by Xavier Neal
I snap my head his direction. “Were you sneaking shots when I wasn’t watching?”
“No. Why?”
“Because only Too Drunk To Drive Home Gideon makes such an offer.”
“That’s because he cares more about arriving home alive than a little damage done to his favorite car.”
“Why do you always assume I’m gonna hurt your precious vehicle?”
“I’ve seen your Honda, babe. It’s alarming.”
“Disculpa. Those are just…love marks.”
“Not a thing for cars…” I toss a few daggers at him to which he responds by flashing his fancy key at me. “Swear you won’t take her over ninety.”
Excitement thrums through my vision. “Swear.”
“Swear that you won’t try to reenact that scene from The Fast and the Furious where Letty smokes the car next to her.”
I’m unable to catch my frown.
“Real life, Lenny. I don’t wanna end up spending the night pulling favors to get you bailed out of jail and charges dropped when I could spend it in bed next to you watching Officer Murphy shoot shit with really big guns.” He passes the device to me. “Swear you’ll be careful.”
The roll of my eyes is hard. “Swear I’ll be careful with your precious car.”
“It’s what’s in the car that I give a fuck about, Lenny.”
A response escapes me.
Once we’re in his Lambo, he launches into an unnecessary explanation on how to handle it. His tone, while friendly, is firm and borderline condescending.
It’s not like I’ve never driven a car before.
Fuck, it’s not like I’ve never driven this car before.
It’s only been like a year.
He continues jabbering, and I grow impatient waiting to simply start the damn thing.
Gideon leans over to point at a button on the steering wheel. “And don’t touch that.”
My head rolls in his direction. “Anything else, Bond?”
His jaw drops to rebut, yet his stare lands on my lips. The combination of closeness and attention to an area that desperately misses him ignites a starvation inside I should ignore.
Or maybe I shouldn’t?
Impulsiveness gets the better of me, and my mouth feverishly conquers his. Gideon’s groan is accompanied by his tongue aggressively coming after mine. I grip the wheel tighter, using it for leverage as I hastily increase the speed of my presses. Needier grumbles are given, and his hand latches onto the nape of my neck. It isn’t long before the movements of our mouths and bodies become corybantic. His fingers dig into my curls, clumsily catching them. Mine abandon the hold on the wheel to paw at the crotch of his pants. We accidentally gnash teeth. Bite lips. Bump into the seat.
Embarrassment begins to seep into my system, and I swiftly attempt to banish it.
What kinda fucking woman in her thirties is this bad at making out?
I should’ve spent more time doing field studies on sex rather than reading about it. Or, at the very least, upped the number of hookups on my very low roster. In comparison to Gideon, his sex experience is very much like this Lambo. It’s meant for higher class clientele. Saved only for when he’s in the mood to take it for a spin. And makes all other drivers envious at the beauty he’s pulling. Me? Definitely Honda territory. Most men are midlevel. Reliable even though not necessarily exciting. And no one’s ever been jealous of the few times I was on someone’s arm.
Fuck me, I’m way out of my league.
Come to think about it…I’m in the wrong sport all together.
My fingers flex around his hard cock on top of his jeans, and Gideon pulls away to groan, “Are you trying to get me to mess up the leather in this thing?”
A devious smirk slips onto my face. “Is that an option?”
His eyes bore into mine. “Do you want it to be?”
I let my stare shift down to where my hand is impatiently waiting to make the next move. His dick nudges against my hold as if begging me to say yes. The small, anxious action causes the response to spring free. “Si.”
Gideon’s growl is significantly louder than it was while we were kissing.
My attention lifts back to him, noticing the strained muscles in his neck. “You like it when I speak Spanish?”
“It’s fucking sexy.”
The admission has me squeezing my thighs tightly together to dull the intensifying ache. “Abrir la cremallera.”
His teeth clamp onto his bottom lip.
I translate the previous command with a sexy smirk. “Unzip.”
He holds my gaze hostage yet removes my hand to swiftly follow the request. Afterwards, Gideon guides his cock out of his boxer briefs revealing a sight I damn sure wasn’t ready for.
My jaw drops, bobbing at the wide, thick, surprise.
How is it he just became even more flawless?
How is it his dick isn’t slightly crooked or shorter to balance out the rest of his masculine perfection?!
How the fuck is this fair?
My best friend clears his throat in discomfort. “Um…Should I put it up? Did I misread this situation? Did I-”
I smash my lips on top of his to silence the doubts I accidentally created. He initially attempts to pull back, however, the second my palm is pressed against his shaft he abandons all efforts in that direction. His hand fists my hair once more while mine mimics the action on his cock. My mind urges me to move slow, spend more time exploring the length…the texture…the weight…but instinct spurs me to return to our previous frenetic behavior. The execution is ferociously sloppy. I stroke my tongue in sync with the speed of my fingers. Pull his bottom lip between my teeth in tandem to the gentle tugging of his balls. Salaciously suck the sting I’ve created at the same time my thumb rolls precum up and down his slit. Gideon savagely groans at the havoc being wreaked upon his system. The hand in my hair grips it harshly, yanking my entire body into each jerk while the other is cemented to the door handle, clutching it so hard his knuckles are turning white.
