by Frankie Love
Humpany
Booty Call Series
Frankie Love
C.M. Seabrook
Edited by My Brother’s Editor
Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations Copyright © and 2019 by Frankie Love and C.M. Seabrook
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Humpany
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue I
Epilogue II
Also by Frankie & C.M.
About Frankie
About C.M.
Humpany
Booty Call Series
Humpany [huhm-puh-nee] noun: a booty call that ends up being great company
The set-up: A booty call
The surprise: We love one another’s humpany.
The shock: We’re a hell of a lot closer than we should be.
Pillow talk was never a turn on, but that was before Camille entered my life...
booty calls may get a bad rap, but I’ve never had humpany like this.
Like her.
She’s gorgeous, hilarious, and when we’re together, the world disappears.
But then I open the front door and realize we’ve forgotten to mention one very important detail.
A detail that changes everything.
She may be the humpany of my dreams, but I can never see her again.
Can I?
Dear Reader,
It’s time to stop, drop, and roll with Andre - the hottest firefighter to ever light up your Kindle.
He has a real big hose and is hoping you’ll slide down his pole.
It’s time to get rid of your smoke detector and sleep with a firefighter!
Xo, Frankie & Chantel
Chapter One
Andre
Talk about a fucking cliché. I just left my friend’s wedding and I’m horny lonely as hell. After a few hours watching a couple gaze into one another’s eyes, it’s hard not to wonder if it’s time to settle down.
I’m not opposed to marriage - but I’m not exactly looking for it. After watching my mom get married, what is it, eight times, I’m a little disenchanted with the whole thing. That doesn’t mean I need to spend my night alone, though.
After leaving the reception, I head back to my place. I converted an old warehouse into a studio apartment and it’s my bachelor fantasies come to life. Industrial, modern, and simple. But at the moment it feels cold. Empty.
I pull off my tie and reach for my phone, wishing I’d gone over to the one bridesmaid who I couldn’t take my eyes off all night and asked for her number. But she left before I had a chance to.
Talk about regret. So instead of taking out that gorgeous black haired, blue-eyed beauty, I take out my phone. My thumb taps BOOTY-CALL, an app every guy down at the fire station is raving about. I haven’t used it, but tonight, after the wedding, I don’t want to be alone.
I have to upload a selfie, so I take a quick photo of myself, not overthinking it, and post it to my profile. I add my details: 28, firefighter, Lake City Clippers fan.
It only takes a second and before I know it, I’m swiping over profiles looking for a woman who catches my eye, hoping that the night ends in a match. Maybe I’d have better luck going to a bar, but I don’t like to stay out late - it’s never been my scene. I prefer chilling out at home with a Clippers’ game and takeout. And so I can’t exactly imagine finding the girl of my dreams partying hard downtown.
I grab a beer from the fridge and take a swig, looking at one plastic-looking profile after the next. My taste might be specific, but I know what I like. And after a few minutes, I see her.
The bridesmaid, Camille. The woman who left before I had a chance to ask her out. Her eyes glitter bright blue, and without a second thought, I tap the button that says You’re Bootyful. Apparently it will send her a notification that I’m interested, and if she likes what she sees, she can text me.
Fuck, I chug the damn beer, wondering when I got so wound up. My cock is already twitching - that photo of Camille lighting up my phone screen. And when my phone buzzes, a new message coming through, I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m smiling.
Camille: I’d say yes but I recorded the Clippers’ game and gotta prioritize!
I laugh, thumbing back a reply.
Me: I was about to turn it on. You in? I’ll order pizza.
There’s only a slight hesitation before she messages back.
Camille: Pepperoni with olives please. Do you have any beer?
A smile spreads across my face. It’s like we bypassed the awkward part of the hook-up and got straight to the good stuff.
I take a photo of the opened IPA in my hand and send it to her. A second later, she replies.
Camille: Weird. Hazy Dayz is my favorite. How’d you know?
Me: It’s like a match made in booty call heaven. ;)
I text her my address and I order the pizza, shoving my dirty clothes from the wedding in a laundry basket and pulling on a pair of sweats.
When my door buzzes, I grab a t-shirt, pulling it over my head as I open the door, expecting the delivery guy.
“Well that’s direct,” she says, those gorgeous blue eyes roaming over my bare chest before I pull my t-shirt down.
I chuckle. “Says the girl who I met on BOOTY-CALL.”
“Touché...” She shrugs and I see a hint of pink creep into her cheeks. “Though to be honest, I saw you at a wedding tonight. You’re Andre, Lance’s friend, right?”
I nod, letting her inside as the pizza arrives. I pay then close the door. “Yeah, Lance and I go way back. So you’re friends with his girl, Peyton?”
Camille nods. “We opened a skate rink together.”
