The Billionaire's Boyfriend

by Geoffrey Knight

  I grabbed a seatbelt and it snapped into a locked position like we’d just had a head-on collision.

  Cal seemed to think I was throwing him a challenge and making him work for it. He followed me like a hungry puppy, sucking even harder as though trying his damnedest to keep my cock on his mouth.

  I groaned even louder.

  The limo turned right and I slid back along the seat several inches.

  Cal tried to hold me steady by taking my hips in his large, firm hands. He lifted my ass off the seat and took my shaft all the way into his mouth. I felt the head of my cock press against the back of his throat.

  When he sealed his lips around the base of my shaft, the suction was so intense I knew I wasn’t going to last long.

  I gasped for air.

  Cal began grinding his thumbs into my pelvic bones, squeezing my hips tighter and pulling me higher, forcing my cock even deeper into his throat.

  “Oh fuck, I’m gonna… I’m gonna…”

  I was clutching for air.

  The limo turned left and the seatbelt I was clinging to pulled tight.

  Cal sucked harder than ever.

  I let out a loud cry, and in the next moment my cock unleashed a torrent of cum into the handsome billionaire’s throat.

  I bit down hard on my bottom lip and squeezed the seatbelt in my fist as Cal ravenously gulped down my cum by the mouthful.

  At that moment, the limo started to brake.

  Cal held into my hips even tighter as I slid forward, my knees pushing against his shoulders and my balls draining every last drop of juice into his hungry mouth until soon the luxury vehicle came to a complete halt—

  —and I slumped back against the leather seat, a panting, exhausted wreck.

  With his lips glistening, Cal finally came up for air and smiled.

  “Holy fuck that was good,” I breathed.

  He thumbed a jewel of cum off his bottom lip and sucked it clean. “We’re not finished yet. Take me to your room.”

  “I can’t wait to see what else you’ve got.”

  We both glanced through the tinted window to see we had arrived at Mrs. Mulroney’s Little Flower Shop.

  “You’re gonna have to put your pants on first,” he smiled.

  Next to the flower shop was a door that led up to the four apartments above Mrs. Mulroney’s store.

  Cal kissed me the entire way up the narrow stairs as I backed my way up, step by step, with his lips pushing against mine.

  We reached my apartment door and I fumbled for the keys.

  We pirouetted along the hallway into my apartment, bumping against walls as we continued to kiss. My hands were trying to unbutton his shirt, my fingers pressing against the contours of his chest and abs. His hands were once again working on my belt and zipper and squeezing my once again hardening cock.

  I managed to steer us to my bedroom, my heart thumping with excitement while my head suddenly thought—Shit, when was the last time I changed the sheets?

  Oh God, my monkeys and bananas pajama pants are under the pillow, I know it.

  What’s the expiry date on the condoms in my bedside drawers?

  Jesus, has my lube dried up? Is it as dusty and full of cobwebs as my ass is?

  I had clearly violated rule number one of the Gay Man’s Handbook—Be prepared for anything or anyone! At that moment, I was at risk of losing my Gay Card altogether.

  Gently I pushed Cal out of our kiss.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Why don’t we have a shower first? Get all soapy and sudsy together.”

  “Soapy and sudsy?”

  “Yeah, all frothy and foamy.”

  “Frothy and foamy?”

  “Yeah, all clean and kinky.”

  He smiled. “Shut up and tell me where the bathroom is. I’ll make sure the temperature’s just right.”

  God, I was hoping he would say that. “Down the hall. Second door on the right.”

  Before he left, Cal slid his jacket off his shoulders and tossed it on the bed, followed by his cashmere scarf. He unbuttoned his shirt, slid it off and let it float to the floor, revealing his sparsely-haired chest and abs.

  I had to tell myself to keep breathing as he heeled off his shoes and pulled off his socks.

  Finally, he turned for the door, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers as he did so.

  With his back to me, he reached the bedroom door, then slid down his trousers and briefs and stepped out of them, leaving them there on the floor in a crumpled heap—much like the crumpled heap I almost became at the sight of his perfect, round ass cheeks.

