The Substitute (The Bros Series Book 1)

by Xavier Neal

  With a smirk, I watch her arrange herself, so her head is on my lap, face peering up at me. “I thought Sloane was hanging out with you at work tonight and that’s why you weren’t coming over.”

  “She bailed. Some guy we go to school with that she wants to sleep with texted her to hang out.”

  I quip, “You two don’t have a hos before bros code?”

  “Do guys even really have a bros before hos code or is that some stale stereotypical saying?”

  “Depends on the group of guys.”

  She lifts her eyebrows. “Do you?”

  “Depends on the situation.” I chuckle, but she waits for an explanation. “For instance, your bro needs you to be there for him through death or court or an insanely awkward divorce dinner with his parents, pussy waits. But he needs you to be a drinking buddy or someone to eat a burger with while you’ve got a hot piece of ass waiting to call your name…he can fuck off.”

  Ainsley’s giggles fill the apartment and it sends my mind reeling towards the reality it’s starting to only feel like home when she’s here. The comment pushes me to say, “Fuck, I love that sound. Wish you didn’t have to work, so you could’ve been here with me most of the day. You sure I can’t just pay you to be here instead?”

  The humor instantly dies. Her face falls and her beautiful brown eyes harden.

  Regret kicks me in the gut. “It was just a joke….”

  “One that’s insanely less funny when your mother’s an actual whore.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it, Ainsley.” My mouth rushes to undo the damage spreading. “I swear. I was just trying to say that I wish we had more time together. That’s all. I wasn’t implying anything else. I probably should’ve fucking thought that through a little better before I just let it slip out like that.” The next part of my sentence momentarily rolls around the tip of my tongue. “If you were any other woman I probably would have.”

  Her eyebrows dart down in irritation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Trying to stop myself from falling deeper into the hole I’ve managed to dig, I ramble on, “Just…when I’m around you, I guess….I don’t know, I’m comfortable enough to not overthink shit. Most of the time when we’re together, I talk first and think second. Being around you brings out that natural instinct to fuck without warning, protect without fear, and live without worry. Truthfully? I’m a little reckless when it comes to you. It’s a side I…I don’t usually let out any more.”

  For a moment she remains absolutely silent.

  My heart pounds harshly in my ears. It’s not as if what I said is grounds for breaking up. She’s less fickle than that. I just hope it doesn’t ruin the unexpected evening we get to have or worse. Sends her home before it even gets started.

  In a soft, sweet tone she states, “I like that side of you.”

  I lift my eyebrows. “Yeah?”

  “I like all sides of you. The one that precisely measures his toothpaste and the one who thinks it’s funny to silently fart and wait for me to smell it.”

  Fuck. Holden’s right. I really am tumbling towards the dick I used to be.

  “I love how you have a morning routine and I love it even more when you let it go to fuck me instead. You shouldn’t feel like you have to hide parts of yourself from me, Nate. I know how it feels to be afraid to show people who you really are. You never have to pretend with me, okay? Even when who you are says slightly callous things unintentionally.”

  Her understanding allows me to release the breath I was holding. “Sorry again, Ainsley. I honestly didn’t mean for it to come out like I was taking a jab at your mother.”

  She bashfully admits, “I know…Guess I’m a little more sensitive about it than I let on.”

  “How’d your father die?” I let my fingers lightly touch the curls at the top of her head. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  Ainsley’s brown eyes glaze over in sadness as if just thinking about his death destroys her. “He was a bouncer at a nightclub. Things got a little out of hand one night and he was stabbed, trying to break up a fight. One of them had a knife and it hit an artery. He bled to death.”

  I try to hold back my appall over the circumstance. “Did the guy go to jail?”

  She shakes her head slowly. “By the time the cops arrived, he had managed to flee the scene.” There’s a small beat before she adds, “I had just turned thirteen. It was about a week after. He had picked up the extra shift to afford my birthday present. He’d rented out the tiny movie theater to give us a private screening of Casablanca. We both had always wanted to see it on the big screen, so it would’ve been the perfect present. He’d been showing me that movie since I was six. Even then, I loved how it was in black and white. The music. The dreamy way they looked at each other. They were my version of a prince and princess…”

  Unsure of how to reply, I merely continue allowing my fingers to offer her comfort. Is there anything I can say? Sorry your father was murdered doesn’t seem fitting nor does the typical sorry for your loss shit. It’s awful things like that happen in the world and it’s even worse it happens to those who are too young to deal with the aftermath.

  “Sounds like your father loved spending time with you.”

  “Always. It drove my mother crazy how close we were. Sometimes I think he loved me so much because he had to love me for her too…”

  The words crack my jaw.

  “She’s never wanted me. I’ve always been a burden…Pretty sure the only reason she didn’t give me up was because she knew I would eventually be old enough to split the bills with her.”

