Cammers With Benefits (FWB Series Book 1)

by Kaylee Spring

  I shake his hand and wonder what dream I’ve been putting off. It doesn’t take me long to remember where my passion really lies. And it’s not with adult movies, but with classics that are corny as hell.

  “I can’t believe you’re not more excited,” Brice is saying as we take a taxi to Main Street. “I’d be talking a mile a minute if I were you. I mean, I sort of am already. I guess I’m nervous for you.”

  The truth is that thoughts and worries and ideas bounce around in my head like a pinball machine on the fritz. The biggest concern is also the oldest: have I just thrown away all my newly acquired money on a money pit? Who’s ever going to come to my place? I did what little market research I could, but it was hard because I’ve never heard of anyone opening a place quite like mine.

  The taxi pulls up in front of the theater that has been abandoned as long as I can remember. But now instead of the dilapidated marquee hanging at an odd angle from the brick theater building on the corner of Main Street, it’s filled with lights and colors for the first time in my memory. Spelled out in letters Brice put up there himself (despite my worries that he was going to fall off the ladder and end up in the hospital just when he managed to get out) are the words ‘Grand Opening!’

  “It doesn’t matter how many times I see it, I still can’t believe you bought this old place.” Brice says as we step out onto the sidewalk, our gazes rising up the length of the building.

  “Same,” is all I can manage to say. How many times have I dreamed of buying this theater, fixing it up, and watching movies whenever I damn well pleased? Now, thanks to the money from my own skin flick, it’s all mine. Well, most of the theater belongs to the bank, but it’s my name on the hefty mortgage.

  As I unlock the doors, peering inside to the shadow-blanketed lobby, Brice says, “We’ve still got five hours before we open the doors to the public. I could rearrange your paintings for the thousandth time.”

  This gentle jab has become a running joke over the couple of days. After paying for a construction crew to renovate the inside—bringing in new carpet and a fresh layer of paint everywhere else, not to mention a new concessions stand, new upholstery on the 200 theater seats, and a refurbished projector that still uses film rather than digital files—the first thing I did was have Brice hang my paintings on the lobby wall.

  It doesn’t matter how many times I see them; with the abstract retellings of my favorite movie scenes in every direction I turn my head, I feel like I’m in a dream. I only wish that right now I had time to just soak in the perfection that this day is. But there are far too many things to do.

  “Let’s check the projector one last time. Liz said that it wasn’t her fault that the sound wasn’t synced up, and I want to believe her, but at the same time, it’s worked every time I’ve done it.”

  “I still don’t know why you insisted on hiring her. She doesn’t exactly strike me as being Employee of the Month material.”

  “We’ve been over this. She could quote the entirety of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Plus she was wearing a Monty Python shirt when she came in for her interview. The movie gods would have struck me down if I hadn’t at least given her a chance.”

  “I’m just saying Tuesday could man the projection room tonight. She’s definitely got it down pat.”

  Brice isn’t wrong. Tuesday has been a lifesaver during this rebuild. It turns out that we share a love of cult classics, and when she found out what I was doing, she had to be involved. Still, I want her to enjoy the fruits of our labor tonight rather than getting her hands dirty again.

  The stairs up into the projection room are narrow and dimly lit. I insist that Brice walks in front of me, despite his protestations that he’s perfectly fine. But I just can’t help treating him like this fragile crystal statue and imagining how his freshly healed bones couldn’t stand a fall down the stairs. So I’m here to catch him, just in case.

  It only takes five minutes of setting up the projector until Bill Murray is grumpily talking on the screen in the iconic Groundhog Day.

  “You really need to have a talk with Liz.”

  “I’ll show her how to get it working again tonight, even if I have to stay up here with her the whole time.”

  “Don’t even think about it. We’re sitting down there,” Brice says and points out the projection window, down to the theater seats. “It’s been too long since we’ve enjoyed a movie night together.”

  This simple statement gets me thinking about that night he found my camming site. And how shy I was undressing in front of him. Only minutes later we were making the most passionate love of my life.

  When I lick my lips and look up to Brice in the shadowy projection room, I can tell he’s remembering the exact same scene. There are so many things I want to double and triple check before the opening tonight, but when he steps into my space and his breath falls on my cheek, there’s no stopping where this is going.

  The main show can wait; right now it’s time for a steamy intermission.

  Our lips meet, and a blissful bolt of electricity runs down my body, all the way to my toes, which I curl up reflexively in my shoes. Shoes that I’m already slipping out of, while at the same time Brice’s fingers make quick work of my pants.

  This isn’t the first time we’ve been intimate since the accident, but this is the first time since Dr. Heyman gave him the all clear. As such, I’m a little bit less delicate with him as I pull away his shirt and pants, running my fingers over the scars that litter his body now. Scars from the accident itself, and from the four surgeries that followed.

  When Brice bends down to suck at the nape of my neck, I allow my eyes to flutter closed, and I push out all thoughts of the horrid past few months we’ve just managed to survive. Instead, I allow myself to bask in everything we’ve accomplished. Not only has my Choose Your Own Sex-venture series been so successful as to allow me to afford this theater, but I also managed to save Brice’s mom’s house. It’s not like Brice has been lazy this whole time either. On top of making a full recovery in half the time the doctors predicted, he’s been accepted into a nursing school.

