Page 28 of Oh Boy!
Nathan
Life is good. Work is good. Girlfriend is awesome. Wait? Did I just call Sally Mitchell mygirlfriend? Surely, we’re not there quite yet.
Wrenching me from that troubling thought, Sally lets the front door of my apartment slam behind us. “How come we never do anything with your friends?” She noisily kicks off her sneakers and hangs her coat in the closet.
She was awfully quiet on the drive back from New Hope, Pennsylvania. Hyper from my crowded signing, it took me an hour to notice that The Whiskey Barrels’ upcoming album was filling in the blanks. Maybe she caught a cold while waiting in the car outside of the venue? Yes, I allowed her to borrow my precious vintage Mustang that no one’s ever driven but me. Picking me up on Sunday to save Kitty Lefèvre, a famous French calligrapher, whose work has inspired my own, the trip was her suggestion after all! Sally greeted me with a warm smile, then frowned and timidly hugged me upon witnessing a handful of my zealous followers. Aware that I despise broadcasting my personal life in front of my fans, she mutely respected my twisted boundaries. As for Kitty, submerged with her countless followers, she’d already ditched me with a quick wave before I had the opportunity to introduce Sally as my girlfriend. I’m perfectly aware that the relief that flooded through me when that happened—well, didn’t happen—makes me an asshole.
I follow her to the kitchen to answer her odd question. “Friends? What friends?”
She pours two glasses of water, hands me one, and drinks hers. I like that she’s comfortable enough to help herself to what she wants. “No questions: answers!” she demands, crossing her arms below her ample chest. Clad in a plain long-sleeve black shirt, the view awakens my dirty mind; thankfully, my art requires learning to focus. “So?”
I gulp half of my water, and my eyes bore into hers. “No one’s lining up to put up with such a self-absorbed prick, except for Virgil Blake, who you’vealreadymet at the gallery.” I stress the adverb. “And you apparently,” I eventually add, bumping her hip with my own. “And while we’re at it, I could say, ‘Right back at you, Sally!’ When have you ever introduced me to any of your friends?”
Her expressive blue eyes widen in disbelief while her fisted hands land on her hips. “Are you kidding me?” Her voice comes out strangled. “You befriended my fake boyfriend before you and I really got to know each other. If you must know, he would’ve loved to be more than friends with you back then.” Her hand flies to her plump mouth. “Fuck…” she mumbles. I sneer. “His interests lies elsewhere now… As for my other friend…” She pauses, her face red. “We know what went on with Courtney.”
My eyes narrow. “Who?”
“Courtney!” she snaps.
“Right.” I manage to sound convinced, although it takes me a moment to connect the dots and recall that I hooked up with her friend… who’s apparently named Courtney. I mean, she had a fake boyfriend who she kissed in public, so I’m not sure that she has room to judge, but who cares about what happened in the past? “Never mind… Like I was saying, I’m not a people person…” Standing next to her, I catch her side-eye.
“Oh, puh-lease. You are such an extravert! You crave attention.” In a swift move, I face her, needing proximity but refraining from touching her. “Not that that’s a bad thing, but your denial stuns me. Anyway, you claim that you have only one friend. Wow, that’s harsh!”
“Why? Because I don’t take friendship lightly? I’m a nomad, and even if I wanted to, I don’t have much time to make friends between traveling and my art. As you know, I use social media to boost my image, but I don’t believe in genuine virtual friendship. I would have lost touch with Virgil if he hadn’t put in the necessary effort.” With my hands on her hips, I recount how my fellow calligrapher approached me at a conference, kind of like Rupert had, only eighteen-year-old Virgil was in my field and eager to learn more about my calligraphy process. He was one of a kind on so many levels that part of me was flattered by his interest and vision. “Now that I think about it, Drake could be considered a friend.”
“Who’s Drake?”
