Love By Chance (Chance Series Book 1)

by Blake Allwood

  I stopped short. After our first bout of playing with each other, Elian hadn’t shown much interest in switching positions. I’d assumed maybe he wasn’t that into it, but the thought of fucking Elian sent shivers up my spine and blood coursing into my cock.

  “Maybe if you are a good boy,” I teased.

  “Mi amor, you’re evil.” Elian sighed.

  I chuckled as I slipped Elian’s cock into my mouth. He drew in a breath while I sucked his head, spending the time to let my tongue play with his slit.

  “Oh god, that feels good,” Elian said. Just as I could tell Elian was settling into the sensation, I pulled his whole cock into his mouth, causing his abdomen to stiffen and his moans to increase.

  I slowly let my mouth move up and down his cock. Using the saliva that had dripped from my mouth to moisten my finger, I rubbed around Elian’s balls, teasing him with a light touch.

  I slowed my movements down as I moved my finger to play with the sensitive area around his hole, not yet allowing my finger to penetrate but causing the most pleasure I could from the sensation of being touched there.

  Elian’s hands were in my hair. He begged in a whisper I barely heard, “Please Martin, por favor.”

  Unable to resist his plea, I began sucking harder as I slipped my finger into the tight hole.

  “Oh god, Martin, I want you so bad,” Elian cried. As he squirmed, I pressed my finger farther into him, feeling the sphincter fight against the intrusion.

  Using his resistance to increase the sensation, I shifted positions so that I was lying between his legs, jacking him off with my hand. I slipped under Elian, lifting his legs up to his shoulders and thrust my tongue into his tight hole.

  Although I could feel his sphincter rebel, I could tell Elian was in ecstasy. “Oh my god, I have never wanted anyone so bad,” he murmured.

  As I rimmed his ass with my tongue the sphincter began to settle, and I replaced my tongue with a wet finger moving in and out of his hole, causing him to moan more and more with each new invasion.

  After I could slip my third finger in, I slowly crawled out from under him and pulled the nightstand drawer open to pull out some lube and a condom I’d stored there.

  I used the lube on Elian’s ass, starting again with one finger, then two and a third, allowing him to get used to the sensation of the lube.

  “I want you to fuck me right now, Martin!” Elian exclaimed, causing me to chuckle.

  I leaned over to kiss him. “I’m going to fuck your tight hole so hard, Elian,” I said in his ear.

  “Oh god, get in me!” he exclaimed grabbing and holding me by the shoulders.

  I couldn’t help the goofy grin that came across my face as I pulled the condom on and pressed my cock to him. Slowly, using my hand to push the head around the hole. I was struggling to go slow. I didn’t want to hurt him but I also knew at this point, I was too far gone to tolerate slow.

  My head continued to put pressure on his ass, and Elian shifted so he could push himself harder onto me, forcing my cock to go in faster than I would’ve done.

  “I said fuck me now!” he demanded. The feeling of lust that came over me after having my cock slide into Elian so quickly drove me into sexual madness. I thrust full force into him causing him to suck in his breath and then yell, “Thank god, thank god. Fuck me Martin, FUCK ME!”

  I slammed my cock into him struggling to hold my release.

  “You are so fucking hot, Elian! Damn, you are so fucking hot!” I said then thrust in him again.

  “God please, Martin, fuck me harder,” he exclaimed, and I complied, thrusting harder and harder into his ass losing myself to this new sensation.

  I pulled out and repositioned Elian on all fours and came back onto him doggie style. Slowly slipping back into him, I rubbed my hands over his beautifully muscled back.

  Then, I began to pound him.

  “God, that feels so good, Martin. I love the feel of your cock in me.” The sound of his pleasure caused me to harden even more, and I shoved myself into his tight ass even harder.

  I moved my body slightly and shifted my fucking down so that I’d come closer to hitting Elian’s prostate. The aim worked as I hit my mark; he arched up in surprise. “Oh god, that’s it, that’s it,” he moaned.

