Rewind Boxed Set

by Rowan Shaw

  "You've said that already."

  "I know." I tilted my head to the side. "Will you let me try at least?"

  "I'm still not sure why you even want to try, though. That's the other issue. I mean, it's obvious you're not the relationship type. You like to sleep around, and that's fine. I'm not judging, but that's not my thing."

  "I don't know how to say what I mean without sounding like a prick..." I replied.

  "Try me."

  "I haven't been with anyone since we last had sex. I tried. But I couldn't. I don't know what you did to mess me up like this."

  Brandon grabbed his spoon and played with it nervously. "What do you mean you tried?"

  "I couldn't get it up. For the first time in my life, I got soft while getting a blowjob." I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be giving you so many details."

  Brandon didn't even flinch. "You didn't have that problem with me."

  "I know. But when I was with the one guy, I just... It was you I wanted. It was you I wanted to see kneeling at my feet."

  A proud smile rose like the sun on Brandon's face. "What did you do when you couldn't satisfy the guy?"

  "I asked him to leave. I don't know if you realize what that probably did to my unblemished reputation. I bet the word has spread around town already."

  Brandon let out a tiny laugh just as the waiter came back with the dessert menu before leaving just as apathetically.

  "We could have it to go," Brandon offered.

  "To go?" I asked.

  "Yeah, boxed."

  "What's that?"

  He stared at me. "You're kidding, right?"

  I shrugged.

  "You ask them to put your dessert in a box to take home to eat."

  I scratched my eyebrow, deeply puzzled. "Yeah, no, we don't do that here. Is that an American thing?"

  "Yes. I can't believe you don't do that."

  "Brandon, you've been here for over six years. How can you not know?" It baffled me how much he still had to learn, but it intrigued me at the same time. I wondered how hard it would be for me to adapt if I were in his place and moved to another country.

  "I usually don't order such big meals, so I don't need to take anything home. But how can you not box food? You paid for it. It's such a waste."

  "I do like the idea. But it's just not a thing."

  When the waiter returned, Brandon ordered his ice cream, and I chose a crêpe Suzette. Because the restaurant was about to close, the dessert didn't take as long to arrive. It was clear we were being rushed into finishing quickly.

  Brandon stared at my plate. "I will never understand why French people eat crêpes without maple or corn syrup on top."

  "We don't even have corn syrup in France, mon chou."

  "I know. I hate that. I miss it so much."

  I gave him a wink and chuckled when he gawked at his ice cream with the shot of liquor on the side.

  "You pour the liquor on top," I advised.

  He seemed skeptical. "What if I want to drink some?"

  "I wouldn't recommend it. Or maybe just a sip."

  "You think I can't hold my alcohol?"

  "It's not that. But it's really str—"

  Brandon huffed and gulped down the entire shot before I could finish my sentence. When his eyes bulged and he started coughing, I burst into a loud guffaw.

  "I warned you," I laughed as he poured himself some water and gulped it down.

  "What the hell is this?" he asked in between coughs.

  "Liquor. I told you."

  He shook his head really fast as if that would help soothe down the burn. "This isn't liquor."

  I bit my upper lip and poured him another glass of water. "You gonna be okay?"

  "Besides my guts catching on fire?" he asked between sips that seemed to appease his pain.

  I hid my lopsided grin with my hand, then dug into my crêpe Suzette.

  When he seemed better, he looked at his ice cream with the fruit on top. "Is it safe to eat those?"

  "The fruit shouldn't contain alcohol. Or maybe just diluted, but not as strong."

  He plunged his spoon in, scooping up one fruit with a bit of ice cream before taking a tentative bite. Chewing on the mirabelle, he gave a satisfied nod. "It's actually really good."

  "I can't believe that in six years of living in Lorraine, you've never eaten a single mirabelle. Have you had quetsches at least?"

  "Nope."

  "But you know what they are, right?" I wasn't judging him or anything. I was just trying to assess how much he knew. It made me wonder what food they had in the US that I'd probably never even heard of either.