  There’s another lull and the resentment towards her useless mother deepens. I don’t give a fuck how horrible your life is or how horrible you may think it is, nothing excuses treating the child you brought into this world like an old piece of furniture you wish you could throw out but need to hold onto for your perfume collection. Children don’t ask to be born. They shouldn’t be punished for it.

  In an attempt to even the information trade, I confess, “You already know my father’s a Supreme Court judge, but my mother is just a trophy wife.”

  She tilts her head in interest.

  “We’re talking extreme trophy wife. That’s her job. She has to stay nipped and tucked and fit to his liking. She exhausts every effort she has to stay a certain weight, never look her age, and make everyone at any event they attend ‘jealous’ of him. I honestly don’t think she can even remember what life was like before Nathaniel Richard Greene. Not even sure she had hobbies. She came from one of those families who had very specific plans for their daughters. They were to marry someone wealthy and maintain a life as a socialite. My grandparents on both sides were awful people. Sometimes I think my father has a secret fear of me becoming the bastard he is and that’s why he didn’t push me to study law or anything related. I think something deep inside of him wants the cycle of heartless bastards to end.”

  Ainsley sweetly asks, “You think I’ll ever meet them someday?”

  “Yeah…”

  The admission returns her grin.

  It’s the truth. I think she will. The issue of them approving and treating her like shit for not being from a wealthier family is a different subject. One that doesn’t need to be discussed. Not today. Not any time soon. While I couldn’t give a fuck less where she came from in that aspect, it’ll probably send my father into a spiral of spewing disgusting double sided comments. Knowing my mother, she will just nod along in agreement like the Stepford Wife she is. Just like she did last week when I went over for dinner to satisfy his monthly need for face time with me. He went off on his tangent about me finishing my doctorate and she sat idly by, bobbing her head between wine sips. Ainsley and I may come from two very different households, but sometimes it feels like they’re equally fucked up.

  “What were you watching before I got here?”

  The change in topic is appreciated. “House, MD.”r />
  “Never seen it.”

  “Basically the Sherlock Holmes of the medical world.”

  “I love Sherlock Holmes,” she gushes, eyes widening in the excitement that I love. “The old ones with Jeremy Brett were amazing and I loved the ones with Robert Downey Jr., though I have to admit, I found myself paying more attention to Jude Law.”

  Unconsciously, a small grunt of disapproval escapes.

  Ainsley giggles and quickly teases, “I love when you get jealous.”

  I roll my eyes to avoid admitting that’s exactly what the sound was about. “Have you ever seen the current BBC show with Benedict Cumberbatch?”

  She shakes her head. “You know I’m not a huge fan of television shows.”

  “You’ll like this one. The classic Holmes silhouettes and striking choices in cinematography are fantastic. And the acting? Unbelievable.” When she doesn’t attempt to waiver, I add, “Just watch the first episode with me and if you hate it we can throw on something else.”

  “Deal.”

  After I start the show, I order the two of us Chinese takeout. Throughout the first episode, she points out numerous things she loves from the character’s comments to the subtle lighting choices most people wouldn’t notice. By the time we’ve finished the second, along with dinner, she can’t stop raving about how amazing it is. I agree and chuckle between sips of beer. Rather than start the third episode, an unexpected conversation about wanting to see my editing skills is sparked.

  I give her a short shrug. “I can’t show you something I don’t have, Kid. After I graduated, I ditched all that shit. Deleted all those files. The last thing I needed was memories of a career I wouldn’t have haunting me.”

  She ignores the irritation in my voice about the subject. “Do you still have the editing programs?”

  My back hits the edge of the couch. “A couple.”

  “The old ones or the upgraded versions?”

  Reluctantly, I fess up, “Upgraded.”

  She smiles triumphantly.

  So sue me. Just because I’ll never be directly in the industry doesn’t mean I ditched every attachment to it. I have the programs to stay up to date. I plan to continue teaching film, I need to stay current.

  “I wanna see what you can do.”

  Annoyance returns. “What?”

  “I want you to edit a video. I wanna see what my hot teacher who got a degree from Clover Rose can do.”

  Her word choice soothes the sore spot of the subject. “I don’t have any videos to edit, Kid.”

  Suddenly, her smirk becomes mischievous. “Let’s make one…”

  My cock responds before my mouth can. “That’s probably not a good idea.”

  She straddles my lap and winds her arms around my neck. “Come on, Teach. It can be our little secret. No one else besides us ever has to see it.”

  Once more my dick thumps against her to show its approval of the ludicrous idea. And that’s exactly what recording us in any way, shape, or form would be. To have proof that we’re together just lying around seems like a shitty idea. Besides, knowing Holden, he’d find it during one of his random hack checkups, and I’d never live that shit down.

