Substitute Boyfriend

by Jade C. Jamison

  I was self-conscious about my breasts. I wasn’t big. I was pretty average in the boob department, and my job as a teacher wouldn’t afford any kind of enhancement surgery, not that I would consider it anyway. No, I wasn’t anything to look at in that area, and yet, when he lay me back down on the table, I would have thought they were the most precious things he’d ever seen. But he didn’t touch me there. Instead, he picked up the bottle of rum again and poured a capful. Then he took the cap and poured its contents into my navel.

  Oh. I was intrigued. I’d never done anything like this before and had certainly never written about it. And it cooled me off, just that little bit of liquor. It might have been hot outside and even down to my core, but I was aware now of the bit of cool breeze coming from his air conditioner, located God knew where in his apartment, and my nipples doubled in hardness. They ached for his touch now more than ever.

  He grabbed my thigh with one hand as the other hand touched my side just below my breast. He leaned over then and took my nipple in his mouth, and the touch elicited a groan from the depths of my throat. I hadn’t wanted to seem impatient but I was, and I started to arch my back. But then I felt a trickle of rum make its way down the side of my belly and I forced myself back down to the table. I wrapped my hands around his neck, making my fingers relax so I wouldn’t dig into him with my nails, and sucked down a breath of air.

  God, I just knew I was going to come the second his cock touched me. I was beyond aroused, every nerve, every fiber of my body tight and primed. His hand brushed over my pussy, tickling the trimmed hairs there, as he brought it up to my belly, then over my ribs, and up to my neglected breast. I couldn’t help but notice the way my pussy had responded to his brush past it, because it was tighter than ever. It was aching for him, and I wondered when I would feel some relief.

  He caressed that breast so tenderly, his thumb teasing the nipple, and I let out another breath of air. I couldn’t take it much longer. He brought his mouth to my belly and licked the line of spilled coconut rum. Because it had run down my side, his tongue almost tickled as it began its journey, but by the time it reached my navel, it was all hot. Then he licked around my navel and sipped at the rum, drawing it into his mouth. Finally, when he had sucked it all out, he licked until every sticky drop was out and I was aching. It didn’t hurt that one of his hands was still teasing my nipple.

  “Oh, Jesus,” I cried, unable to keep silent anymore.

  I felt his breath against the sensitive flesh on my belly as he let out what I assumed was a chuckle at my growing impatience. He kissed down my belly to the top of my thigh, moving his hands to the top of both legs. I heard chair legs scoot a few inches on the floor, and that was when I realized he wasn’t going to fuck me. Not yet. But what he had in mind was just fine by me.

  I shouldn’t have been as relaxed as I was. After all, I was completely naked, sprawled out on his table, and his kitchen was bright. His shirt was off but he was otherwise fully clothed. I should have felt uncomfortable. But I didn’t. I was hot and bothered and couldn’t wait for—

  Oh, God, there it was. The stroke of his tongue. It had been a long time since I’d been with a man who knew what to do with his tongue. Oh, sure, Ridley had tried, but I could tell that he just wasn’t into it. Roman, though…I felt myself get wet all over again, just knowing that he didn’t mind taking care of me this way.

  He wasn’t wasting any time, either, and his tongue painted my clit with one soft stroke after the other—firm without being rough. I let out a low moan, unable to stifle it, as I felt my muscles tighten, and I anticipated what was sure to be the best orgasm I’d have in months. Ridley was nice to look at and he could do the job, but he was no pro, even with my guidance. Yeah, he’d improved, but he had a long way to go.

  Aw, why the hell did I have to think about Ridley? I felt my brain take over and suddenly it felt like there was no way an orgasm was going to happen. Not now, at any rate. I was getting ready to growl at Roman to tell him to give it to me with his cock when another stroke—this time harder—brought me back to the present. I felt my toes curl and my thighs start to quiver as he wiggled a finger inside me, his tongue still flicking at my clit. Oh, God, that was it. That was it!

