by Lacey Black
“Yeah? What’s he been up to?”
“Same ol’ Tuck.”
“Sleeping with everything with a vagina?” she asks with a laugh, but I also know she means just that. Tuck’s a bit of a manwhore. He’s definitely working his way through all of the single ladies in town, and some that aren’t so single.
“You know him well.”
As we finish dinner, we talk about the book she’s working on for an up-and-coming author from California. Her technique needs a bit of work, according to Abs, but her stories are unique and keep you flipping the pages.
“Does she write girl-porn too?”
“No, she’s not an erotic writer,” she chastises me with a shy grin.
“But you’ve edited some, haven’t you? You’ve had your hands on some of those dirty office romance novels or the ones where the girls are supposed to call the Dom Daddy, right?”
The blush is fast and furious, and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. My mind wanders rapidly to all of the different storyline scenarios that she could have read, working her tail off on making the book as polished as ever. But then my wayward dick creeps into the equation, and suddenly, I’m wondering about a different kinda polish. Guys have to either find a willing female to take care of the problem, or they take care of it themselves. Lately, my problems have all been solved on solo runs.
But what about Abby? Does she get turned on reading about Doms and subs and find herself with her own little problem that needs solved? Does she take matters into her own hands, which frankly, is fucking hot. There’s nothing sexier than watching a woman making herself come with her own fingers. Suddenly, the very idea of Abby doing just that, late at night when no one is around, could quite possibly be the sexiest thing I’ve ever pictured.
And cue the massive hard-on, folks. My cock is unexpectedly so hard I could pound nails through concrete.
“Did you hear me?” she asks across the table.
“I’m sorry, what?” I mumble, mortified, trying to picture everything under the sun that could kill this boner. Emma and Orval using their playroom is usually a surefire way to ease the tension in my pants, but for some reason, now I just picture what it would be like to have Abby in one of those pleasure rooms.
Fuck.
“I offered to get the movie ready to go while you grabbed the cookies,” she says again, standing up and collecting the paper plates from dinner.
My eyes are riveted to the sexiest pair of tight grey yoga pants that I’ve ever seen. Are those new? Does she always wear slick body-hugging material that makes her ass look good enough to eat off of? I watch as she walks into the kitchen, her hips swaying gently with each step, and I realize that nothing short of a good ol’ fashioned spanking is going to get this boner to go away.
My mind replays dirty images of my best friend over and over again, and all I want to do is act them out in real life. Especially the one where I watch her finger herself. That fantasy is all-star spank bank material.
“I went ahead and grabbed the cookies. I know how much you want it,” she teases, holding the plate out for me to see. But my eyes aren’t on the plate extended in front of her. Oh, no. My eyes are captivated by the lush mounds of creamy tits, barely concealed behind a black tank top.
Kill. Me. Now.
Where in the hell did that thing come from? Has she always worn something so revealing, so provocative?
“Are you okay? You’re looking all flush,” she says as she heads towards the living room. I have yet to stand up, because if I did, she’d have a front row view of my soldier standing at attention.
“I’m fine,” I choke out.
I watch as she walks to the TV and turns on the DVD player. She bends over and places the cookies on the coffee table, my dick practically crawling through my jeans. I should look away, and really, I try, but it’s futile. My eyes betray me and watch every move she makes as she heads to the couch and plops down on her end.
“You coming?”
Not yet, but hopefully soon.
“Yep!” I chirp in a high-pitched voice that sounds like the one I had at thirteen. Clearing my throat, I carefully stand up and adjust my body so that she can’t see my front. “I’m just gonna use the head first,” I tell her as I head towards the hallway.
Inside the bathroom, the walls start to close in on me. Glancing at the tub, I picture her naked body with water cascading down her smooth skin. I actually have to bite my lip to keep the moan from slipping out.
