by Julia Kent
I listened to him with rapt attention. He sounded so into it. It wasn’t the kind of movie I’d typically like, though I was sure I would have watched it with friends. The way Asher talked about it, the glimmer in his eyes and the excitement in his voice, I really wanted to watch it now, though. Something about it, sharing his passion, watching the movie and simultaneously watching him watch it, seeing him enjoy it; the idea appealed to me.
“I’d love to watch it,” I said.
“Great!” He got up, walked towards the fireplace.
Tapping on one of the bricks revealed a panel with a bunch of buttons and he pressed a few. The large windows surrounding the living room immediately darkened, becoming tinted(almost like magic) and blocked most of the late afternoon sun. Then, something clicked behind and above me. I craned my neck and looked back to see a plate opening in the ceiling, with a projector dropping down and arranging itself so it pointed in front of us. And, finally, a large, white screen descended above the fireplace.
The whole thing looked like some movie theatre set up. Except, of course, for the fact that I was still in Asher’s living room. I gaped at the screen, dumbstruck. I’d never really imagined anything like this. It was the kind of thing people talked about wishing they had, except Asher actually owned it. He snickered at my reaction.
Walking with a swagger back to the couch, he plopped next to me again. “I have everything set up,” he said. Leaning forward, he snatched a remote off the coffee table. “With this, I can access every DVD in my collection and play them through the projector. It’s quite useful.”
“I imagine,” I said. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the projection screen. “This is amazing.”
“You think this is amazing? Just wait until the pizza arrives.”
…
The movie ended. The pizza was as amazing as Asher said, too. I loved all of it. Not just the pizza or the movie, but every time something exciting was about to happen Asher would tense up. He’d stare at the screen, entranced, watching. Sometimes he’d notice me looking at him and laugh, telling me to watch. “A good part is coming up soon,” he’d say.
I scooted closer to him on the couch as the movie progressed, almost touching him, side by side. It was a good movie and I liked it. Cute, silly, with lighthearted parts sprinkled in with the more serious plot points. I could tell why he liked it, and I think I would have loved to read a book about it, to learn more, get a better feel for the characters. It was good, though. The whole evening was good. Wonderful and great.
“Who was your favorite character?” he asked me during the credits.
A Cyndi Lauper song hummed through the surround sound speakers. “I liked the little boy with the gadgets,” I said.
Asher laughed. “I always wanted to be like him when I was younger. I used to watch this movie all the time. I don’t know why, but whenever I saw it was on TV I’d switch to that channel and watch it, even if it was halfway over already.”
I shifted closer to him on the couch. Our thighs touched and he looked at me briefly, some unspoken words between us. Careful, his eyes seemed to say. This is alright, but no more. Careful.
I leaned back on the couch, looking towards the ceiling. My head lolled, rolling to the side, touching the top of his shoulder. “I never did anything like that,” I said. “I liked to read a book after I saw the movie, though. If I saw a movie and liked it and found out it was based on a book, I needed to read the book after. I don’t know why, since I knew most of what would happen, but it’s still different, too. Sometimes a lot different.”
“Like what?” he asked. He put a hand on my thigh by my knee, a friendly gesture. My heart raced at his touch.
“It’s not that old, but The Notebook was a good one. I saw the movie and then read the book. It’s the same story, but they’re told very differently. I think Nicholas Sparks is a wonderful author.”
“Have you seen Dear John?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, giving him a funny look. “Don’t tell me you’ve seen it? The powerful Asher Landseer, CEO and billionaire, with a soft spot for dramatic romances?”
“Amanda Seyfried,” he said, as if this was an excuse. “That’s what I tell people, anyways. She is beautiful, but I enjoyed the movie, too. It’s interesting. Very different from what you’d expect.” Out of the blue, he glanced at me and added, “You look a little like her, you know? Your eyes. I mean, I’m not trying to…” He trailed off, realizing what he’d just said.