  Having found his g-spot, I moved so I could hit it again and again. “I’m going to come, Martin. I’m going to come.”

  “Show me, baby. I want to watch you.”

  As I said this, Elian exploded all over my bed. His ass muscles contracted with the ejaculation.

  I shuttered, yelling, “Oh god, oh god, your ass is so tight, Elian!” Then, I emptied myself while still inside of him.

  When I pulled out, I fell onto the bed.

  We both panted, holding each other as we slowly allowed ourselves to calm down.

  “I didn’t think you were a bottom,” I said.

  “I’m versatile, but I haven’t bottomed much,” Elian said and smiled at me. “But all the way home from Dallas, all I could think of was your cock in my ass.”

  I beamed back at him. “Was it as good as you were hoping?”

  “Oh no,” Elian said, causing me to frown. He put his hand up to my face and traced the frown with his finger. “It was better than I could have imagined.” Then, he leaned over and kissed me hard on the lips.

  v

  Elian

  “When do I get to fall in love with you?” I asked, waiting to see if Martin freaked out.

  The shock on Martin’s face was amusing, “Well, not yet. There are rules about these kinds of things.”

  I laughed and replied, “Mi amor, I need to know those rules before I say something you don’t want to hear.”

  Martin leaned up on his elbow and rested his hand on my forearm. “I think we both have feelings, but we seriously have to take it slow. OK?” The look Martin gave me displayed his need to keep things simple. I could tell, if I pushed a bit further, I was taking a chance of chasing him away.

  “I know,” I replied. “I just needed you to know, this isn’t just sex for me. I like you a lot, Martin, and there will be a lot more to this than me liking you if this keeps going.”

  Martin sat up on the side of the bed, looking away from me. “You know I’ve been burned, Elian, and had that not happened, I’m sure I’d be all yours. I’m not one to put the brakes on emotions, so don’t think I’m standing by convention, but you have to give me time.” He turned back to me then and said, “So, is fucking you all it takes to get a ring on my finger?”

  I felt my eyes grow wide at the change of mood, and I reached over and began tickling him. “I may be easy, Martin, but you don’t have to throw it in my face.”

  He laughed and squirmed. “Hey, no fair. No tickling!”

  “All’s fair in love and war,” I replied as I reached down and kissed his sexy lips.

  “I’ll remember that,” Martin said over my kiss. “Do you really have to go now?”

  “Yeah, I have another damned meeting tomorrow morning with my board. They are giving me all kinds of grief about the Dallas restaurant, but now, thanks to you, I can show them a very sweet upswing in our bottom line. The best part is I can tell them why our drink sales were declining. Tomorrow will be an exhausting but good day.”

  “So, no nookie tomorrow night then?” he asked.

  “Nookie?” I laughed at the antiquated word. “I’m always game for nookie,” I replied.

  “I won’t be working tomorrow night. When are you done?”

  “It’ll be late, maybe eightish?”

  “Where’s your meeting?” Martin asked.

  “I’m meeting in the boardroom at my uncle’s office, which is across the street from the condos.”

  “I can meet you down there if you like,” Martin said.

  “Deal. Meet me at eight thrity at my uncle’s bar. We can make plans from there.”

  Martin

  We met as often as possible as the week wore on. I could tell we were getting cl
oser, and with that came a feeling of dread; my waiting for the next shoe to drop.

  I knew intellectually this had nothing to do with Elian and everything to do with Matilda the hun, my ex’s mom, but I couldn’t help thinking it was just a matter of time before Elian flipped out and left me.

  Part of me knew if that happened again, it would shatter what was left of my heart into pieces and that I’d never be able fit them back together again. All that being so, my friends had helped me see that this man needed a chance of his own—not to be held accountable for other people’s stupid actions.

  Thursday night came, and I took Kristine with me to the Cuban restaurant Elian had said he couldn’t review with me. We arrived at approximately six pm, which we knew should be the peak time. There were several people waiting out front when we arrived, and several were already leaving.