  He shook his head.

  "They're like purple plums," I explained.

  "Why don't you just call them plums, then?"

  "Because they're a specific kind of plums. Why would I just call them plums if they're not the generic type?"

  "Because you sound arrogant and pompous," he shot back.

  "I'm arrogant because I'm calling a fruit by its real name?" I let out another laugh.

  He rolled his eyes and dug into his dessert.

  "When the season comes, I'll buy us a pie. You have to try it. What fruit do you have in the US that we don't have in France?"

  He swallowed down his ice cream and pointed his spoon at me. "We have honeydew melon."

  "What's that?"

  "It's a melon."

  I nearly rolled my eyes.

  "It's green on the inside," he specified.

  "It's green even when it's ripe?" I cut into my crêpe and savored the sugary taste melting on my tongue.

  "Yeah."

  "Huh. Okay. What does it taste like?" I asked.

  "Basically the same as a regular melon."

  I accepted that for a fact since I had no way of checking.

  Brandon's handsome face illuminated with the beautiful rays of his grin. "Well, at least we'll have interesting stories to tell about this date. Between the waiter you don't remember railing and me nearly choking to death on mirabelle."

  I chortled.

  We teased each other during the rest of dinner and declined coffee when our waiter offered it with an attitude that made me reach the end of my patience.

  "I'll take the bill, please," I snapped at him.

  He pursed his lips but did as I asked and waited while I inserted my card into the machine. The entire time, he looked off into the distance like I wasn't even there before he gave me my receipt and left without wishing us a good night. Technically, I wasn't required to tip him, but in spite of my irritation, I felt bad for forgetting who he was or if he even was a good fuck, so I left a decent amount on the table and led Brandon out.

  He tightened his jacket around his chest under the chilly wind and followed me to the car. "Thank you for dinner."

  "You're welcome."

  "Je suis plein," he said with a sigh of satisfaction as he took the passenger seat and put on his seatbelt.

  I sent him a sideways glance.

  "What?"

  "You're drunk?" I asked. "I knew you shouldn't have that liquor."

  "No, I'm not drunk. Why?"

  "That's what you just said."

  "No, I said I'm full."

  I bit my lip almost to the point of making it bleed. "Je suis plein either means you're drunk or you're pregnant. Which one are you?"

  Brandon burst out laughing. "Seriously?"

  "Yes, seriously."

  "Okay, so what should I say, then?"

  "J'en peux plus. J'ai trop bouffé. J'ai trop mangé."

  He laughed again. "No one ever corrected me before."

  "Maybe they didn't notice it. Your French is almost perfect."

  "You know, I actually never heard you speak English."

  "Yeah, not gonna happen," I replied and cranked the car to pull out of the parking lot.

  "Why not?"

  "Because I'm terrible at it."

  "I'm sure that's a lie."

  I raised an eyebrow and said somethi
ng in English just to please him. My French intonation instantly butchered the semblance of a British accent that I'd tried to duplicate for years.

  "Okay, you definitely have a strong accent," Brandon said.

  "Told you." I drove us through the city; its dark streets were lit by lamp poles and almost empty at this hour.

  "I have an accent when I speak French too."

  "Not as bad as mine in English."

  "I could teach you, help with your pronunciation."

  "You'd be wasting your time. I'm a lost cause, really." I took a turn and waited when we reached a red light. "I can understand a bunch of it, but speaking it is impossible."

  "No, we should try. I mean it. It'd be fun."

  "We can try if you want. But I'm a horrible student. I think you should know."

  Normally, the ride would have taken a long time, but since there was barely any traffic, we reached his house quicker than I wanted. I wished to spend more time with him, but it was past ten P.M., and I was still exhausted from not sleeping well.

  When I parked in front of his house, Brandon turned in his seat and looked at me. "Do you want to...uh... Do you want to come inside? For some coffee?"

  I shook my head. "I think we both know that's a bad idea."

  "Right."

  "May I kiss you, though?" I asked.