Flirting, admiring me, playful banter. I drank it all in, absolutely adored it, and yet I knew it made him uncomfortable(and for good reason). “Right,” I said, laughing, rolling my eyes. “There is no way I look anything like Amanda Seyfried.”
“Maybe not, but I think so,” he said. He changed the subject. “How was the pizza? Alright?”
“Phenomenal!” I said. “I really liked it.”
The credits of the movie finished and Asher clicked some buttons on the remote to switch the projector off. We sat there, talking, telling each other a million little things about ourselves. What did I like to do when I had a day off? Where did he like to go, what was his favorite place in the city? What did I think of the restaurant the other day? What kind of music did he like to listen to? Did I like coffee? He knew a great, quiet coffee shop in a quaint town nearby. Maybe we could go there sometime; they had local author readings, poetry, and trivia events.
Evening settled into dusk, which turned into night. The tinted windows looked pitch black, the darkness outside wearing away their usefulness. Asher had dimmed the lights when he started the movie(another one of his secret switches), and his guest home transformed into a quiet, relaxing place. It was almost as if it were anywhere else, as if we weren’t sitting on a couch at his multi-million dollar estate and instead were somewhere far off and regular.
We dozed, talking, but responding less and less often. I leaned against him, my eyes closed, never wanting this night to end but knowing I’d fall asleep soon. And, without warning, it happened.
…
I awoke in the dead of night. Asher must have stayed awake longer than me, since the lights were dimmed even lower now, almost nonexistent. I could see enough of the living room to notice he’d covered us with blankets and changed into a sweatshirt and pajama pants. On the coffee table, folded and in a pile, he’d left me a pair of nightclothes, too. I stretched, gently pushed the blankets off of me, and stood up. I needed to use the bathroom, so I figured I’d change into the pajamas while I was at it.
They must be his wife’s, but they fit me pretty well. Or, had he bought them for me specifically? I couldn’t imagine anyone ordering a pair of pajamas for delivery in the middle of the night, but then again I never could have imagined spending the night with someone like Asher Landseer before now, either. I thought about that, wondering, as I made my way back to the living room and the blankets. I suppose I could have went upstairs to one of the beds, but I liked the idea of sleeping with Asher. Just close, right? Nothing more than that, nothing more than what we’d already done.
I slipped under the blankets, careful not to disturb him, and eased towards him again. He lay on his back on the couch, but the seat cushions were big enough that if I wanted to I could inch up and lay next to him. A tight fit if I did that, but not too bad. Or, at least, I wouldn’t fall off the couch unless we both moved around a lot in our sleep.
I didn’t go that far, but I leaned against his feet, resting my upper body against the back of the couch. My arm fidgeted, pulling the blankets over me. In the dark, I couldn’t see much, and my hand moved beneath the blankets, trying to figure out where one of them stopped and the other began. It wasn’t that easy, though. While we slept, our blankets must have gotten mixed up a bit. I had a part of his and he had a part of mine and…
My hand brushed against his thigh accidentally. Upwards, I pulled at his pajamas bottoms, thinking they were a part of the blanket. Nothing happened, so I pulled a little more, but was careful in case I w
oke him. When I realized what I had a hold of, which was definitely not the blankets, I blushed. Whoops! And then, when I realized there was something else beneath my hand, I blushed even more.
A fact of life, I knew, and nothing he could control in his sleep, but Asher was hard and ready beneath the blankets. The side of my hand pressed against his crotch and his manhood when I’d tried to pull the blankets(or his pants) away. He must have felt it, would wake up and look at me and… but no, he remained asleep. I pulled my hand away then, brought it above the blankets and put it in my lap. Bad hand, I thought to it. Don’t do bad things like that.
Asher continued to lay there, oblivious. On his back, with his legs spread slightly, blanket covering most of his body. The side of my thigh touched against the soles of his feet. I should go to sleep, I told myself. Yes, definitely, except I suddenly didn’t want to. I suddenly wanted to do something that I knew I should definitely not do.
