The Best Man

by Natasha Anders

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “For my sanity,” he said, smoothing a thumb over one of her cheeks. “You eat?”

  “I’m not here to eat. Look, Spencer, this teenage petting business is not what I signed up for. I mean, it was cute at first, but it’s beginning to get old. It’s time we get down to business, don’t you think?”

  “That’s a shame, really. Since I didn’t get to pet you when we were teenagers, and I was just making up for lost time and lost opportunities.”

  He could see her fighting back a smile at those words, but she tamped down her amusement.

  “Well, I think you’ve more than made up for lost time. So why not just get down to the nitty-gritty?”

  “Hmm.” His thumb moved from her cheek to the sensitive spot just below her earlobe. She shuddered, forgetting what else she’d been about to say, and leaned into his touch. He stroked his thumb to the hollow of her throat and lingered there while he dipped his head for another thirsty kiss. She opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue with an appreciative moan. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she strained up onto her toes, trying to get as close to him as she could, trying to dictate the pace again . . . He drew back, ignoring her frustrated sob.

  “How was your day, darling?” he asked, and she glared at him.

  “Are you kidding me with this?”

  “With what?”

  “This! Whatever the hell this is! What are you doing? This is not how it’s supposed to go.”

  “How what’s supposed to go?” he asked patiently.

  “You’re maddening,” she seethed. “Our no-strings sex thing.”

  “I’m not too familiar with the rules of such a thing. I’m just playing it by ear.”

  “It’s not that complicated! We have sex. That’s it. You’re being deliberately—humph.” He shut her up with another kiss. A long, deep, intense kiss.

  Before she quite knew what was happening, they were on the sofa. She was flat on her back and he was nestled between her thighs, his hard cock grinding up against her mound.

  “You feel so hot and hard, Spencer. I want to feel you naked against me. Please.” Daff had never begged a man for sex. Had never really wanted to. She’d been happy to let her previous partners control the pace, the mood, the setting . . . the genre. That probably wasn’t the right word, but that’s what came to mind: the type of sex. Rough, gentle, oral (for men only, of course, selfish bastards), missionary . . . rough. Mostly rough. Scary rough. Spencer didn’t seem like the type of guy who would take it to that place, but neither had her last partner. So Daff wanted to be the one to do the picking and choosing this time. She wanted to dictate the pace. But Spencer wasn’t playing ball. He had his own set of rules, and it was confusing and frightening.

  Did he want what the others had wanted? What they had assumed she would want and had then taken without real consent? If she offered it to him, that would still be a way of maintaining control, wouldn’t it? She was mulling it over, only half-aware of him unbuttoning her top and tracing kisses down her chest. It was only when his hot, hungry mouth latched on to her breast that she was brought back to the very pleasurable present.

  She gasped and buried her fingers in his hair, loving the more forceful tugs on her nipple. In their previous encounters, he had teased and tormented with nibbles and barely there little suctioning kisses. This was more like it. Deciding to go for it, to be brave and take matters into her own hands, she grabbed one of his large, busy hands and dragged it up over her breast and then her chest.

  He stopped playing with her breasts and lifted his head to watch her. She smiled, brought his hand up, and sucked the tip of each finger into her mouth, loving the way his beautiful eyes darkened with each bit of suctioning. Then she did it, the bit she dreaded the most. The bit that always seemed to turn guys all the way on. She brought that big, strong hand to her throat and left it there. He frowned slightly, wrapping his palm over her slender throat but not doing more than that.

  “It’s okay,” she promised him. Sounding braver and steadier than she felt. “You can squeeze.”

  She hated this part, hated how suffocating it was, how terrifying it felt to have her air cut off. Hated how much they seemed to love the discomfort it caused her. Spencer did nothing, his palm hot against her skin. He was staring intently down at her.

  “Do it,” she urged, hating the tension, dreading the inevitability.

  “Do you really want me to?” he finally asked, sounding almost bored. His thumb was idly stroking her wildly pulsing carotid artery, and she swallowed. His question baffled her, and she had no idea what the right answer was.

  After a moment’s thought, she nodded, and his eyes narrowed before he smiled. The parting of his lips was slow and beautiful. He lowered his head and touched those lips to hers. The kiss was soft and delicate, his tongue coming out to trace the seam of her mouth. But when she parted her lips to allow him access, he retreated, lifting his head to look at her again. His hand was still at her throat, but there was no pressure yet, just that soft up-and-down sweep of his thumb. This was so much worse than usual. To follow up this tenderness with pain and humiliation would be unbearable.

  “Just do it,” she urged tightly, and he looked at her for a moment longer before his lips tilted at the corner and he shook his head.

  “I don’t think so.”

  What?

  He stroked his hand away from her throat down the front of her body, sweeping between the shallow valley of her breasts before bringing it to the cleft of her pussy.

  “There are so many other, more satisfying, things I could be doing with this hand.” His voice was a rumble, and she groaned when his index finger found the swollen bundle of nerves at her center and proceeded to strum it delicately. She writhed in pleasure, completely overwhelmed.

  “That’s it, darling,” he crooned. “Isn’t this much better?”

