Taking Care of Business (9 page)

He should've been pissed. Instead, he was more turned on than he'd ever been in his life. Brandon shifted in his seat again, looking out on to the dark and empty street as he listened to the music Karen had chosen for him and thought about another woman's taste.

'I could let you fuck me,' Leah had said with her back turned to him. 'I'm sure you'd be very good at it.'

He hadn't said anything, not sure what she wanted him to say. She looked over her shoulder at him as she poured herself some more water and as she sipped. He'd had the feeling she was testing him again, maybe waiting to see if he were going to be an asshole and demand she let him have sex with her.

He didn't like it when women assumed they knew what he was like just because they'd met a few jerkwads along the way. Karen had assumed he was cheating on her, so she said, because that's what good-looking guys did. She'd used it as an excuse for lying to him. The fact he'd never even looked at another girl the entire time they'd been together hadn't meant anything.

'Tell me something,' Leah had said when he didn't answer. 'Did you like that? What I asked you to do?'

'Yes.'

Her dark-blue eyes had left him feeling she could see right through him. 'I want you to go home now, Brandon.'

He couldn't help the way he reacted when she said his name like that. Soft and low and full of promise. She'd lifted her chin as though she expected him to protest.

But, even though his dick was so hard he thought it might tear a hole in his pants, and even though he wanted to pin her back against that table and slide inside, to lose himself in her slick heat, Brandon had only nodded. He didn't speak, not trusting his voice.

'I want you to think about me tonight when you're jerking that fine thick cock in those big strong hands.'

He'd been ashamed by his groan, but she only looked pleased and a little startled. He thought now it was because of what

she'd told him about that asshole, Mike, and how he always wanted to be in charge, but, at the time, all he'd been able to do was focus on not making a fool of himself by spilling in his pants like a kid.

'You'll do that for me, won't you?' Say it, he'd thought, holding back a breath.

'Brandon?'

'Yes!'

'And tomorrow,' Leah had said quietly, pinning him in place with nothing but her gaze and the sound of her voice, 'you'll tell me exactly what you did. Exactly how it felt. I want to know every detail of it.'

'And . . . then?'

'Then,' she'd said, 'if I like what I hear, and you've pleased me again, then maybe I'll let you fuck me.'

With that, she'd dismissed him.

And he'd gone, like a lapdog.

No matter how often he had to do it for his job, Brandon detested being made to jump through hoops. He thought about calling her a bitch, but the word wouldn't come. It didn't fit. There was a difference in someone making demands just to watch him squirm and what Leah had done. He couldn't have said what it was. He just felt it.

It was the look in her eyes, something vulnerable. And surprise, like she never really expected him to do what she asked. And lust, unmistakable, when he did.

What bothered him more than anything wasn't that she seemed to be playing some sort of game that only she knew the rules to, but that she assumed he didn't want to play too.

'Bad Touch' by the Bloodhound Gang came on next and Brandon stabbed the radio silent. He took a few deep breaths and swiped his hands through his hair. He pressed the front of his bulging crotch until he could get out of the car.

He felt feverish. Sweaty. The dull ache in the pit of his stomach reminded him of the time he'd been hit full-on in the nuts by a soccer ball. He'd gone down on the field clutching his junk without even the breath to scream and that had been bad enough, but it was the dull throb that had persisted for hours after that had really messed him up.

His knees creaked in protest as he got out and shut the car door. He lived on the top floor of an old brownstone, converted to apartments. Three in all, his the smallest.

Two guys he thought might be a couple lived in the middle apartment, but he hardly ever saw them. The ground-floor pad housed a trio of girls just out of college who all worked downtown: Chris, Kris and Crissy. It was like a bad 70s jiggle sitcom sometimes and tonight was no exception.

'Brandon!' Their door opened and Crissy looked out as he paused to check his mailbox.

Mail in hand, Brandon climbed the three steps to the first landing. 'Hi, Crissy.'

'We're having a party to celebrate. Chris got a new job. Come in!'

It was already late, and only a Tuesday. He had to work in the morning. His crotch twinged as he moved and he thought of Leah.

'Sure. OK. I could use a beer.'

'Goody!' She clapped and stepped aside, but not too much, to let him in.

His arm brushed her full breasts as he passed. His dick, already at half-mast, responded. He thought of junior high, when all the boys had taken to carrying a notebook with them at all times so they'd have something to hold in front of them if they got an unexpected hard-on.

Not that this one was unexpected. Heck, a breeze could blow on him the right way tonight and he'd get hard. Brandon tried not to look down Crissy's blouse as she took him by the elbow to lead him further into the apartment.

'Look, guys! It's Brandon!'

He knew Chris and Kris by sight, and some of the other faces turning to greet him looked familiar too, but thankfully Crissy was already pulling him into the kitchen for a beer so he didn't have to actually say anything to anyone.

Two beers later, the buzz in his head was finally managing to put a bit of a damper on the buzz between his legs.

He was on the couch with Chris on one side and Kris on the other, while a giggling Crissy settled on his lap with an arm around his neck to serve him a shot of tequila he didn't want.

Brandon had a double handful of taut thighs, soft breasts, firm buttocks. He was drowning in tits and ass. Under Crissy's elliptically trained butt, his cock was as stiff as it could get, trapped against his thigh.

'C'mon, it's a party,' Crissy said as she put the shot glass to his mouth.

'I have to work tomorrow!' He didn't mean to let his hand wander up and down her bare thigh, but it was there and so was his hand and, God, she felt so good.

On either side of him, the couch dipped as more people piled on or got off. The tang of pot tickled his nose and he fought a sneeze. Crissy wriggled on his erection and there was no way she couldn't notice he was sporting a steel rod in his pants.