  Oh, there went the groans as he hit the target. My brain escalated to that point of no return and I cried aloud. Shit. He was good. It seemed to last forever as my legs clenched and I wrapped my fingers in my own damn hair, needing to hold onto something so I could ride the incredible wave brought on by the orgasm his tongue was delivering.

  At last, though, I wound down from that amazing high, but it only made me want more. I needed to be filled by him.

  Luckily, he knew it, and he stood, towering over my prone body, a darkness in his eyes I’d never seen before that night. Oh, my God, my friend was hot and I’d been too stupid to ever notice it before. He was insanely hot and he was with me.

  In seconds, he’d pulled his wallet out of his pocket and he had a condom. Well, what a little rascal. Prepared, and at the most unlikely of times. Maybe there was a lot more to Roman than I’d ever suspected.

  That thought was gone, though, as he entered me. Oh, wow. So Ridley wasn’t the only one with a cock that felt nice inside me. Roman’s technique might not have been any better, but he’d started the party right, and so everything felt better on this side. Damn. And it wasn’t but a few minutes later that I was quivering again, crying aloud, and completely unaware when he hit the top himself.

  The best part?

  I’d have to find a way to work this shit into a book somehow, because that had to be some of the most unbelievable spontaneous sex I’d ever engaged in. Just…wow.

  Chapter Eight

  I WOUND UP spending the night at Roman’s apartment. I was surprised the next morning when I heard him get up. Even though I was half asleep, I peeked. He was putting on a jogging suit. So, after I heard the front door to his place close, I rolled over and looked at the clock.

  Six AM.

  I knew that this time of year, if he wanted to jog, he had to do it early before it got scorching hot outside, but six in the morning? On a Saturday?

  My friend was insane.

  I thought back to the night before, after we’d made love. Okay, no. We hadn’t made love. We’d fucked. And it had been damn good. But afterward, he’d led me to his bedroom. I was still naked from head to toe and spent, and he pulled back the covers and tucked me in. He covered me with a sheet and thin blanket, and I was grateful for the extra cover, because his air conditioning was beginning to feel downright cold. He’d pulled his jeans back up (an item of clothing I only ever saw him wear away from the college) before guiding me to his room, and he muttered something about needing to use the restroom before bed.

  So I lay there in semi-darkness, trying not to fall asleep, so I could analyze his bedroom. But it hadn’t worked. I’d passed out before he made it back to bed.

  Now, though, I’d had some sleep and he was off running, so maybe I could check things out. It was brighter in there now anyway.

  No such luck, though. I fell right back asleep.

  It wasn’t until later, when I heard Roman taking a shower, that I started to stir again. He was out of the bathroom and back in his bedroom, though, when I actually opened my eyes.

  He was wearing a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair was damp. I knew he liked to work out (I’d been a workout buddy on more than one occasion), but I had no idea he enjoyed jogging. God. I don’t think I’d jog even if I was being chased by a zombie rapist. The idea of running for the hell of it sounded less fun than a root canal. But the results on my friend were impressive. Holy shit, was he smoking hot.

  Honestly, though, things felt quite awkward. What should I say? What should I do? Did we go back to being just friends or move on to some new phase?

  “Morning,” he said as he walked toward the bed.

  Oh, hell. I’d been caught checking him out when I should have been scoping out his room acco
rding to plan. “Morning,” I squeaked.

  He dropped the towel and slid under the sheet. Oh, God, yes, this was crazy awkward. He frowned. “You’re feeling weird, aren’t you?”

  “Define weird.”

  “Odd, strange, out of the ordinary. Any of those sound right?”

  I giggled. This was still my friend Roman, continued to be the guy who managed to read me like a book (well, not like the books I wrote, although that had changed overnight) and knew my inner workings better than I knew them myself. “Okay, yeah, so you got me.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I am too.” He took a deep breath. He wasn’t snuggling up close or touching my hair or anything…weird. Instead, he was giving me the space I needed. “I still can’t get over that you’re a published author and I had no idea. None. That blows me away. But…I wanted to extend the offer, now that we’re no longer under the influence.” I raised my eyebrows. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? “I can play your substitute boyfriend for as long as you need. Until you get Javier back or—”

  What? “Ridley.”