I’m trapped inside my best friend’s bathroom with a boner that won’t quit, and there’s only one thing to do. I should be embarrassed about what’s about to transpire in her private space, but I’m not. I can’t be. I’m too wired, too horny, to even give a flying fuck right now.
I practically push down my pants like they’re on fire. My cock is throbbing, pushing against the cotton boxer briefs trying to conceal it. Oh, but there’s no concealing this baby. I’m more excited than a John on two-dollar BJ day. There’s a huge wet spot on the front of my skivvies from pre-cum seeping from my dick. When my underwear are somewhere down around my ankles, I take my cock in my hand and give it a squeeze.
And I groan.
Clamping my mouth shut, I listen for Abby. Did she hear me? Will she realize that I’m in here cleaning the pipes just so I can sit out on the couch with her without her knowing there’s a third person in the room with us: namely, my dick.
Hearing no movement, I start to stroke. Oh, this is going to be embarrassingly quick, but I don’t care. My balls are already aching and probably bluer than Papa Smurf. I start to move my hand in long, quick strokes, pleasure coursing down my spine. I close my eyes and try to picture anything but the one person I shouldn’t. But there she is, in bright Technicolor.
Abby.
I picture her hand in place of mine, her mouth and tongue licking the wetness off the tip. God, I’m such a fucker and shitty friend, but I can’t stop. I want her to be on her knees in front of me, her eyes looking up at me, vulnerable and trusting. I want her hand to slide up and down my rock-hard erection. I want her soft fingers to stroke my balls. And above all, I want her tongue on me when she discovers just how fucking amazing a dick piercing can be.
Before I can stop it, my orgasm barrels down on me. My balls tighten as lust tickles the base of my spine. I fire off more cum than would probably be considered normal, but I don’t care. My legs practically give out, my body sagging against the sink. Wave after wave of pleasure rips through me until I’m left spent and content.
Finally opening my eyes, I realize that in my rush to come, I didn’t exactly have a plan for the mess. And since I’m pretty much considering this to be the most embarrassing day of my entire life, I blink my eyes to find white beads of jizz all over her soft pink robe hanging from the hook on the wall in front of me.
Just fucking great.
I rush to pull up my pants, balling up my boxer briefs in the meantime, which makes it pretty much the most uncomfortable thing going on in my pants right now. Grabbing a handful of Kleenex, I try to clean up the mess as much as possible. Have you ever gotten cum on your clothes? Yeah, it pretty much leaves a white, hardened residue behind which basically just screams spoodge.
Before I can toss the Kleenex in the wastepaper basket, a soft knock sounds on the door. “Levi, are you okay?”
Fuck a duck. No! No, I am definitely not okay!
“Yep, fine. I’ll be out in just a sec,” I tell her. She doesn’t say anymore, to which I am most eternally grateful for, and heads back into the living room.
I try to right my boxers and my jeans, clean up the result of my jack session, and head back out into the living room to face the firing squad.
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You’re all flushed and your ears are bright red.” Her concern would be welcome and comforting if I didn’t feel so guilty about jacking all over her robe.
“It must have been something I ate,” I tell her, gingerly sitting down on the
couch. I’d rather her think I’ve been shitting my brains out than what I was actually doing in the bathroom.
“Come here,” she says softly, setting a pillow in her lap. Of course, my dick takes note of her innocent little phrase.
I should definitely head home and end this mass of embarrassment right now, but I’m too weak. When it comes to Abby, I’m all puppies and roses and sunshine. So instead of running for the door, claiming I have food poisoning, I opt for door number two and lie my head down on the pillow in her lap.
Welcome to my own brand of heaven and hell.
Chapter Seven
Abby
Something’s not right with Levi. He’s acting all weird, and if it weren’t for the dilated eyes and the flushed cheeks, I would think something was slightly wrong with him. He’s been acting strange since he arrived the first time earlier this afternoon, but I’m sure he just has a little bug or something.