'How come you never party with us?' Crissy asked into his ear. 'You're a party pooper.'

'I have to . . . work. . .' He couldn't finish when she shifted on his lap, her tight ass settling just right on his hard dick.

'All work and no play makes Brandon a dull boy, you know.' Crissy looked into his eyes.

His mouth was already open when she kissed him. She tasted like tequila and corn chips and smoke, and she kissed without much finesse but with a whole lot of enthusiasm. She was warm and willing in his arms but, when she broke the kiss to whisper an invitation into his ear, all Brandon could do was sit and stare at her.

What the hell was he doing? Twenty minutes of Crissy on his cock wouldn't be worth the hassle of dealing with her after that. Twenty? Hell. He'd be lucky if he could make it to five. And it wouldn't be fair to screw her knowing he'd be thinking of another woman the entire time.

'I have to go,' he told her.

'No . . . stay . . .' She kissed his cheek, his jaw, his neck. Her hand wiggled inside his shirt and found bare skin, but Brandon was already clutching her wrist to keep her from exploring more.

He didn't want to screw Crissy. The woman he wanted had told him to go home and think about her and, no matter what else he did tonight, that's what he'd be doing. Crissy tried to kiss him again but stopped when he didn't respond.

She rocked her ass on his erection. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing. But I really do have to work in the morning. I'm sorry.'

She leaned in to speak in his ear again. 'What I'm sitting on says otherwise.'

What she was sitting on wouldn't mind, but he did. 'Thanks for the beer.'

She got off his lap when he pushed her gently and stood. Her pretty face grew lines when she frowned, a fact Brandon doubted she'd appreciate. She put her hands on her hips.

'Are you queer?'

'No.'

'Huh.' She eyed his crotch. 'I just had to ask.'

'No, I'm not queer.' He smiled at her, though she didn't smile back. 'I'm just -'

'Bad break-up, yeah, yeah.' She waved her hand in dismissal. 'We know all about it.'

'What do you know about it?'

'Oh, Kris works with Jeremy Bench, who used to go out with Deb Houser, whose brother is room-mates with Ben Miller.'

'Who's dating my ex-girlfriend.'

'Right.' She gave him a drunken smile. 'Poor baby, she rocked your world, huh?'

Leah had called him baby, too, but from her it had sounded like sweet, dripping sin and on Crissy's lips it only made him scowl. 'I gotta go.'

'Bye.' Her mission failed, Crissy was already looking for her next target.

Brandon let himself out. By the time he got up the stairs to his apartment, the ache in his groin was enough to make him walk with a limp. There was only one solution for it. Again he wanted to curse Leah, call her a bitch, but he couldn't pretend that, for someone who didn't know him at all, she'd managed to get right inside him.

By the time the pipes stopped whining and the water was hot enough in the shower to fill the air with steam, he'd stripped out of his work clothes. He didn't even try to stop the sigh of relief when he shucked out of his briefs and finally freed his erection.

He stepped into the shower with a hand already on his prick. Stroking. Groaning.

He stopped. She'd said she wanted to know all the details and he didn't intend to disappoint.

He was close already, but too close. Stroking himself hurt almost more than it felt good. He needed to go slow. He wondered if Leah had known that.

He wondered if she were thinking of him now too.

Brandon bent his head into the water and let it pound down on his neck and shoulders. They ached too. His entire body did, actually, with the tension of hours.

His shower was small, but the building had a communal water heater, so there was always plenty of hot water. Still bent beneath the spray, he put a hand on the wall at shoulder height for support. He leaned, taking the pressure off his knees one at a time.

Steaming water sluiced over his shoulders and down his back. He breathed in, slowly, and let the breath out. Water slid over his chest, down over his cock, tickling.

When at last some of the ache had eased from a few of his muscles, Brandon put his hand on his cock again. He stroked easily but slowly. His eyes closed.

There was no way to count the thousands of times he'd done this, jerked himself to coming, but he'd never done it on command before. Now, thinking about her thinking of him doing it, thinking of how he'd tell her tomorrow how it had felt, what he'd done, the sensations building in his shaft and balls seemed extra heightened.

Her cunt had spasmed on his tongue. He'd been able to feel her coming around his fingers as her clit leaped and jumped under his lips. He'd done that to her, made her feel that way. He'd made her come.

He groaned out loud, Leah's face in his mind. The water was washing her taste from him. He opened his mouth to let the hot water swirl around his teeth. He spit, a fierce jet that splattered the wall.

His hand was a poor substitute for the heat and wetness of her body. He wanted to feel her around him. He wanted her mouth under his. Damn . . . He groaned again . . . He wanted her nails raking his back as he drove into her again and again and she screamed his name.

His hand stroked harder. His hips pumped forwards. His fingers clutched and slid on the shower's plastic interior, finding no purchase.

He wanted her hands in his hair, pulling hard when he found her secret places with his mouth and fingers.

He said her name and let the water fill his mouth again.

His balls tightened, so heavy already. He pushed harder into his fist. Faster. His knees bent a little, hurting. The water was so hot it had begun making him feel a little faint. Or maybe it was his impending orgasm, which felt like a freight train barrelling up from his groin to his head.

She had blue eyes. Dark hair. She smelled of roses. She tasted sweet. She turned him inside out and upside down.

He shouted when he came, a garbled string of words that might have been mistaken for a prayer. Or a plea. His cock throbbed as he spurted. Hot come splattered the shower wall, each burst wringing another low cry from him until at last, spent, Brandon hung his head and let the water roll over him.

'Leah.' He mouthed it, then laughed.

What the hell exactly was he going to say tomorrow?

Oh fuck. Why did she agree to talk to him at all? Why did she give in and act as if what was happening between her and Dix was anything but an affair?