  With a look over his shoulder he smiled at me, then walked out into the hallway completely naked, leaving me to ogle the sexy jolt and bounce to his buns with each step he took.

  “Oh God,” I whispered to myself, quite certain my heart was about to burst out of my chest like an alien at any moment.

  But there was no time to turn into a dribbling wreck at that stage. I had to turn my bedroom from a single man’s solitary confinement cell into an irresistible boys’ boudoir in record time.

  I dived for my bedside drawers and rummaged for a packet of condoms, sighing for relief when I saw they were still in date. I spotted two scented candles and a box of matches in the same drawer. I quickly lit them and sat them on the window sill. I waved my arms in a frenzy above the flickering flame to try to fill the room with the scent from the candles, only to realize it was potpourri… the cheap, air-freshener kind of smell you use in a toilet. Yes, my bedroom now smelled like someone had just done a dump in the corner and was trying to cover it up.

  Desperately I blew out the candles then remembered— “Monkeys and bananas!”

  I raced back to the bed and yanked my pajama pants out from under the pillow.

  That’s when I heard not one, but two men screaming with alarm.

  The sound came from the bathroom.

  With a terrible, sinking feeling I suddenly realized what was happening. “Oh no! Mr. Banks.”

  I threw my pajama pants under the bed and sprinted to the bathroom, only to see Cal standing there, stark naked and desperately trying to cover his manhood with his hands, while a fully-clothed Mr. Banks stood opposite him in the shower holding an open umbrella over his head.

  Thankfully the shower wasn’t running, at least not anymore. Water was trickling off the umbrella and down the drain, indicating that Mr. Banks had been standing under his umbrella with the shower running for God only knows how long.

  When Mr. Banks saw me he grinned, quite pleased with himself.

  When Cal saw me and simply said, “Ah, Matthew. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but there’s an old man in your shower.”

  “Thanks, I can see that.”

  Without looking, I grabbed for a towel hanging on a rack and handed it to Cal.

  “Ah, this is a hand towel,” Cal said, holding the small towel over his private parts as best he could.

  “That’s not going to cover much,” commented Mr. Banks. “Have you seen the man-of-war on this gentleman? It’s positively colossal!”

  “It’s shrinking by the second, trust me,” said Cal.

  “Mr. Banks, what the hell are you doing in there?”

  “I was looking for my umbrella.”

  “You’re holding it.”

  “Ah, excellent. The roof seems to have sprung a leak. Thankfully I managed to shut it off by turning this valve here.”

  “That’s the shower tap.”

  “Well it seemed to do the trick.”

  “How long have you been there for?”

  Mr. Banks scratched his temple. “Is Jimmy Carter still President?”

  “No.”

  “Who is?”

  “Don’t ask,” Cal and I both said at the same time.

  I turned to Cal. “What happened?”

  “I just walked in and heard the water trickling down the drain. I thought maybe you had a leaky pipe. I pulled the shower curtain open and,
hello! There he was.”

  Cal was still trying to cover himself with the tiny hand towel. I reached for a larger towel and he wrapped it around his waist.

  “I’m so sorry about this,” I said. “Mr. Banks lives upstairs. I don’t normally find him standing in my shower.”

  “Only when the roof’s leaking,” Mr. Banks added.

  “Come on, Mr. Banks. Why don’t I take you back upstairs?”

  “Do you need a hand?” Call offered.

  He said it with sincerity. I realized he wasn’t annoyed by the situation in the least, just a little… exposed… that’s all. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the bedroom while I take Mr. Banks home,” I suggested. “Unless you’d rather go. I’d understand if you’re… you know… not in the mood anymore.”

  Cal laughed. “Are you kidding? So, I found your neighbor in the shower. I’ve seen crazier things.”

  “You have?”

  “Totally. Now go get Mr. Banks home, I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Cal returned to the bedroom with the towel around his waist while I helped Mr. Banks out of the shower.

  “You know, I don’t mind you dropping in, Mr. Banks. But can you pick your timing a little better?”

  “Who’s your gentleman friend? He’s very handsome.”