A mixture of empowerment and sexual femininity tear through my veins.
I’ve never felt so wanted, and so in control, before.
When we were in the kitchen, it was clear he was anxious to have me, but it pales in comparison to this moment. Then, he was calm and collected. Driven by the desire to give me pleasure. He was all the things he normally is, but now? Now he’s losing, really losing, his restraint. All composure banished. Any shred of his infamous self-discipline has been dissipated. He’s grunting my name like a caveman only capable of one word and kissing me like I’ve got the antidote for whatever sexual sickness has stolen his sanity.
I brought this out of him.
Me.
The best friend who never thought she’d be the booty.
The best friend who wants love but, in the meantime, is willing to settle for the benefits because they’re the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced with another person in my entire life.
A slew of fucks come spiraling off his tongue seconds prior to him crashing our mouths back together. Our tongues twist and turn, tangling into knots that have us both desperate for air.
My stroking slows to shallower brushes, and Gideon immediately growls his disapproval.
I leave his lips, which receives an even louder grumble. “Problema?”
His groan is coated in frustration and lust.
“Mendigar.” I let my tongue slowly lick his top lip. “Beg. Beg me to make you come.”
A ravenous rumble is released at the same time his forehead knocks against mine. “Please, Lenny.” Gideon’s words tremble in unison with his body. “Please, make me fucking come.”
Without teasing him further my hand returns to the task like it’s my new calling in life. Up and down it slides, palm slick with pre-cum, fingers flexing to provide the added pulse to feel like pussy, though my own objects to not being able to replace the appendage. His hips hastily thrust upward into the wet, hot friction, and I can’t stop my
self from wedging a hand between my thighs to alleviate some of the building tension. Gideon’s brief glimpse of the action instantaneously becomes his undoing. He lets loose a deep, animalistic groan against my lips and shoves his tongue viciously back into my mouth. Thick cream coats my hand nearly causing my grip to slip. I moan from the steamy sensation as much as the shift in our situation.
This can’t be just a two-time thing.
Those don’t exist.
Once is an accident or random happenstance…
Twice is the start of a habit.
And while fooling around with my best friend is probably going to end with us both needing years of therapy, I’m going to enjoy every single minute we’re together like this…
I just hope when it all has to come to an end, I haven’t lost the one person I know I can’t function without.
Chapter Five
Gideon
Friends with specifically negotiated benefits.
Because why the fuck wouldn’t we be?
After the incident in my Lamborghini, which required me to get it and my jeans detailed the next morning, we spent the drive home having what has to be the most bizarre conversation we’ve ever had. And considering the shit we’ve talked about in our indiction of friendship, that’s fairly impressive. Neither of us were exactly sure of how to say what it was we were both wanting to say, so it came out similar to a rookie agent trying to explain to a rookie athlete the best way to proceed with where he is in his very early career. She made a lot of odd faces and chewed on her fingernail until it was bleeding. That, strangely enough, is what broke the tension. My fussing about not wanting the authorities called over blood and semen being found in my car lightened everything up. We eventually came to an agreement that has been serving us both well the past few nights, even if it’s not ideal just yet. We agreed that we could continue to fool around with one another during this dating disaster bullshit as long as none of my dates get physical. If they get physical, though they won’t, everything sexually between us has to end. The intelligent and wise decision would’ve been to tell her right then and there that none of the dates stand a chance because I’ve been in love with her for almost half my life, but it didn’t happen. Maybe it was due to the fact a large part of me fears this whole thing is just her scratching an itch that hasn’t been scratched in a while or maybe it had something to do with us being in my bed and her hand finding its way to my balls before I could even grab the remote to turn on RoboCop. Whichever reason it was explains why I’m here at an exclusive rooftop lounge about to meet date number two.
The blue and purple lighting do a stupendous job in setting the sexual mood, but if you didn’t come together, it makes it difficult to spot the person you’re supposed to be meeting. Especially when you have no clue what she looks like because your disorganized cousin of Cupid forgot, again, to send you a photo to your phone so you would know what to expect.
Guess I could take part of the blame since I have the password to check the email account that would provide such information, but it’s easier to pass the blame to the woman so busy trying to juggle helping Vets, helping her family, and “helping” me that she forgets to charge her phone.
My eyes scan the leather booths currently being occupied by just one person. Some are quickly joined by men carrying drinks while others have females flock back to them indicating girls’ night out.