Bad, awful thoughts. What happened if Asher woke up? Well, he’d be upset, obviously. If I did this, then there was no knowing what he’d do in return. We’d made amends, somewhat, and while it involved him bringing me to a rough climax with his mouth and his hands, he’d made it relatively clear that the act was not to be reciprocated. Except, why not?
The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that I should. Because, really, if he brought me to orgasm, then he deserved the same, right? It made sense, strictly speaking. Besides the fact that I absolutely relished the idea, and wanted to do it without a doubt, it had a certain amount of sound logic backing it. An eye for an eye, an orgasm for an orgasm? It was just the right thing to do.
I carefully moved aside the blankets. Not entirely, but enough that I could see where I was going. Sneaking across the couch, creeping carefully, I settled in between Asher’s legs. He remained sleeping the entire time, calm, shallow breathing. I propped myself up on my elbows and looked at what I had to work with.
Asher was erect, that much was obvious. And, to my good fortune, he wore a typical style of men’s pajama pants. A single button in the center of a loose, slitted opening in the middle of the pajama pants crotch area gave me all the access I needed to fulfill my task. A task, I told myself, over and over. I shouldn’t enjoy it, because it was something I should do. Like work, a job.
Except, honestly? No, I would enjoy this very much.
I stretched a finger out, prodding at the button. With barely any effort, it came loose. I slowly put my hand into his pants and pulled out his throbbing shaft, setting it free from its pajama prison. Asher’s cock greeted me with a hearty hello, looking happy to see me. I grinned at the image of that.
Still, I didn’t have a lot of room with how things were currently set up. I shifted to the side, trying to ease him into widening his legs a little more. Careful, inch by inch, I managed to give myself more room without waking him up. The cool air in the room, quite different from the warmth of his core and his pajamas, seemed to harden his shaft’s resolve. I stared at it, watching it flex and twitch inadvertently as Asher slept, blissfully unaware.
Careful, barely anything at all, I touched the sides of his cock. Immediately it twitched between my fingers, stretching upwards. I held it in my hand, feeling the wicked warmth of him, delighting in it. He felt radiant, like a blazing furnace in the middle of winter. I got a more firm grip on his shaft, holding it in place so that when he twitched I didn’t risk losing him. My hand stroked him downwards, towards his pajama pants and the center of his body, then ever so slowly upwards, to the head of his cock.
This was not enough, though. Not nearly enough. I squeezed closer still, until my head was just above his crotch. I admired his manhood as I stroked it, taking in every twitch and strain. Whenever he flexed his cock while he slept, I could see the veins pushing out. I squeezed them beneath my fingers, stroking him up and down, slow so as not to wake him.
I lowered my head and opened my mouth, engulfing his cockhead between my lips. Immediately he tensed and I thought this was it. He was going to wake up, realize what was going on, and I’d be in horrible trouble. He’d kick me out of his guest home, throw me out onto the streets, and who knew what. Except, no, he tensed, but nothing more. His breathing remained calm, though a bit more ragged than before, not as shallow.
I stroked downwards and lowered my head at the same time, taking more of him into my mouth. He tasted a little sweet, with a hint of salt, but not too much. It was nice and I liked it. Somewhat like a chocolate covered pretzel, salty and sweet. That was the best way I could think to explain it, at least.
My head bobbed up and down and I took a risk and went a little faster. From my vantage point I could see his testicles tightening in his pants. My free hand snuck into the unbuttoned slit in the crotch of his pajamas and gently squeezed his balls between my fingers. I rolled them around, stroked him, pressed my lips tightly around his shaft and moved my head up and down.
I heard a whisper. “Jessika…”
I froze mid stroke, lips wrapped around his cock and my hand holding his balls. Nothing more, though, just the quiet whisper. He lay there, unmoving, and I realized he must be dreaming. Still asleep, relaxed, but dreaming and faintly whispering my name. Did he dream of me? The idea excited me.