  He went back to her nipples, and the brief awkwardness of the moment was swept away in a tide of overwhelming lust. She arched her back, pushing her chest closer to his mouth, while she lifted her hips to encourage that softly stroking finger. Wanting him to put more effort into it. He lifted his head to grin at her, and then he was on the move again and Daff smiled as she watched his head travel down.

  “Oh yes,” she sighed when his lips closed over her clit, replacing his finger. Yes, this was definitely her new favorite thing. “Feel free to just set up camp down there,” she invited him, and he chuckled. That huff of breath felt amazing on the straining, swollen knot that was the very center of her universe right now, and she shivered deliciously. Without lifting his busy mouth, he reached for one of her hands and pushed it toward her chest.

  “Play with your nipples,” he growled before going back to work.

  Oh, with pleasure. She did as she was told, stroking, thumbing, and tugging at her hard nipples with both hands. He used his thumbs to part her pouting flesh, giving him unimpeded access to every sensitive bit of real estate down there, and he took full advantage, using his tongue to lave its way up the groove on one side of her clit and down the other. It traveled even farther down until she—shockingly—felt him probing for entry.

  “Ohhhh my God!” she heard herself mewling. How long was his tongue? And how endlessly talented. It speared in and out of her clutching channel while his thumb took up the slack at her swollen clitoris. She felt so naïve in thinking—after the other night—that she now knew everything there was to know about cunnilingus, because she clearly knew absolutely nothing.

  This was . . . it was . . . transcendent.

  “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Never stop,” she chanted, moving her hips in time with every thrust of his tongue. Her hands fell away from her breasts to yank a couple of fistfuls of his hair; she knew it had to be painful, but she was barely aware of how rough she was being. Focused only on what he was doing with his mouth. Her thighs clamped over his ears, but that barely seemed to faze him, as he never lost pace. She was close. Ve
ry, very close. She felt herself melting all over his tongue as he took her higher and higher and higher.

  Falling was inevitable. But she didn’t care . . . she needed to fall. She wanted to fall. It was her destiny to fall. Hard.

  His tongue plunged into her one last time before he dragged it all the way out and latched onto her clit and suckled her. It was the push she needed, and she went tumbling. End over end. Falling from such a great height was dizzying and disorienting and truly amazing. And totally terrifying.

  She was crying again. It was getting embarrassing, this crying after non-sex. What was going to happen when they actually did the deed? Was she going to drown the man in her tears? He didn’t seem to mind. He was holding her again, somehow wedging her between the back of the sofa and his massive bulk. Good thing he had man-size furniture, or the thing would never have accommodated them both. It was an inane thought, but it kept her from facing what a wreck this man was making of her.

  “Better?” he asked a few long moments later, after her tears had finally dried up. She nodded and buried her face in his hard chest. She wriggled closer and felt his hard penis throbbing against her stomach. So big and hot, it was hard to ignore.

  “That can’t be very comfortable,” she observed, and he shrugged.

  “I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

  “Yes, you are,” she agreed pertly, stroking her hand over that impressive length so there’d be no misunderstanding her meaning. “But I’d rather be the one to handle it for you.”

  He groaned when she slipped her hand under his waistband and wrapped her fingers around that hard, thick length.

  “You don’t have to.” He didn’t sound very convincing, and she chuckled.

  “I know, and that’s why I want to.” She felt his body ripple at the words and knew that she had scored a direct hit with that one.

  “Not right now.” His voice sounded beyond strained, and she rolled her eyes.

  “I don’t know why you’re denying yourself. I’m right here. Ready, willing, and able to give you the best damned head you’ve ever had in your life.”

  Spencer couldn’t think straight while she had her hand wrapped around him like this. But something felt . . . off, somehow. Like, what the fuck was up with that weird moment earlier? Why would she invite him to fucking strangle her? She had looked terrified and resigned at the same time, so she wasn’t into it. So why the hell would she assume that Spencer was into erotic asphyxiation, for fuck’s sake? It was bizarre. He would love a few minutes in a dark alley with whoever the hell had fucked her up so badly.

  Spencer definitely enjoyed Daff more when she was wild with desire and couldn’t control her responses to him. The second she regained her senses, everything she said or did felt practiced. Like she was going through some kind of sexual playbook. He liked that she was experienced, and he definitely enjoyed confidence in a woman. But this didn’t feel confident, it felt rehearsed, and while his cock was more than ready to go, his heart and mind were throwing up huge red flags. He wanted Daff, the real Daff, not whoever this woman with the plastered-on smile was. If he consented to this, it would feel like he was using her, and he wanted her to enjoy everything they did together. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable or degraded.

  “I have a different idea,” he said, his voice hoarse with strain. “Why don’t we take a shower and watch a movie?”

  She gaped at him, her mouth literally falling open as she gawked at him in utter disbelief.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, her brow furrowing. “Don’t you want me?”

  Oh hell.

  “You know the answer to that,” he said gently, pointedly thrusting in her grip and then cursing out loud as the sensation nearly undid him.

  “Then why?”