I grab us both beers and pop the caps. Handing her one, I see a warm smile across her face. God, she’s beautiful. Her face is clean of the makeup she’d worn earlier, and her hair is now pulled back in a simple ponytail. She’s effortlessly beautiful, and I have to resist the urge to pull her to me and kiss her.
“Hot Wheels Roller Rink, right?” I say, clearing my throat.
“That’s the one.” She grins up at me, and says, “Old school skating is wheely fun.”
I chuckle. “Is that the tagline?”
She nods before taking a sip of her beer, and I motion her to sit down on the couch.
After the pizza guy arrives, I sit beside her and open the box, then turn on the Clippers game. With any other girl I’d probably have her in my bedroom right now, and hell, I can’t wait to get her there, but I want her company as much as I want to bury myself inside her, to taste those pink lips, and...
I clear my throat and refocus my thoughts.
“So why’d you run out of the wedding before the reception?” I ask.
“You noticed?” She helps herself to a slice of pizza and smiles at me as if we’re old friends. Funny, it feels like we are. Like being with her is easy and right.
I smile sheepishly, and admit, “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”
“Same. I mean, your eyes...they’re like the most perfect blue-green ever,” she says, leaning closer and taking a nice, hard look. I don’t mind her attention. I plan on giving her plenty more tonight. “You’re gorgeous, you know
that, right?”
I groan. “I got lucky. Good genes. My mom’s Swedish, Dad’s African-American and somehow—”
“You became like, insanely good looking. Don’t forget, I saw you like five minutes ago without your shirt on.”
I chuckle. “Okay, enough about how hot you think I am. Remember, I started this whole thing by saying you were booty-ful.”
She cringes, setting down her plate on the coffee table. “Okay, just so you know, I was a booty call virgin before tonight. I was just lonely after the wedding. I don’t do this...”
“Same,” I tell her. “But you still avoided my question. Why’d you leave the wedding so fast?”
“My mom. She’s a total mess.” She sighs. “It’s actually really embarrassing.”
“I promise I have enough mom stories to make you feel better about yours.”
“Yeah? Well, try and top this. I had to bail her out of jail.” She shakes her head. “Insane, right?”
“What happened?”
“Drunk and disorderly in a public place.” She rubs her temples and shakes her head. “My parents split two years ago, and she hasn’t recovered. She started drinking, some prescription drugs...you know the whole afters-chool special.” She shrugs like it isn’t a big deal, but I see the truth, the hurt in her eyes. “And now I’m the one rescuing her.”
“Sorry Camille,” I say, resting a hand on her knee. “My mom’s been married like eight times - so not jail - but I’m well acquainted with bailing her out of sticky situations.”
“Eight? Wow. Well, I wish my mom would meet someone nice instead of drinking her demons away. She and I couldn’t be more opposite. She’s all drama and I’m—”
“A girl who likes to watch the Clippers with some pizza and beer.”
She laughs. “Exactly!”
God, when she smiles, I swear I feel it in every cell of my body. I want this woman. I’ve wanted her since the moment I saw her. But something inside of me tells me that when I finally kiss her, there won’t be any turning back.
Chapter Two
Camille
I’m sitting in Andre Beaumont’s living room, and I’m just slightly freaking out.
Okay, more than freaking out.
I’ve had the biggest crush on the guy since I first saw him my junior year of college. Not that he ever noticed me. I wasn’t his type. Or at least not the type of woman who was usually hanging off his arm.
Andre Beaumont could have any woman he wanted - and tonight he wants me.
At least I thought he did when he messaged me on the BOOTY-CALL app. But despite the way my body trembles in anticipation of his touch, his kiss, he doesn’t make a move. And I wonder if I haven’t quickly fallen into the friend zone.
Maybe I should have worn something else. Something sexier. Or put my hair down.
I know I’m pretty, but I’ve never flaunted my looks or my body. I may have a degree in business, and my father may have spent thousands of dollars on tutors who tried to train the tomboy out of me, but I will always be the most comfortable in a pair of jeans, hoodie, and a ponytail.
I’d already changed into comfortable clothes when I got Andre’s booty call text. Maybe I should have made more of an effort. But then again, this is me.
We watch the first quarter of the game, laughing, talking, and it’s easy, despite the way my heart speeds up every time his arm brushes against mine, or when he casually touches my leg.
The man definitely knows how hot he is, and the effect he has on me, because I see the way his lips curve up in a cocky little smile when he rests an arm on the back of the couch and watches me. The look he gives tells me everything I need to know - he’s used to getting what he wants.
“Come here,” he says, taking my beer from my hand and placing it on the table, before wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me onto his lap so that I’m straddling him.
I suck in a shaky breath, my entire body buzzing with anticipation. He looks up at me, those gorgeous green eyes searching my own. One hand rests on my hip, and his other one tugs at the elastic in my hair, pulling it free of the ponytail.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he says, placing a palm on the back of my neck.
