. Chase reads me the way you read a book that you can’t put down, and I feel myself becoming a more interesting book because of it.

  When I stop to stand about a foot in front of him, I reach for the bottom of his white T-shirt, and he lets me pull it up over his head. I run my hands along the tattoos on each of his arms, the design across the top of his smooth olive-toned chest, and caress his taut pecs and abs. It looks like he’s been spending extra time at the gym, probably to keep from smoking. A win, for both of us.

  “You’re beautiful,” I tell him. I’ve never said that to a man before, never thought that about a man that I’ve met.

  He says nothing, but he’s smiling with his eyes, his beautiful brown eyes.

  I touch my fingertips to his full mouth, that beautiful mouth made just for kissing.

  His hands meet at the small of my back and bring me in a little bit closer.

  I lay a tender kiss on his cheek, his neck, his collarbone.

  My lips softly graze his, as I unbutton and unzip his jeans.

  He makes a deep, guttural sound when my hand reaches inside his boxer briefs. He is so hard for me, but he’s patiently letting me explore him like this and it’s such a turn-on. I nibble on his lower lip while slowly stroking the hot length of him. A light easy grasp at first, and then I grip him harder. He squeezes my ass and massages my hips, taking his time, but I can literally feel the restless passion growing. When the palm of my hand twists over the head of his cock, he growls. His eyes are so hooded, I can barely see his irises.

  “How you feeling about this little blouse of yours?”

  “I’m feeling like it’s about time you tore it apart.”

  The remaining buttons pop off when Chase rips the fabric and liberates me from it.

  He takes hold of my breasts, squeezes, gently bites my flesh before pulling the camisole off and tossing it aside. I lean back, letting him hold me up, offering myself to him. His warm tongue does heavenly, devastating things to my nipples. They have been stiff and straining for him all night, and now that they have him, the rest of my body is shocked by how satisfying this is. He is ravenous, and I would give him anything, but I’m also so aware that he is always giving to me.

  My whole adult life, my body has been some kind of carnal vending machine for the men I’ve been with, but this man, this man … I am being feasted upon while he simultaneously lavishes me with treats.

  I am about to tell him not to stop, never stop, when he maneuvers me so that I am now the one who’s leaning back against the desk, gripping the edge of it.

  He’s whispering things, as his lips travel downwards.

  The words don’t quite register in my brain, but I understand him anyway.

  You’re so beautiful.

  You are so fucking sexy.

  This is mine, and this is mine, and this is mine.

  He pulls down my panties, letting me step out of them, and moves my leg to rest on his shoulder as he kneels in front of me while muttering something about getting comfortable and holding on tight because he’s going to be down here for a while.

  The first time he licks my entrance, it is so delicate it tickles.

  The second time he does it, he is more voracious, and I clench up, drawing in a breath.

  The third time he does it, he is savoring me, and I shudder, surrendering to the warmth of his mouth and tongue.

  Oh God, he’s circling, making a figure-eight around my clit with his tongue while his finger slowly strokes up and down the sides of my inner lips. My head rolls, back arches, my hands reach for his hair. My pelvis starts rocking, everything down there is so engorged, the tension is unbearable.

  As if reading my clitoris’s mind, Chase applies pressure by sucking on it. The sudden shock of it is electrifying in its pleasure-pain and unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I scream out. The sound of him enjoying what he’s doing down there just adds to the agonizing ecstasy. He grabs onto my ass to hold me down, because I feel like I could take flight, but he is grounding himself and going deeper with his tongue, penetrating and thrusting and flicking.

  There is nothing left in this world besides my vulva and this man’s mouth.

  This, only this.

  Oh God, oh God, Chase!

  I’ve lost control. Both of my thighs are squeezing tight around his neck, and I really hope I’m not strangling him, but he seems to be invigorated. I’ve never been tongue-fucked before—I didn’t know that was a thing!

  Oh my lord, is it ever a thing.

  There is nothing better than this.

  I’m slammed with full-body convulsions.

  The noises that are coming from my throat are loud and deep, and then they are operatic.

  When I feel his fingernails dig into the flesh of my ass, I get a jolt, and he responds by gently swirling his tongue around and then keeping his hand there while I let the waves of rapture wash over me. He slows things down while keeping it going. I’m
still feeling aftershocks, stuck in a state of bliss.

  He licks and bites and sucks on my inner thigh and then somehow manages to carry me to the bed while my legs are wrapped around his neck, supporting my back while my head and arms dangle lifelessly from my torso. Like this is some erotic dance performance, and maybe it is.

  I am sprawled out, eyes closed, elated and so very sated.

  His voice is gruff when he says, “You ready for more, beautiful?”

  I somehow manage to open my eyes and see that he is hovering over me, massive erection sheathed in a condom, a heat-seeking missile aimed straight at me.

  “Oh God, yes!” I bend my legs on either side of him.

  He teases the opening before slowly, so slowly, pressing inside of me. Being filled up with him is a burning delight, his cock a monument that I expand myself for, in order to completely experience and worship it. He goes deep and gets comfortable in there, before pulling out and going deeper, still hovering over me, waiting to make sure that I can handle him. All of him. I give him the go ahead by raising my hips. His groan is a shotgun fired, and we are off to the races.

  His thrusts are punishing but graceful, I cry out with each thump of the headboard, moving in rhythm with him.