  When he consented, I closed the distance and slipped my hand under his ear to pull him into a chaste kiss. Warm and tasting like liquor and vanilla ice cream, the tip of his tongue sought an entrance into my mouth, grazing my lips open. The kiss grew more demanding until I got so hard I had to pull away.

  "I think we should stop before I lose control." I licked my lower lip and watched his eyes trace the movement. "I had a great time."

  "Me too."

  "I'll text you."

  "Do you mean it, or is that what you tell all the guys?" he asked.

  "Both," I acknowledged with a wink.

  He shook his head, though he couldn't stop smiling. "Don't make me linger."

  "I won't."

  As soon as he got out of the car and entered his house with one last look at me, I pulled out my phone and typed a quick message.

  ME: See, I didn't lie. I'm texting.

  BRANDON: Really funny. Goodnight, Patrick.

  ME: Goodnight.

  I smiled when more dots reappeared on the screen.

  BRANDON: You need to leave because it's taking all I have not to invite you inside.

  ME: Fine, I'm leaving, but I'll be thinking of you.

  BRANDON: Is that a euphemism for jerking off?

  ME: Yes.

  BRANDON: You're killing me. Please go.

  ME: Will you?

  BRANDON: What?

  ME: Be jerking off thinking of me?

  BRANDON: I'll let you guess.

  ME: Okay, I'd better leave.

  BRANDON: You go do that.

  I dropped my phone in the passenger seat and drove away. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to sleep tonight. But I knew it wouldn't happen until I took care of this hellish hard-on pushing against my zipper.

  Chapter 22

  BRANDON

  My phone beeped as soon as I took off my shirt and pants to slip into bed with nothing on but my boxers. It was past eleven P.M. already. Though I was exhausted, I couldn't sleep. I had too many things to ponder. Patrick's reservation toward bisexual men bothered me. And yet, I couldn't help but ache upon remembering his words and the pain in his eyes as he relayed his story.

  I pulled my cover up to my chest after punching my pillow into shape, then shot a glance at my beeping phone.

  PATRICK: Is sexting out of the equation, too?

  My lips quirked into a tiny grin. Considering how horny I was, sexting was more than fine. Patrick was simply irresistible even if I tried to push back my cravings.

  ME: I'll let you start.

  PATRICK: Where are you?

  ME: In bed.

  PATRICK: Give me a minute. I just parked in front of my apartment.

  Another message popped up twenty minutes later.

  PATRICK: I'm ready.

  ME: Are you in bed?

  PATRICK: Yes.

  ME: In your briefs?

  PATRICK: Naked.

  ME: I'm in my boxers.

  PATRICK: Please undress.

  I did as he said, feeling myself harden under his command.

  PATRICK: Send me a picture.

  ME: You've already seen my dick. More than once.

  PATRICK: I forgot what it looks like.

  I burst out laughing.

  ME: Liar.

  I did as he said anyway and angled my phone to capture the full length, then took the picture that I sent after a mere second of hesitation.

  ME: There. If you put it on the internet, I will be forced to kill you.

  PATRICK: We can't even see your face. It could be anybody's dick, really.

  ME: Well, it couldn't be yours. You're uncut.

  PATRICK: True.

  ME: Your turn.

  PATRICK: I thought you'd never ask.

  He was such a tease. I couldn't believe he'd talked me into this, and without even trying. My phone beeped and a picture appeared. Patrick wasn't as coy as I was. The picture displayed his entire body, including his gorgeous face.

  ME: Did you take that in front of a mirror?

  PATRICK: Maybe.

  ME: Just now, or is that an old picture?

  PATRICK: Just now, mon lapin.

  My gaze lingered as I took it all in before staring at his cock.

  ME: You're hard already.

  PATRICK: I spent the evening with some hot guy who wouldn't jump my bones. What do you think? I was hard the entire time.

  His words shot down below as I took another glance at his pic. His chest was chiseled to perfection just as I remembered, peppered with scattered dark hair, and his shaft was standing at a horizontal angle. Just looking at it made mine throb. I remembered exactly how it felt when he was inside me. I almost regretted telling him I didn't want sex tonight.