  Brice one-handedly flicks my bra strap open and then whips the contrivance off me, releasing my breasts, which he makes sure to pay immediate attention to. With one hand he holds my right breast as his lips suck at my other nipple. We’re still standing up, but there’s a couch against the back wall that Brice is edging us towards. And by the time my shin grazes against the leather cushions, we’ve managed to strip each other down to bare, flushed skin.

  He falls on the sofa first, pulling me down on his lap, my legs splayed as I mount him. I try to slide down, with plans to suck him off a bit first, but he pulls me back up with desperation in his voice.

  “I need you. Now,” he says. So without any further delay, I grab his cock—pausing only long enough to appreciate its girth and rock-hard eagerness—position it at the entrance to my pussy, and then I slide down over him.

  We both shudder at the sensation. The first minute with Brice is always a bit of a stretch, but once I’m past that, it’s perfect bliss. His hand comes down, thumb finding my clit and painting little patterns over it as I ride him. My hair bounces against my chest, and my legs burn with the exertion, but I don’t slow down.

  Brice leans forward and kisses my neck. Little pecks that mark a trail up to my ear, where he whispers, “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” I just manage to get out before his hands move down to my ass, where he works me like a machine, upping the tempo and pressing against me each time I come down so that our skin slaps together.

  The groans that fall out of me are animalistic. This pleasure swelling up inside me strips my brain of all other thoughts. All the worries of the opening night, of whether this venture will fail or not, about money and health: they all disappear in the shadow of the perfect dopamine release building up to a crescendo.

  I wrap my arms around Brice’s neck, bury my face in his hair, and grind against him as
his explosive orgasm beats mine to the finish line.

  But I’m not far behind.

  Even as his cock still pulsates within me, his legs quivering as they push up against me one last time, it hits me. The contractions inside my pussy squeeze Brice’s member as I groan even louder.

  Brice doesn’t let it finish here though.

  His finger returns to my clit and draws quick circles just around its circumference. I press against his hand, his cock still inside me, softening but still reacting each time my pussy squeezes. I bite my lips and then go to kiss Brice. Our tongue meet, dancing around each other for ten seconds before the sensation gets to be too much. Brice switches to a side-to-side motion, which he knows will get me off almost instantly.

  When I cum the second time, I pull us sideways onto the couch so that we’re lying beside each other, curled up in a ball of our pheromones, sweat, and perfect relaxation.

  Brice rubs his fingers through my hair. “Hey,” he says softly.

  “Yeah?” I ask, honestly already starting to drift off into a nap. Which I absolutely don’t have time for despite the fact that I could hardly sleep last night from all the excitement.

  “Remember that first night? When I found that camming site on accident?”

  I can only manage a nod.

  “Do you know what I was actually looking for on your computer?”

  A yawn and a shake of my head this time.

  “Love Actually.”

  “You always want to watch that one.”

  “Because I always thought I could get up the courage to tell you how I really felt each time we watched it. But I guess I never did.”

  I’ve been lying with my back to Brice, his arm wrapped around my waist. But I turn now so that we’re nose-to-nose. “I never knew that.”

  “That’s kind of my whole point. I never built up the courage to tell you, because a big part of me was scared you would reject the idea and then things would get weird.”

  All it takes to kiss him is to extend my lips. “Just think. We could have had this sooner if you’d just grown a pair of balls.” I slap his ass. Then I add more softly, “Truth be told, I used to imagine that you were one of my viewers. It made getting off a lot easier.”

  “Think of all the time we could have been together if one of us had just taken a chance.”

  “We have plenty of time now.”

  He chuckles and snuggles my head against his chest. We stay like this for a good five minutes, at the end of which we’re both nodding off.

  “We need to do final checks,” I say, forcing myself to sit up. With a deep breath I pry myself away from my man. “Come on. Get up.”

  Brice’s only answer is a groan.

  I’ve just got my bra back in place when I turn the light on. Brice reacts by rolling over and covering his face with his arm. “I’ll tell you what,” I say. “You get dressed in the next ten seconds, and I’ll put Liz on concession stand duty tonight. We can take care of the film up here. Which will give up plenty of time to take care of other things too.”

  In the blink of an eye, Brice has his jeans on, and he’s pulling on his shirt as I open the door. He stops me before I navigate down the dark, narrow stairs. “Are you ready for tonight? I mean, your grand opening?”

  How can someone be ready for something that feels like a dream? The theater is just the cherry on top of the Brice-and-me cake. All of this is beyond what I ever could have imagined. So even though I’m not ready for what comes next, my heart beats an excited rhythm that at least isn’t afraid anymore of what the next few hours—or months, or even years—will bring.

  “I’ve got my best friend next to me,” I say, taking his hand and pulling him after me. “How could I not be ready?”

  Kaylee Spring writes what she loves: steamy romance that ends happily ever after, but not before exploring unexpected paths and lusty embraces. She lives and writes in the South with her husband, two cats, and a growing collection of books.

  The Nude Artists Series

  The Nude Painter

  The Nude Writer

  The Nude Musician

  Sweet, Sexy Shorts

  Falling For Joy

  Under His Care

  Driving Under Pressure

  The Perfect Stranger

  The Sergeant’s Roommate

  Copyright © 2019 by Kaylee Spring

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.