  “Oh, yeah. Ridley. Whatever. Anyway, I just wanted to throw that on the table.”

  I inhaled a deep breath. Wow. Yeah, that too was weird, but somehow it seemed a little less weird than Roman and I trying an actual relationship. So I shook his hand and then climbed out of bed for a shower. I had a lot to wrap my mind around.

  * * *

  Okay, so I lied. I managed to find a way to work the table sex into my book. The characters were exploring their relationship, doing things couples do, and the main female character invited her new male friend over for the evening. Dinner had burned, so the hero insisted upon other dining arrangements…and once he and the heroine were feeling satisfied, they went out for Mexican.

  Holy shit, writing that scene made perspiration form on my upper lip as I remembered the way Roman had licked the rum off my belly. I grew a little tingly remembering all the details as I recorded them in the story.

  It was Saturday afternoon, and so I called Roman to ask if he had plans that evening. I figured if we were going to do this, I needed to get over the weirdness as soon as possible.

  When my phone rang again a few minutes later, I just assumed it was Roman wanting to ask for details, but it was Ridley. I considered not even answering but realized that would be stupid. I knew Ridley well enough to know a couple of things—the first was that he wouldn’t leave a message on my phone…and the second? He would keep calling until he got me. He knew I carried my cell with me everywhere (it was the only way I could keep up with the social media that kept Eliza Brennan buzzing in the minds of her readers), so he would be persistent.

  There was no sense ignoring him, but no law said I had to be nice. “Yeah?”

  “There’s my Lizzie.”

  “I’m not your Lizzie.”

  “Aw, come on, honey. You’re upset about last night?”

  When I gave his question real thought, I had to admit that I wasn’t nearly as upset as I could have been…as I should have been, considering how invested my heart had been in this man a short twenty-four hours earlier. I’d been hurt, yes, but Roman had done an excellent job of taking my mind off Ridley. “Nope. Got over it.”

  There was a pause. Ridley had never hesitated in all the time I’d known him, so for him to have to search for words…priceless. I almost blurted out I’m waiting but then thought better of it. “Cool. I’ll give you credit, Lizzie. I thought maybe we were gonna have a blowout. So…you get why I needed a little time to myself?”

  You know, it might have been his cockiness or the fact that he thought he was all that (and he almost was, really), but something rubbed me wrong—worse than I’d been rubbed in ages. My mind was foaming, trying to grab onto the right words, but there was a tiny voice at the back whispering the truth—that if Roman hadn’t distracted me the night before, I might have let Ridley’s indiscretion ride. And that knowledge made me even angrier, that I’d let this guy walk all over me just because he was gorgeous and available. Well, fuck that. “Ridley, love, you can have all the time you like.”

  Another pause. Damn, I was on a roll today. His voice was softer, though. “Really?”

  “Yeah. In fact, why don’t you take your whole goddamned life? I’ve got other things I need to focus on.”

  “Oh, Lizzie—” I have no idea what he said next, because I ended the call.

  I had to give the guy credit—brass balls. He called right back. Oh, come on, Ridley. Don’t be thick. You don’t really think my provider dropped the call at the opportune moment, do you?

  Turned out he wasn’t that dumb, because he didn’t try again after I didn’t answer. Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as I’d once thought.

  So why was I sad?

  Chapter Nine

  IT WAS MID-JUNE before I knew it. Classes were in full gear by then, so my writing time had decreased like it always did when I had lots of papers to grade.

  Well, there was something else too. I was seeing Roman. A lot.

  It was interesting. He still felt like just a friend and I think he felt the same way about me, because he’d start a lot of conversations off by saying, “Hey, I have an idea. Have you ever tried it this way before?” Use your imagination. When he’d say this way, he’d suggest a new sexual thing he and I hadn’t done—sometimes it was a different location; other times, it was an unusual position; a couple of times, it was a toy of some sort. We never did it in the same place or the same way twice.