Right now, he’s laying his head on my lap, and it takes everything I have not to sigh with contentment, and maybe even groan a little with excitement. No, not the reaction I should be having right now considering my best friend isn’t feeling so well.
He lies on his back, his hazel eyes staring up at me, and I swear somewhere in my stomach I feel the flutter of a thousand butterflies. My heart beats a fast chorus of hope and yearning in my chest. God, why did I have to develop a crush now?
His eyes search my face, and I swear he can see into my soul. Which isn’t a good thing since what I’m thinking about is probably considered crossing that imaginary friendship line in the sand.
“Are you feeling better?” I ask, worried that he’ll figure me out too easily.
“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Much.”
I grab the remote and start the movie. Levi turns on his side and moves his hand beneath the pillow. Directly. Over. My. Youknowwhat! He doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, doesn’t care. I swear I’m going to come out of my skin at the closeness of his hand to a place his hand has never been before.
Tingles of awareness start between my legs, making me want to wiggle in my seat. But with his head in my lap, that’s probably not a good idea. So instead, I sit perfectly still, barely breathing, and praying that I can hold it together long enough to make it through the movie.
“Really?” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder as the flick gets underway.
“It’s a classic.”
“You just want to see Heath Ledger.”
“True. His hair is shaggy and long and makes me want to run my fingers through it.” Levi’s gasp makes me look down from the television to see I have my hands in his hair. It’s longer on top, while short in back and around the sides. His hair is silky soft, and though it lacks the curls of Heath’s hair, it’s still almost orgasmic in itself. I tense, which causes me to tug the strands wound through my fingers. The slight pull causes him to groan. G-R-O-A-N. He groans almost sexually from pulling his hair. It makes me hyperaware of the fact that his hand is still so very close to the junction of my legs and that it has been a very long time since I’ve had anything in that general vicinity that isn’t a vibrator.
“Sorry,” I practically shout, pulling my hand from his hair.
“S’okay,” he whispers. “I liked it.”
And for some foreign reason that I have yet to figure out, I actually put my hand back on his head. I make sure to keep it simple, easy movements; more like brushing his longer hair away from his forehead. Surprisingly, I find myself relaxing into the couch more, even though I can’t move my legs.
Levi senses this and sits up quickly. I start to think I went too far with the whole hand-in-his-hair thing, so I’m surprised when he tells me to sit more in the corner of the couch. He takes my legs and spreads them. Heat creeps up my neck and lands on my face, but he doesn’t seem to notice. One of my legs is extended the length of the couch, so he lies next to it, positioning the pillow between my legs. Yep, right there between them. The place where I’m all achy and wet.
My God, I hope he doesn’t notice! Or worse yet…smell it.
I want to jump up off the couch and hide until he leaves, but that’s not going to happen. Before I can put my great game plan into motion, he moves my other leg up on the couch, essentially wrapping it around him. He’s lying between my legs. Levi. My best friend. He’s lying between my legs, people. Do you hear me?
This is so not going to help the crush. In fact, it might have just thrust it straight into Lustville.
“Comfy?” he asks, adjusting his bigger body to snuggle in real close to the place friends aren’t supposed to be.
“Yes.” My voice sounds high-pitched and chipmunky.
And just like that, we watch the movie. I laugh when it’s appropriate and cry when Heath breaks Julia’s heart, but all the while, I’m still very much aware of Levi’s very close proximity to my special lady place. By the time it gets to the end of the movie, and we’ve each consumed no less than four cookies each (fine, I’ve had six), my eyes begin to droop. Levi hasn’t stirred much in the last thirty minutes, which makes me wonder if my friend is still awake or not. I could shift slightly and look, but I don’t want to move a single muscle and risk breaking this crazy nice bubble we’re in.
So I don’t.
Instead, I fall sleep.
* * *
Why in the heck is my apartment so warm? I’ve cocooned myself into my blanket so tightly, that it feels like a second skin, restricting and stifling. I can’t even move. It’s a weird mix of softness and hardness all over. Cracking open my eyes, I focus on the television in the living room, but can’t figure out why I’m still on the couch.