“My tattoo artist.” I shrug, unconvinced.Is he a friend?“We hang out, visit exhibitions, and go out for drinks and stuff…”
With that, she barks out a laugh. My brow arches. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed. I don’t even know the guy, but I’m a fan of his work on your body.”
“Actually, he was at the festival with a DJ friend who was performing. I bumped into him right before you magically appeared. It was one of those serendipitous days for me. First, him, then you. I had no idea that he’d be there… So, I’m not sure that he checks all of the ‘friend’ boxes.” I shake my head, dismissing the annoying concept. “Anyhow, I hate labels!”
“I shouldn’t have said that, okay? There’s nothing wrong with being friends with your tattoo artist.”
“Damn right!” Her reaction bothered me, so I shoot her a daring look. Meanwhile, I make a mental note to text Drake for drinks. While I’m at it, maybe I should make an appointment to expand my tattoo and give Sally some new art to appreciate. My design is gorgeous, and his execution is flawless. “You should see the guy. He’s even paler than I am, but his tats hide most of it! I guess I’m bound to have unusual-looking friends.”
“Virgil Blake is definitely… something. He’s over seven feet tall, isn’t he?”
“Might be. Over time, I stopped obsessing over our height difference. I look way better than Mini-Me from Austin Powers anyway.”
“Indeed… And let’s not forget your phenomenal ass!”
“Right. I’m flattered that you’re that observant, though. ”
“What can I say? I’m an ass girl.” She winks, then cups aforementioned cheeks and devours my mouth. Our tongues do the talking until we break the kiss, panting. She startles me yet again by palming my package.
Looking at Sally is enough to turn my cock to granite, and touching her takes it a notch further. I see stars. My filthy mind fantasizes about hammering into her sweet pussy from behind, with her upper body bent over the kitchen counter and me fisting her long hair. My dick that’s restrained by my boxer briefs and pants throbs in her firm grip. Between ragged breaths, I grab the hem of her top and pull it off. I mourn the loss of her touch the moment she stops her ministrations to let me hastily disrobe her. Only now do I notice the dark lace bra; a couple of months ago, she opted for comfort rather than sexy lingerie. I’m not picky as long as what’s inside entices my senses, but this spectacular view is to my liking.
Am I going to cream my pants simply by looking at her?
She drops to her knees before I get the chance, deftly discarding my belt, pants, and underwear in the process. My pulse goes through the roof, and my breathing falters. Her dilated pupils never leave mine. I inch back, my bare ass hitting the back of said counter as I gaze at her transfixed. My cock springs free in front of her, and she breaks eye contact to take in my swelling erection; I don’t dare speak. She looks up again, apprehension flashing in her eyes until she takes most of me into her inviting mouth.
Considering her hints about lack of prior experience, I’m stunned by her audacity. One of her hands holds my thigh. The other circles the root of my engorged length as her tongue greedily swirls around my head. Our eyes lock again. Watching her lips stretch around me sends goosebumps across my body. Quivering, I can’t suppress my caveman growl. Her soft giggle vibrates around me. Releasing me, she kisses my proud cock while steadily jacking me, then moans as she takes me to the back of her throat and resumes her TLC, kneading my balls. I wouldn’t have asked but… “So… Damn… Good.”
As soon as my erratic compliment leaves my mouth, she picks up the pace. Caressing the top of her neatly braided hair in encouragement, I try to restrain myself from fucking her mouth, although my hips don’t fully cooperate. She doesn’t complain, and I shoot her an apologetic smile. “Holy shit, I—” Tongue. Mouth. Fingers. She’s driving me crazy. A knot of pleasure coils tighter and tighter, and I see stars as pleasure rockets through my body. Unfazed, she swallows and stands, a salacious grin on her angelic face. She watches me tuck my flaccid cock back into my boxer briefs, my pants around my ankles. Who cares? Once my breathing evens, I deposit a soft kiss on her swollen lips, tasting myself in the process.
“Perfect appetizer, Nathan. Now, let’s eat.”