  I think that was why the friendship aspect of our relationship stayed strong. Our sexual moments, while hot and consuming, were almost like a business transaction. We’d even taken to talking about it afterward, and I’d tell him where I thought it would fit into a particular book.

  But he was fucking me so much, my writing couldn’t keep up.

  I wasn’t complaining, because I knew that whatever we did would go in my memory bank for reserve and I could pull something out of there later on for use. Or maybe there would wind up being one or two times just for me. Like my entire life, though, any and all experiences were up for grabs when it came to writing. Even the way a person looked at me or something someone said…maybe even a really cool outfit I wore—small or large, anything I lived could become an element of a story.

  Sex, though…I’d always been afraid of sounding the same, so I needed to make damn sure all my sex scenes were different. And hot. I wanted them hot and sexy, because that was part of the reason I had faithful readers. They’d come to expect a certain level of heat from my books, and I didn’t plan to disappoint.

  Once or twice, I felt like calling Ridley and setting him straight. Something I learned during that first thirty days with Roman was that I wasn’t vanilla. I might not have been pure chocolate, but I was most certainly not plain and boring. The couple of small discussions I’d had with Ridley about the matter, coupled with my insecurities as a lover, made me believe I was what most readers would consider vanilla, but after talking about it with my adventurous, highly educated friend, I started thinking not. Okay, yeah, so I wasn’t into BDSM or body fluid play or pain as pleasure, but lots of other things were up for grabs. I didn’t have to be in the missionary position, and I didn’t need the lights off. I didn’t mind some down and dirty, some experimentation with new things, a lot of the unusual. I also found it didn’t take much to get me off when I was with the right guy.

  How the hell had Roman become that right guy?

  I was afraid of questioning it and breaking the spell, because I didn’t know how long he’d be content being my substitute boyfriend.

  He certainly didn’t feel like a real boyfriend, but I’d keep him as a substitute for as long as he liked playing that game. I hadn’t had such an overabundance of book ideas since…well, ever. I’d never had the ideas flow like they were with Roman playing that role. Ridley couldn’t even touch him in that department. It was amazing. I was writing like I never had before.

  So, like I said,
it was mid-June, and my phone rang. It was Roman. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Just grading essays. What about you?”

  “I was sitting here, thinking about you.”

  Oh. That was interesting. It was still a little strange, Roman saying things like that to me. And while my mind was dwelling on Roman in that way, it also noted that he had a voice that was sexy as fuck. Yeah. It was smooth like chocolate and sinfully low. Not bass low, but low, and it got my girl parts humming with anticipation. A few weeks ago, his voice wouldn’t have moved me like that, but his sex had changed all that. That voice? It made me want to do nasty things. I wasn’t going to tell him that, though. Not that much, anyway…but I had no problems hinting at it. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a sexy voice?”

  “Maybe. You haven’t.”

  “I am now.”

  I heard his throaty chuckle through the phone. “You ever have phone sex?”

  “What?” How the hell had talking about his voice escalated into fucking? Well…my cheeks—and the rest of me—warmed a little at the thought.

  “No?”

  A nervous chuckle flew out of my mouth. “No. Have you?”

  “Maybe.” He was quiet for a few seconds, and the anticipation was killing me. Just what was he going to say next? “I know a lot of people like sexting, but it’s not nearly as good as phone sex. Skype sex is even better.”

  “Skype sex? Now you’re just fucking with me.”

  “Uh, no…not yet. You in?”

  I felt my cheeks flush again but I sat up in my chair…and found that I was feeling kind of excited at the idea. My God, why had I never known my best friend was such a sexy animal? “Um, sure. I don’t know what to do.”

  His voice dropped lower. “Get comfortable first.”

  “That’s not gonna happen.”

  “Beth.”

  I giggled. “It’s not, Roman. I mean…I’m at my desk; it’s the middle of the day. I’m—”