Then it hits me.
Well, a hand does, anyway.
Levi moves his hand, whacking me in the chest. But don’t worry, he soothes the sting with his large, calloused palm by running it up my side and palming one of my breasts. His face, which is cushioned against the other breast, burrows in deeper and he rubs his nose against my nipple.
Hello!
I gasp as need sweeps through my body, my nipples erect with desire. Our legs are completely entwined, his erection–oh my God, his very large erection–is against my thigh. One of my hands is resting against his back, while the other is back in his hair. My word, the man has the hair of a god. We’re basically hugging, lying next to each other on a very small couch.
I don’t know what to do. We’re locked in a completely inappropriate embrace that is so far over the friend line that I can’t even see it anymore. I’ve jumped over the line, and the worst part is I’m actually enjoying it. Oh, I’m enjoying it so very much. I should get up, go to my room and hide until he leaves (or until I die, whichever comes first), but I find myself snuggling in a little deeper into his warmth.
Traitorous body.
“You smell so good,” Levi mumbles, again running his nose against the outline of my breast.
I try to figure out what to say, what to do, when he finally starts to come to. His hands flex, gripping my breast tightly, and his lower half starts to grind against me. Then suddenly, he stills against me, his body going rigid–and I’m not talking about the other body part that’s quite…hard.
“Abby?”
Swallowing hard, I squeak, “Mmmhmmm?”
He doesn’t move. “Why are your boobs pressed against my face?”
“Technically, I think your face is pressed against my boobs,” I quip, unable to breathe.
“You could be right.” He moves quickly, pulling his body apart from my own, and sits up on the opposite end of the couch. His hair is unruly and wild, and makes my fingers twitch to feel those silky strands once more. “I take it we fell asleep watching the movie?” he asks through a yawn.
“Yeah.” My words are more choked.
“You probably have to get to work,” he says, standing up and turning away from me.
Of course, since I work at home, I don’t have to go far. “Yeah.” Again with the one-word answer.
> “Is your coffee pot ready to go? I can start it for you before I go,” he suggests like any good friend. And here I am, the complete opposite of a good friend. I’m trying to figure out how to get him back on the couch and back asleep so we can see how far his wandering hand would have gone.
Bad friend.
Levi can’t even look at me, which tells me just how uncomfortable he was to wake up with me in his arms. It’s mortifying that I was all excited and ready to jump his bones, and he’s just trying to figure out the easiest and quickest way out of here. I pull myself into a sitting position and tuck my legs against my chest, holding on tightly and pleading for this moment to end, for our friendship to still be intact when he goes.
There are certain lines that can’t be crossed, and I pray this wasn’t one of them. I’ll just pretend it didn’t happen, to never ever talk about it again. Then, when he goes about his carefree life as if he didn’t have his morning wood pressed against his best friend’s thigh, well, then I can too. Easy peasy.
Only, that’s something I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
Chapter Eight
Levi
Nothing has ever felt better than waking up with Abby in my arms. Nothing. And I’ve woken up with plenty of females. She’s the chocolate cake of females, my friend.
I’m off the couch so damn quick you’d think my ass was on fire. No, I’m just trying my damnedest to conceal the biggest hard-on I’ve had since my days as a horny teenager. Turning towards the kitchen, I head over and start the pot that she already prepared last night. It’s one of her nightly habits.
Hiding behind the counter, I turn and look at her. She’s holding her legs tightly against her chest, a chest that I’m now very familiar with thanks to my wandering hand and face. She looks humiliated and uncomfortable and won’t make eye contact, which was never my intention. Hell, I don’t even know what my intention was, but I need to get out of here before I make the situation worse by dragging her into her bedroom and using the baseball bat I’m trying to suppress in my pants to make her scream. (That’s a good thing.)