I returned to what I was doing, focusing on him entirely. He tensed and flexed in my grip while his legs twitched slightly every so often. I thought he would surely wake up, but I didn’t care. I would do this thing, finish it off, and then act as if nothing had happened. There were sleep walkers, right? Maybe this is what I did in my sleep. It was a medical problem, I would tell him. He couldn’t hold it against me if I said that, right?
He was close. I could feel it, feel his balls tightening and moving closer to the center of his body. His cock tightened even more. His heartbeat pounded through his stiff rod, radiating bright heat. I grew sloppy in my haste. I stroked him quicker, trying to urge him towards climax, but still careful so that I didn’t wake him. This was, I reaffirmed, a terrible idea, but a necessity, too. I needed this so badly, and by the looks of it, Asher did, also.
Asher’s cock jerked in my hand and in my mouth and in a matter of seconds he came. Strong, urgent jets of cum splashed against the back of my throat. Over and over, nearly nonstop, and he didn’t seem like he was going to soften any time soon. I continued to stroke him. He squirmed on the couch, clearly feeling it, but still in some lucid state of dreaming.
Once he finished his climax, I realized I hadn’t quite prepared for this. What exactly was I supposed to do now? Stop, of course, and ease his softening cock back into his pants and redo the button, but then what? What did I do with the cum in my mouth? I’d never swallowed before, and I hadn’t even given many men a blowjob either, but I didn’t have much choice now, did I? I could get up, hope I didn’t wake him, and spit it out, or swallow it and lay here like nothing ever happened.
I decided to swallow. Asher was moving around now, somewhat restless, and I thought if I got up he’d realize his dream was a little more than that and he would do something. My random idea that I could play it off as part of a sleeping issue now seemed ridiculous and absurd. Who would ever believe that? Did I really think I could fool anyone with that line? Especially someone like Asher Landseer?
No, probably not, so I swallowed his seed and fixed his pants and scooted up so I lay right next to him. Quiet, nervous, I lay there and waited to see if he would wake up. A minute passed, and another. Maybe more, maybe an hour, but I continued to lay there, thinking I’d give myself away at any moment and he’d punish me(and not in a good way).
He never did, though. He moved, yes, but only to wrap his arm around me in his sleep. No conscious effort to it, I thought, just something he did. I nestled against his chest, smelling him. He smelled faintly of citrus, like a glass of water with a wedge of lemon, and a hint of baby powder. Closing my eyes, I took in his scent, finding it relaxing. His strong arm held me tight. I put my own arm across his stomach and closed my eyes.
When I woke up in the morning, Asher was staring at me. He had this strange, curious look in his eyes like he didn’t know what to do with me. I lay there, contented, with his arm wrapped around me and my arm draped over his chest. I yawned and blinked and rubbed my eyes and then I realized where I was and what exactly I was doing.
I startled and went straight to apologizing.
“Oh,” I said. “I’m so sorry. Um. It was cold last night and I was tired and a little out of it, so…”
He gave me a lazy smile, scrunching his eyes, scrutinizing me. I don’t think he believed a word I said. “It’s alright. Did you get up to get a snack?” he asked.
“Huh? No. Why?”
“You’ve got something… right… there.” He tapped his finger just below my lower lip and wiped it to the side.
I blushed, in a panic. My God! Really now? Not only was this embarrassing, but it was… it was…
“If you were hungry, it’s fine,” he said. “I don’t mind. Maybe it was sleep eating? I’ve heard of that before.” His tone of voice was completely unconvinced that this was a real thing, but I appreciated him favoring me.
“Yes, that’s it.” I scrambled away from him. Falling off the couch, catching myself on the floor and getting to my knees, I crawled away from him and to somewhere relatively more safe. Relative safety being anywhere that I could calm down and pretend he hadn’t spotted some remnants of my illicit midnight escapades.
Would he notice? Had I left any other signs of what I’d done? When I thought I had my blush under control, I turned to look at him. He stretched on the couch, then lowered his legs to the floor and rose to his feet. I surreptitiously glanced at his crotch, hoping to see(or preferably not see) anything amiss. Nothing from what I could tell, except my glance was perhaps a bit less covert than I’d intended.