  Like the temptress she is, she crushes her tits against my chest, and implores, “Please…Our faces don’t even have to be in it. You can edit them out.”

  I let the idea roll around despite my better sense not to. Fuck. I hate telling her no. “What is it you clearly have in mind?”

  With a less than innocent look, she begins, “You know those videos where the guy is holding the camera, while the girl is blowing him?”

  Seeing exactly where this is headed, but anxious to hear her continue, I nod. “Yeah…”

  “They’re kinda my favorite.”

  Her confession causes me to groan in frustration. Goddamn it. The idea of her masturbating to porn alone is enough to make me want to fuck her rough and raw, but knowing she has a similar taste for my favorite type sends me spiraling an astronomical distance away from sanity.

  Ainsley lifts my hand from where it’s resting on the couch and brings it to her lips. Her tongue softly licks the tip of my thumb while she peers up at me through her dark lashes. The combination of the heat pouring through her jeans and the wetness of her mouth lures my cock into controlling the situation rather than my brain.

  In a hoarse voice, I command, “My bedroom. Now.”

  She gives it an additional lick, insuring she gets her way. “Will you bring your camera?”

  “Be a good girl and I might.”

  Her eyes widen at the words. Ainsley swiftly removes herself from my lap and strolls off for the bedroom.

  Without further deliberation, I quickly grab my pocket-sized camcorder I received for Christmas two years ago, from my desk drawer. It was my father’s less than subtle way of pushing me to go to grad school. He had it wrapped in a sweater box along with a check for the first semester’s tuition. Instead of taking time to find the humor in using his gift in a way that would infuriate him, I turn it on and retreat to my bedroom where I’m going to turn a fantasy into a reality.

  The two of us shed our clothes in sexually tense silence. Afterwards, I settle myself on the bed with my back slightly leaned against the headboard. Ainsley patiently waits to the side for instructions. Her trust in me itself makes my dick painfully strain in enamoredness. I’ve never met anyone outside of my bros who trusts me the way she does. Who believes me when I say shit without having to fact check and assume I have ulterior motives. That level of faith in me is almost as intoxicating as seeing her naked. Almost.

  I spread my legs a little wider. “Let your hair down. We’re going to block your face.”

  She pulls out the hair tie and tosses it carelessly on the floor.

  If she were anyone else the way she just leaves her shit all around my apartment would drive me insane. But she belongs here. She should get to leave her shit wherever. I should probably be thankful she at least attempts to put things back where they belong here. I’ve seen her bedroom. A random hair tie on the ground isn’t even child’s play in comparison.

  I let my eyes settle back to her curvy body. “Follow my instructions, do you understand?”

  Thrill dances around her expression and she obediently nods.

  “I want you to straddle my leg. Act naturally like the camera isn’t even there. Most importantly, do not, Ainsley, I repeat, do not make a sound. I don’t want your voice on camera in case of the worst scenario.”

  “Yes sir,” she coos and heads to the position.

  The moment she’s in place, I still her beautiful body before angling the perfect shot. Once I make sure her hair has curtained her face and I can feel the scorching heat of her pussy burning my leg, I hit the record button. “Suck.”

  There’s no hesitation to her action. Ainsley’s warm, wet mouth suctions itself to the head of my cock and harshly sucks. Her lack of prelude or teasing is equal parts appreciated and loathed. If she spends the entire time going this hard, this strong, with this much vigor, I’ll bust a nut before the video even has a chance to be more than a two-minute commercial.

  With one hand, I wrap my fingers around her hair and tug.

  The unexpected pull startles her, but she remains silent.

  “Slow down.”

  She takes the command given and immediately follows through. The softness of her tongue firmly grazes the underside of my shaft as she purposely knocks the rest against the roof of her mouth. Her change in pace is rewarded with a long, pleased groan. I can feel her smile against my skin and it causes me to do the same. Casually, one of her hands wraps around the base of my dick while the other lowers itself to grope my balls. Through the camera you can’t see more than a head of beautiful wavy brown hair barely bobbing, but underneath it the tantalizing tandem of her rolling my nuts around in her grip in unison with her tongue is the creating the best blow job I’ve ever had.

  Though
tlessly, I growl, “Take it deeper.”

  Ainsley slides my cock further into her mouth. When it’s not where I want it, I gently guide her until it is. The change of depth swells my dick and she quietly hums her approval. Just as I slightly adjust the angle on the device, she begins to greedily grind her pussy against my leg, allowing it to graze her clit. The unexpected action snatches a boorish moan from me. My fingers wind themselves tighter and I begin to pump her head to match the rhythm she’s rocking. It isn’t long before our speed takes an impetuous turn. I oscillate between having to strain myself to keep the camera steady and my cock from coming. Ainsley’s actions become so vehement that she pushes herself to the point she’s almost choking to down the rest of my dick.