  I asked a couple who was leaving what was going on, and they said they had a reservation for five-thirty pm, but they were not checked in until five fourty-five. Although the restaurant appeared empty, they weren’t seating any of the guests.

  Kristine and I proceeded to the front desk but waited over fifteen minutes for the hostess to arrive to take our names, much like the couple that left had told us. When I confronted the hostess about the wait time and the empty seats, she was rude to me, smacking her gum in my face and telling me if I couldn’t wait I should go somewhere else. Then, she tossed her hair and left the front area again.

  I walked around the partition, pretending I was searching for the restroom and found the hostess leaned over the bar, talking to one of the bartenders and twirling her hair, ignoring the front desk completely.

  I went back and confided with Kristine what I’d seen. “Shall we just leave now, and you report that you didn’t get to eat because of the horrible front desk staff?” she asked.

  “No, it’s possible this is just a personnel problem. It’s a new place, and finding good help, especially for a host position, can be tough. Let’s give them another chance,” I replied.

  One hour later, we were finally seated. It took another quarter of an hour for anyone to take our drink order, and when it finally came, it was wrong. Kristine had ordered a margarita, and I’d ordered white wine. They brought Kristine three shots of tequila and me a beer.

  When I told the server her mistake, she argued with me, saying she wrote down exactly what we ordered. Kristine stood to leave, but I took ahold of her hand and asked her to sit.

  “When it’s this bad, it deserves a full review,” I said, trying to convince her to stay. “Think of all the people we are going to save from a horrible experience.”

  Reluctantly, she sat back down, arguing, “Martin, I’ve gone on too many of these with you to count. I have never had this bad of an experience. I shudder to think what the food will be like.”

  “It’s going to be horrible, of course, but we are going to sit here and give them the benefit of the doubt because that’s what we do,” I said with a chuckle. “Sit back and enjoy. You can help me trash them tomorrow in my critique.”

  We both decided to order something simple, something that every Cuban restaurant could do well. “Maybe they are having a bad night, or maybe the boss isn’t here. At least they should have a chance to prepare something delicious.” We ordered Cuban style grilled chicken with a side of black beans and rice.

  It took way too long for the server to return, and she was still in a huff about the drink mix-up, which incidentally, she refused to correct. We both ordered the same thing, and each of us repeated the order to our server twice just to make sure she heard us correctly. It took another forty-five minutes for the food to arrive. Although the food order was correct this time, it was cold and the chicken had dirt and a hair on it. Kristine snapped a photo of the food and stood up to find the server.

  “This is seriously too much,” she exclaimed. At first, the server ignored her, which only made her more upset.

  When the woman did finally come back, Kristine was irate. “There is a hair on the chicken and what appears to be dirt,” she said.

  “Well, it ain’t my hair,” the server said with an attitude.

  Kristine’s face was taking on a crimson shade of red. I was afraid she was about to burst a blood vessel, so I decided to chime in before something did happen.

  “Young lady, please go get your manager for me.”

  The woman looked at us and said, “No.”

  “That’s fine,” I said calmly. “Then, would you please let him or her know that I will be contacting the health department tomorrow morning. I will also be forwarding them a picture of the food with the hair and dirt on it that clearly shows it was dropped on the floor, then picked back up to be served to my friend here. You also need to let him or her know that you refused to allow them to explain this horrible night and the actions of their staff. Did you get all that, or should I write it down for you?”

  The woman turned in a huff and rushed into the kitchen. As we walked toward the front door, a man in his mid-thirties burst through the door and stepped in front of us.

  “You haven’t paid for your meal,” he demanded.

  “That’s true,” I replied. “Can you tell me if you would like us to pay for the drinks we didn’t order and therefore didn’t drink or the food that obviously fell on the floor?” I was beginning to feel my own ire kick up. “Which one do you want us to pay for, sir?”

  Before the man could reply, the dining room erupted in applause. I turned around, surprised that I had an audience.

  When I turned back, the man stood in my way and said, “If you try to leave, I will call the police.”

  “Then, by all means.” I pulled my wallet out and gave him a credit card.