  PATRICK: Now you have something to blackmail me with. If I treat you poorly, you can always use it as retribution.

  ME: Do you send dick pics to many guys?

  PATRICK: Non, seulement toi, mon poussin.

  ME: I'm supposed to believe that?

  PATRICK: Believe it or not, but I don't send pictures of my dick to men I don't trust. So tell me, next time we have sex, how do you want it?

  ME: Who said there'd be a next time?

  PATRICK: Oh trust me, there will be.

  His words made me smile in spite of myself.

  ME: Arrogance doesn't become you.

  PATRICK: Fine. I hope there will be a next time. We still haven't christened your house. Do you have a shower or a tub?

  ME: Both.

  PATRICK: Double the options, then.

  ME: Stop. You're making me hard.

  PATRICK: That's kind of the point of sexting, mon chou. Are you stroking yourself?

  ME: Not yet.

  PATRICK: Hurry up, I'm on the edge already.

  ME: You were stroking it the whole time.

  PATRICK: Yes. I'm not sure what you're waiting for.

  I took my dick in my hand and began rubbing it up and down, running my palm over my crown. The sensation made it jerk. I was so aroused, I doubted I'd last long.

  PATRICK: Close your eyes. Imagine me sucking you off.

  ME: I can't close my eyes and text at the same time.

  PATRICK: FaceTime me, then. I want to watch you come.

  ME: Doesn't that count as sex?

  PATRICK: Not unless we're physically touching.

  ME: Okay.

  I was caving in far too quickly. I knew that, but I wanted to see the look on Patrick's face when he released. I pressed on FaceTime and waited for his image to appear.

  He flashed a wide smile upon seeing me. "Move your phone to a place where I can see you jacking off."

  I stood off the bed and
propped my phone on my dresser, then settled down and shot a glance at the screen. "Is that good?"

  "It's a bit small on the phone, but I'll survive."

  "Your turn."

  "So demanding," he teased with a tiny grin.

  I couldn't tell where he had propped his phone, but he was in full view, lying on his light green comforter.

  "Touch yourself," I commanded.

  He raised an eyebrow but did as I said, rolling his foreskin back and forth over his glans, his piercing gaze on me the entire time.

  "Imagine you're inside me, thrusting back and forth," I said.

  "Are you in charge tonight?"

  "I guess I am."

  Patrick closed his eyes, and a moan seeped right out of his mouth. "I'm not gonna last."

  He reopened his eyes and stared as I caressed myself and cupped my balls. "I want to watch you finger your ass."

  "Only if you do the same."

  His smile turned downright dirty as he reached for something on his nightstand table. He showed me his bottle of lube and emptied some of it on his dick, spreading it around with a firm grasp. Then he rubbed his hands together and spread his legs wide to insert one finger inside while stroking himself at the same time. It was the most erotic thing I'd ever seen.

  "Your turn," he groaned in his rising pleasure.

  I didn't have any lube, so I spat on my fingers.

  "Don't know if you've seen that in porn, but saliva isn't lube."

  "It works well enough." I pushed my middle finger inside, forcing past the resistance. My sensations multiplied by ten in an instant as I stretched myself and jerked off harder. "I won't last long either."

  "Just let it go. I want to come along with you."

  His words shot goosebumps up my back as my balls constricted and I found my peak. I came all over my stomach, my eyes pinned on Patrick, who let out a growl that was borderline animalistic when he saw me ejaculate. He bent his head back and came all over his flat stomach and hand, his chest heaving in erratic movements when he tried to catch his breath. When he looked at me again, his beautiful green eyes seemed almost stoned and sleepy.

  "I can't wait to be inside you," he panted. "How long are you going to make me wait?"

  "As long as it takes." Even if abstinence was killing me right now.

  "Can we do this again tomorrow?"

  I was still riding the afterwaves of my orgasm. The euphoria was so strong, I couldn't think coherently. "Yes, tomorrow."

  Patrick's grin widened. "Join me on another date."