  He sighed and sat up, grateful when her fingers loosened around his penis. She withdrew her hand completely and sat up as well, folding her hands in her lap and staring up at him beneath that tumble of gorgeous brown hair. She looked confused and hurt and verging on pissed off. And he couldn’t blame her for any of those things.

  “Because,” he answered her baffled question, “I don’t think you actually enjoy giving the ‘best damned head.’ And I know that if I ask you straight up if you like it, you’re going to give me another bullshit evasive answer.”

  “I don’t have to enjoy it,” she snapped. “As long as you do. Isn’t that the point of a blow job?”

  “Darling, do you think I didn’t relish every fucking second of what I did to you earlier? The taste of you, the way you melted in my mouth, your sounds, your hands in my hair . . . biggest turn-on of my life. I could have feasted all night. Can you honestly say you would have enjoyed reciprocating as much?”

  “How should I know? You didn’t give me the opportunity.”

  Fair point.

  “Daff, if you go down on me, I don’t want it to be because you think you have to. I don’t want you to ever feel forced to do anything. Everything we do here is meant to be for our mutual pleasure.”

  “And you’re saying a blow job wouldn’t have given you pleasure?”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. And while we’re on the subject, what the fuck was that other shit about?”

  She flushed and evaded his eyes. “I thought we could try something interesting and different.”

  “Fuck that, you were hating every second of it. You did it because you thought you had to, didn’t you? Because you thought I’d like it. You thought I’d enjoy cutting off your air and making you fight for breath. News flash, darling, I can make you gasp without deliberately restricting your fucking oxygen supply. And the thought of hurting you in any way makes me want to vomit. What fucking asshole made you believe that men want to hurt you?”

  That seemed to hit the mark, and her lips trembled in her pale face. Her eyes skidded around the room, never once meeting his.

  “I don’t think we should do this anymore.”

  “Why? Because I’m hitting a nerve?”

  “This experiment is over, Spencer. This is more stress than it’s worth. It was supposed to be a little bit of fun for both of us, and you turned it into more than it is. I should have known better than to get involved with you.” She got up and glared at him. “Why couldn’t you just lie back and enjoy what I was offering, like a normal guy? Why did you have to make it weird?”

  “I’m not the one who made it weird! Who gave you all these hang-ups?”

  “I’m not the one with the hang-ups. What kind of red-blooded male won’t take what I’ve been offering?”

  “This kind.” He jerked a thumb to his chest and glared at her, allowing her the height advantage because he didn’t want her to feel intimidated when she already looked like she was close to her breaking point. “You were never completely on board, Daff. Admit it. And to be honest, neither was I. I don’t want a no-strings sex thing. I want strings, lots of strings. I want a chance to get to know you, to spend time with you, to be a couple.”

  Spencer wasn’t one for talking much, but sometimes shit needed saying and this was one of those moments. He could be an eloquent fucker when the mood struck, and right now, it was important to let her know exactly what he wanted.

  “I don’t want that. Not all women want that. If that’s what you’re looking for, then I’m not the woman for you. I don’t do the normal couple thing, Spencer. I told you. It doesn’t suit me.”

  He ran a tired hand through his hair and watched her helplessly. There was really no way forward from this point. He wanted more than he could have, more than she could or would give. So it was time to cut his losses and salvage the situation as best he could.

  “We’re going to have to figure out where we go from here, Daff. There’s the wedding to consider.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, hiking the pajama top dangerously high.

  “We could just go back to the way things were before all of this madness.”

  “No. We should be friends.
” He couldn’t believe he was sitting here saying this, while his cock was still at half-mast and he was willing that top to go just a couple of inches higher so that he could enjoy the sight of her nudity one last time. Friendship with this woman was literally the last thing he wanted, but if it was all he could have, then he would take it.

  She looked hesitant.

  “You can’t just demand friendship.”

  “Why not? We get along. Have shit in common. We can be friends.”

  “I can’t think straight. Can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m knackered and have to get home.”

  “Stay here.” She stared at him like he’d gone off his head, which was fair, since it wasn’t the most practical suggestion in light of the situation.

  “No.”

  “It’s late.”

  “Yes, so I should really get going.” He acknowledged her words with a nod and a sigh. She walked to the front door, picking up her coat—which lay forgotten on the floor—along the way. She shrugged into it before he could assist her and patted her pockets in search of her keys.

  “Do you have your phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I don’t like the thought of you driving alone at this time of night.”

  “I live five minutes away. Stop being such an old woman. I’ll text you when I get home.”

  “Once you’re safely indoors with your door closed and bolted behind you,” he stipulated.

  “Sure. Whatever.” He couldn’t resist it—he tugged the trapped hair at her collar free and she glared at him.

  “Well, you never seem to get around to it,” he explained, hiking a shoulder.

  “Maybe I like it there. Maybe it’s a neck warmer.”

  So touchy.

  “Sorry, darling. It won’t happen again.”

  “Yeah, that can’t happen again, either.”

  “What?” he asked, baffled.

  “The darling thing. Don’t call me that.”

  “You said you like it,” he reminded.

  “It’s not appropriate. What if you slip up and call me that in front of the others?”

  This whole friend thing—if she even consented to it—was going to be challenging.