A small whimper builds in my throat as I take him in. Everything about the man is perfection. Lush lips that beg to be kissed, chiseled jaw, gorgeous, mocha skin - and those eyes. I could lose myself in them.
I could lose myself in him.
And I have to remind myself why I’m here - just sex. A booty call. Nothing more. No strings attached. And definitely no room for my heart to get involved. But it’s hard not to serve it to him on a silver platter the way his eyes rake over me, filled with promises of toe-curling orgasms.
I don’t have time to think about the consequences, because he’s pulling me closer, and those lips are on mine, hungry and full of the same need I feel.
The whimper that I’d tried hard to hold back is released as his kiss deepens. And his hands are on my body. Large and calloused, his palms slip under my shirt, rasping against my sensitive flesh, and I tremble, needing more, needing to feel his own skin against mine.
I pull at his shirt and feel him smile against my lips as he helps me take it off. My own shirt and bra are quickly discarded, and I moan when the heat of his chest and abs are pressed against me.
“God, you are so sexy, Camille,” he tells me as his hands massage my breasts.
“Shut up,” I say, my face growing hot. I had a boyfriend freshman year of college, but he was all thumbs and elbows and the whole thing was awkward. But Andre knows what he is doing.
“I mean it. Your tits are fucking huge. And there you were, hiding them under an oversized t-shirt.”
“I’ve never liked the attention.”
He chuckles, lifting me off the couch and carrying me to his king-sized bed. “Well, sorry to break it to you, baby. But tonight you’re getting all my attention.”
I cover my face with my hands, trying to get a grip. How is this happening? Andre Beaumont stripping in front of me. I move my hands, realizing that I don’t want to miss any of this. He unzips his jeans, and steps out of them, his cock hardly contained by his boxer briefs. When he turns to dim the lights and turn on the music, my pussy begins to ache. His butt looks so freaking good it should be illegal. When he turns to face me again, sultry jazz playing from the speakers of his surround system, I whimper with excitement. He is so defined, every muscle in his body speaks to his strength, his control, his power.
“You okay there?” he asks, stepping closer to me. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, very aware of how hard my nipples are. Wondering if I should just peel off my jeans and panties and go with the flow - but also not wanting to ruin what he has so effortlessly started.
“I’m okay. Just a little nervous.”
His eyebrows raise. “Is this too much, too fast?” he asks, running his eyes over me unabashedly.
Feeling more brave, I do the same thing, I take in the long, thick cock of his that is hiding beneath white cotton and I lick my lips, wishing it was unrestrained, mine for the taking.
“Not too fast,” I say, trying to steady my shaking breath. “I told you I was a booty call virgin. I’ve never hooked up like this before.”
“Me either.”
I twist my lips, disbelieving.
“What?” He chuckles. “Everyone assumes I’m a player because I’m a firefighter, have a pimped out place, and like to work out - but I’m not. I’m one of the good guys.”
“Do good guys have to clarify that?” I ask with a laugh as he steps closer.
He runs his hands through my thick hair. “You’re trouble, you know that?” He smiles, knowing I was just messing around. “I’m just saying, we’re both looking for the same thing tonight. To feel less alone.”
I hook my fingers on his briefs, wanting to tug them down. My chin lifts, our eyes meet. “I don’t feel lonely right now.”
He eases me back on to the bed and guides my j
eans and panties down, over my ample ass, and I do the same with his. I want to touch him, taste him, feel his length in my hand, my mouth, my pussy. Everywhere.
“I want you so bad,” I moan as he runs his fingers over my slick entrance. “So bad.”
“Good, because I’m right here.”
He fingers me slowly, his thumb circling my clit as I begin to stroke his velvety rod. It’s soft and hard and so big it’s hard for me to get a good handle on it. My core is lit up as he fingers me, spreading my pussy lips and fingering my folds. He knows how to work me over and within minutes my toes curl, his hand doesn’t stop - he goes faster, and faster until he is finger-fucking me so well that I’m dizzy.
My core tightens as he leans his mouth close, sucking my clit, licking me up and down. I drip for him, my hand holding his cock still, my body shaking. I’ve never been so close to the edge so fast before.
“God, you taste good,” he groans, squeezing my ass as he kisses my belly, my thighs. I cry, unable to hold back, as he thumbs my clit, my body exploding like the climax of a symphony. The build-up so worth it as my back arches, as my cries become louder. Andre knows I am there, that I’m totally and utterly his.
He pumps his thick cock before easing into me, the same time I orgasm. The tingling that floods my body as I both reach orgasm and start one all over again is unbelievable. He thrusts deep inside me, somehow knowing that this is the ultimate way to get me off.
My skin prickles as a soft sheen of sweat covers me, his cock is so big, it stretches me out in a way that has me biting down on his shoulder, the pain as deep as the pleasure.