  “His name’s Cal. We’re sort of… on a date.”

  “On a date? Dear mother of God, you’ll need reinforcements, lad. Have you seen how big his cock is?”

  “No, apparently you beat me to that surprise.”

  “I’ve seen smaller arms on a baby.”

  “Can we not use any more baby metaphors in this conversation? Actually, let’s not have the conversation altogether.”

  “Well if you think you can handle it on your own, I’ll leave you to it. Would you like me to leave my umbrella here?”

  “What for?”

  “In case the roof starts leaking again.”

  “No, you take it with you. I think I’ll be fine.”

  “Well if it does start leaking, turn that valve to shut it off. Things will be right as rain… or right as no rain, as the case may be.”

  I got Mr. Banks to my apartment door. “I will certainly remember to do that, but first let’s get you—Oh shit!”

  As I opened the door, the last thing I was expecting to see was somebody just standing there like some creepy stalker.

  “Holy crap, Mr. Dellucci, you scared the shit outta me.”

  “Forgive me, I’m a tad early, I know,” said Frank Dellucci, the baker from across the road. “I was going to wait another three minutes before I knocked.”

  He was holding a box of chocolates and a single red rose in his hands.

  “Oh fuck, Mrs. Mulroney’s birthday!” I exclaimed, suddenly remembering the fake birthday dinner plans I’d made.

  “It is tonight, isn’t it?” asked Mr. Dellucci. A look of disappointment began to ripple across his face.

  “Yes, of course it is,” I said quickly, knowing I could never live with the guilt if I sent him home now. “Mr. Banks is a tad early too. Aren’t you, Mr. Banks?”

  “I tad early for what?” Mr. Banks asked merrily, pointing to the chocolates and roses. “Are they for me?”

  “No, Mr. Banks,” I said. “They’re for Mrs. Mulroney. We’re having a party.”

  “Is it a surprise party?”

  “Oh yes,” I said, trying to hide my growing exasperation. “Tonight is full of surprises.”

  “We’d best be careful then,” Mr. Banks said, looking left and right to check whether the coast was clear. “If the Russians find out about it they’ll kill us all.”

  “Well, why don’t you take Mr. Dellucci inside and offer him a drink… before the Russians catch us out here talking. I’ll go get help.”

  “Good idea,” said Mr. Banks.

  He took Mr. Dellucci by the hand and hurried him into my apartment while I hurried up the stairs to get Mrs. Mulroney and a little assistance from Tilly.

  I knocked on Mrs. Mulroney’s door first.

  She answered it barefoot, with a jolly little sway in her step. Ice tinkled in a half-empty whisky tumbler in her hand.

  “Oh no,” I muttered to myself.

  “Oh Matthew, my dear boy. How did the date go?”

  “Unexpectedly. Which is probably the same way your date is about to go.”

  “What in Mary’s name are you talking about?”

  “It’s your birthday, remember? At least, it’s supposed to be. Mr. Dellucci is in my apartment right now. He’s got a box of chocolates and a rose. For you!”

  “Sweet Jesus in an Uber. I totally forgot.”

  “Me too.”

  “Well then send him away.”

  “I can’t. It’ll break his little baker’s heart. I thought you liked him. I thought you wanted to do things to him with a feather duster!”

  “I do. But I can’t possibly see him now. I’m already three sheets to the wind.”

  “Well pull the sheets down and put some shoes on! There are two gentleman callers in my apartment right now—one for me and one for you—and the only person down there to look after them at the moment is Mr. Banks. So, can you please say a prayer to God and get your ass down there?”

  “Oh Lord! Heaven help us all,” she said gravely, then added, “Give me one minute.”

  Mrs. Mulroney closed her door, at which point I turned to the door of Tilly’s place and knocked frantically. Tilly opened it within seconds.

  “I need your help. We’re in trouble.”

  “What’s the matter now, Salman Rushdie?”

  “I kinda told Mr. Dellucci from the bakery that we were all having a birthday dinner for Mrs. Mulroney tonight so that he and she might… you know… get to know each other a little better.”