  Anticipating the possibility of this, I’d given the man the card that had my paper’s name on it. Usually, I like anonymity, but tonight, I wanted the man to see I was a reporter. The man didn’t notice the card until he ran it through and handed me the receipt.

  “You… you are with the Fort Lauderdale Press?” he asked.

  “Yes, we both are,” Kristine replied with indignation. “I’m an editor of the paper, and this gentleman is a food critic for the downtown area.” The man’s face turned pale as he returned the card.

  “If… if I had known you were coming,” he stammered.

  “Then you’d have pretended to be a decent place to eat?” I interrupted. “Your staff has been abysmal all evening. We arrived at six pm. It is now almost nine, and we still haven’t eaten.”

  Kristine chimed in then. “I have been in this business a long time, sir, and this is hands down the worst experience I’ve ever had.”

  We both turned to leave. The man stepped back in front of them. “You can’t give us a bad review,” he replied, panic in his voice.

  “Sir, you need to move away from us, or it will be me calling the police,” Kristine said.

  “I would move away from the door if I were you,” I added.

  The man hesitated before moving, but he finally did, and we left the building.

  “Let’s get a move on before that bully comes after us with a weapon,” Kristine said.

  I agreed and added, “Meet me at the office. We can square up there before we head home, just in case these nut cases follow us.”

  When we got to the office, we both sat down and recounted the events of the evening to ensure we didn’t miss anything. It was important we both remembered what happened and that the events were documented immediately following the visit to ensure accuracy.

  This was going to be the worst review I’d ever written, and from the way the guy acted as we were trying to leave, I was sure there was going to be fall out from it. It was best to ensure we had all our ducks in a row before taking this on.

  It was close to midnight when I got home. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I texted Elian to see if he was still awake.

  Within a moment, Elian responded. “Yep, just watching TV. How was the restaurant?”

/>   I waited a moment, then dialed the phone. When Elian answered, I asked, “What is your involvement with the restaurant?”

  “I don’t have any. Why?” he asked.

  “Because you never refuse to come eat with me,” I said. “I know something’s up.”

  Elian hesitated, finally saying, “I don’t want to influence your review. It is what we agreed to. If I’m involved in any way, I’ll step out. I am not financially involved, Martin, but I do know the owner.”

  “Then you need to give him a heads up that I’m about to write the worst review on a restaurant I have ever written.”

  Elian was quiet but finally asked, “Was it that bad?”

  “If you know him,” I replied, “then I can’t go into detail, but I wasn’t the only one there. Kristine was with me, and the restaurant had several witnesses. It was the worst possible experience.”

  Elian’s voice got quiet, and he said, “I understand, Martin. Try to get some rest.”

  “I will,” I replied, and then hung up.

  I was sad. I really hated writing bad reviews. All the hopes and aspirations that go into a new restaurant could be dashed by a bad review. I’d often—when something was horrible—gone back to give the staff and the restaurant a second chance.

  Most of the time, though, bad was bad, and there wasn’t much to do other than tell the truth. I knew a review like this one could be the lynchpin that shut the business down. You can’t serve people food that has been on the floor. It was against all restaurant ethics. It was the ultimate betrayal of a customer’s trust. I had no choice but to report it as it had happened. That is exactly how I did all my reviews, truth and accuracy—the code of journalism.

  I also had a sinking feeling this wasn’t just someone Elian knew. I wouldn’t believe Elian would lie to me. If he had ownership, he’d admit he had ownership, but my Spidy senses told me this wasn’t just anyone, it was someone important.

  I tossed and turned throughout the night. The next morning, I got up early, made a pot of coffee, and drank the whole thing. I went to the office and began drinking a second pot. I sat down, reviewed the notes Kristine and I wrote the night before, and wrote my review, highlighting each specific event. Most importantly, I drilled the issue of trust between kitchen staff and customers. “It’s never OK to serve food that you know could harm a customer,” I wrote. “That kind of behavior is the ultimate ethical breach for a restauranteur.” That tenet was my main point of the review.