Lenny has never been a big fan of those.
Boys night out?
Absolutely.
She loves beer, wings, and long talks about why trading Dereck Devety to the Wellbourne Warriors was the dumbest move the San Del Sol Sharks ever made.
But girls’ night out where they squeeze into something short, order fruity cocktails, and gossip about their sex lives? She’d rather jam a mascara brush in her eye. Thankfully, the female friends she does have aren’t exactly big on that shit either. When they hang out, they typically just eat pizza and watch the chick flicks I refuse to.
Despite Lenny’s childish taunting, it doesn’t make me a Neanderthal to refuse to watch Crazy Rich Asians.
I don’t care for romance movies unless they have a direct sports tie-in, like Love & Basketball or Jerry Maguire.
I mean…only a soulless monster wouldn’t love Jerry Maguire.
He fucking had her at hello.
My attention finally lands on a woman who’s in a booth all alone towards the back of the lounge. Adjusting my suit jacket, I slowly make my way towards her hoping this isn’t her, so I can say the woman was a no show and go home to Lenny sooner than expected.
Upon my arrival at her table, she grows a devilish grin. “Gideon Lucas.”
“Ciara Chu.”
The attractive Asian woman gives her slender, sleeveless shoulders a small shimmy. “Don’t I look like my profile pic?”
How the fuck would I know?
Instead of ruining the date instantly, I shoot her a grin back. “You look better.”
She winks at the compliment at the same time I sit down in the booth seat across from her.
“Don’t you wanna sit next to me?” Ciara offers, hand patting the empty space beside her. “Don’t bite…unless you want me to.”
I force my smile to remain. “Prefer to know a woman for longer than thirty seconds before I let her sink her teeth into me.”
Ciara giggles at the retort and pulls her long black hair to one side of her face.
Alright. In the looks department, Lenny did good…again. She’s clearly in excellent shape. Arms toned. Tits small but perky as they pour out of the burgundy cocktail dress. Skin silky smooth from a glance, just like her hair. Her stare is dark yet projects confidence, something that is quite sexy to most men, me included.
“How about I get us a drink?” I offer politely.
“How about you let me serve you?” The retort rubs me uncomfortably, although she doesn’t seem to notice. She stands and instructs, “Make sure you watch me walk away. I’m dying to know if you approve.”
There’s no need to ask what she’s implying.
Pretty sure I’m hearing what she’s screaming loud and fucking clear.
Ciara strolls away towards the bar with my eyes pinned to her perky backside.
Not bad.
Not bad at all.
Not nearly as incredible as the soft, round one I woke up to pressed against my dick this morning, but under prior circumstances, it’s definitely one I wouldn’t have minded sitting on my face.
Fuck, what I would give to have Lenny sit on my face.
It doesn’t take more than a couple minutes for her to grab us drinks, and when she returns, she decides to sit in the space next to me rather than her seat. Ciara pushes the glass towards me, tiny chest doing everything to be noticed during the process. “Hope this is okay, sir.”
The emphasis on the word “sir” plays to my early conclusions.
I slide the whiskey into my grasp while asking, “What are you drinking?”
“Whiskey sour.” My nodding receives follow up information. “I like the way it burns…”
Oh…It’s without a doubt going to be a long date.
Instead of taking the bait to walk the path it is clear she wants me to, I extend one arm around the back of the booth and ask, “You work in marketing, correct?”
She quickly nods. “Marketing executive for Wilcox Whiskey.”
“Is that what we’re drinking?”
“Is there anything else to drink?”
We exchange a small flirtatious snicker.
“It’s a great company.” I compliment. “How long have you been with them?”
“About seven years but got the promotion I deserved only a few months ago.” Her head and smile both become crooked. “Nowadays, I spend my days playing with the big boys and making sure to be on my knees for them at night.” My eyebrows launch into the air causing her to quickly correct. “Not the men I work with…but…other men in powerful positions.” Ciara’s touch drags itself along m
y forearm. “Sir.”
I push down the growing discomfort. “You’re looking to be someone’s submissive.”
“I’m made to be someone’s submissive.”
Gotta give the woman this. She’s in charge of her sexuality, and that’s admirable.
When I don’t immediately flirt back, her tone loses the lightness, “Look, Gideon, I am an extremely busy woman, which is the primary reason I’m using this fucking app to begin with. I work ridiculously long hours most days of the week with a very unpredictable schedule. I make so many decisions in a day you’d think I was trying to run a fucking small country rather than just a division of a corporation. During the little downtime I do have, the last thing I want is to have to think. I just wanna be able to feel. Follow. Have someone else be responsible and focus solely on providing me with pleasure. So…” She gives my arm another stroke. “Are you interested in being my daddy, or am I wasting my time?”