  “But Mrs. Mulroney’s birthday isn’t for another five months.”

  “I know that. But I thought it might be a great way to kick start things for them.”

  “With a lie?”

  “Okay, so maybe I didn’t really think it through properly. It just seemed easier to make a move now then explain things later. Yes, I was trying to play matchmaker, I admit it, but sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than ask for permission.”

  “This is a terrible lesson for an adult to be teaching a child.”

  “You’re not helping right now.”

  “Okay, okay, put your dukes away, Ernest Hemingway. So, let me get this straight. You need to put on an impromptu dinner party—”

  “We need to put on an impromptu dinner party. Don’t think you’re getting out of this one.”

  Tilly took a deep breath. “We—despite the fact that only one of us has homework to do—need to put on an impromptu dinner party tonight? And from the panic in your voice, I’m guessing you’ve done absolutely nothing to prepare for it.”

  “Correct… But that’s not all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mrs. Mulroney is slightly… liquefied.”

  “Liquefied?”

  “She’s had a few too many holy wines.”

  “Oh, I see.” Tilly shrugged. “We’ve been there before. That’s manageable.”

  “Correct… But that’s not all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know the handsome billionaire?”

  “Yes,” Tilly said almost cautiously.

  “He’s in my apartment right now. In fact, so is Mr. Banks. They had an unfortunate encounter in the bathroom. There was nudity involved.”

  Tilly raised her hands quickly to cover her ears. “Oh my God, so inappropriate!”

  I pulled her hands down. “The fact is, we’re about to put on a dinner party and I have no dinner. Nothing. I’m a single gay guy, I’m lucky if there’s a container of leftover Chinese noodles in the fridge.”

  I could see Tilly’s brain ticking over before her eyes lit up. “I think I have just the answer.”

  She disappeared for a moment, then returned to th
e door with an armful of potato chip packets. “Being a twelve-year-old with a mother who works constantly has its perks,” she said, winking at me like she’d just solved the problems of the world.

  I looked at her, stunned, then heard Mrs. Mulroney from behind me.

  “Oh, munchies! Good timing. I was starting to feel rather peckish.”

  Mrs. Mulroney, now with shoes and lipstick on, took several long, wonky steps out of her apartment.

  “Oh wow, are you okay to walk?” I asked.

  “I’m walking now, aren’t I? Doesn’t this look like walking to you?”

  “On the moon maybe… in flippers.”

  I grabbed Mrs. Mulroney’s arm to steady her as Tilly stepped out of her apartment, the potato chip packets rustling in her arms.

  That’s when Cal stepped out of my apartment downstairs, still with the towel around his waist, and called up to say, “Matt, are you there? Mr. Banks is trying to shove some other guy into your fridge. He says it’s the only way to survive a nuclear attack from the Russians.”

  I let out a long sigh. “Oh wow, this is gonna be one helluva night.”

  Clutching Mrs. Mulroney with one hand to make sure she didn’t slide all the way down the stairs on her ass, I hustled the pair of them down to my apartment door where Cal stood in his towel.

  “Sweet Jesus at a Chippendale’s concert, would you look at that!” exclaimed Mrs. Mulroney as though Cal was in a soundproof booth on a game show and couldn’t hear her. “Is Mr. Dellucci dressed like that too?”

  “God, I hope not.” I turned from Mrs. Mulroney to Cal and said by way of a hasty introduction, “Cal, this is Mrs. Mulroney.”

  “Please excuse the towel,” Cal said, blushing.

  “Why? What did it do apart from deny us a glimpse at the rest of you?” Mrs. Mulroney cracked up laughing at her own witty banter.

  “And moving right along, the girl with the potato chip fetish is Tilly. Tilly, this is Cal.”

  “Mr. Croft, it’s a real honor sir,” said Tilly, shaking Cal’s hand vehemently. “I’d love to sit down with you to discuss which charities you so generously support with your multitude of wealth.”

  “Well, ah, I’d be happy to,” answered Cal. “Perhaps some time when I’m wearing more than just a towel. Which is probably my cue to go get dressed into something more appropriate.”