by Katz, Avery
“Sounds like heaven to me.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “My latest client is giving me a headache. Defining the core functionalities of his app and planning the UI flow alone took so much time and effort,” he said. “Look at me. Does this face belong to a twenty-nine-year-old entrepreneur? I feel like I’m aging faster than a Sims character.”
I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “What the fuck are you talking about? You look hot as hell. You remind me of Clark Kent, especially when you put on your reading glasses.”
“Oh stop it.” He cradled the champagne flute to his chest with a smile. “Why does everybody keep telling me that I look like Henry Cavill?”
“Oh boy. Wendy seems to have crushed your confidence. Where’s the man who once posed NUDE for art class at UCLA? You made all those fraternity girls blush like virgins.”
“Okay. First of all, I wasn’t entirely naked. And second of all, I was filling in for a friend of mine.” The light flush of his cheekbones was fucking adorable. He was always bad at taking compliments.
“Relax. I was merely reminding you of your college status as a sex symbol.” I chuckled.
His eyes shone with amusement. His sharp jaw and high cheekbones were two of his best assets. He was voted “most fuckable“ in boarding school. I bet he had no idea about that vote either. Back then, he was shy and sweet but kind of a dork. He once received a shirt for Christmas that said “talk nerdy to me.” He was a heartthrob in his own right.
“Come on. Change into your bathrobe and meet me in the living room.”
I ordered a deep tissue massage for the both of us before changing into my bathrobe. The weather was still hot as hell outside, but the air conditioner made the suite nice and cool. I answered the knock on the door and greeted Dominic who was armed with towels and essential oils. The second masseuse was right behind him, carrying two portable massage tables.
I watched Quin take off his robe in preparation for his massage. His flawless body was made for museums and exhibits. I drank him in from head to toe and drooled at the sight of him in those tight Calvin Klein boxers. He turned around, offering me a view of his tight buns. He was definitely a DILF. Even Dominic was checking him out on the down low.
I disrobed as well and hopped onto the massage table. The younger masseuse lit up a few candles and made sure Quin was comfortable before massaging his back. “Oh, this feels better than my massaging chair,” he moaned.
I almost jizzed in my underwear from the pleasure in his voice. Dominic worked his magic on my shoulders, applying deep pressure to relieve me of my chronic muscle tension. I was going through a fucking dry spell, so having Quin naked and moaning next to me was making me hornier than usual. Dominic rubbed firm circles into my calves before asking me to turn around. I rolled over onto my back and glanced at Quin. His eyes were closed while the masseuse worked his back muscles like a pro. His skin glistened in the candlelight thanks to the lavender oil. The strong smell filled my nostrils as I surrendered to Dominic and his magic touch.
Fuck. I needed to focus on something other than my best friend and his adorable fuckable butt. Dominic drizzled more oil over my legs and rubbed it into my skin. His fingers traveled close to my junk. I looked up to find him staring hungrily at my dick. “Would you like a happy ending to your massage, sir?” he asked in a not-so-low voice.
Dom gave me head on occasion, and it was amazing. He had quite the mouth on him. I quickly glanced at Quin to see him scowling. Uh-oh.
“No. Thank you, Dom.” I cleared my throat, feeling his heated gaze on me.
Fuck. I should have said yes instead of just lying on the table with all this pent-up frustration clawing at me. Being in the same room with Quin was torture. The sexual tension between us was too intense. His masseuse inched closer to his ass. You could bounce a quarter off those tight butt cheeks.
“Oh, fucking hell,” my hot best friend groaned into the padded headrest. My cock throbbed at the erotic sound. Someone was in desperate need of vitamin D. I would like nothing more than to bend him over and fuck him in our luxurious walk-in shower with its rainfall showerhead. I knew deep down that I should take it slow, but my feelings for him were too damn strong. They urged me to seize the moment. I had to carpe diem this shit.
Fuck holding back. I may be a prince, but I’m no gentleman.
Ten minutes later, Dominic and his assistant packed up their stuff and left. Quin sat up and stretched those sinewy arms over his head. “Get your ass in the shower. We need to hit the casino before all the good games get crowded.”
“Ah. No wonder you brought me to Vegas of all places.” He smiled. His shoulders were relaxed and glistening with oil. He turned around and walked his fine ass to the bathroom.
I blew out the vanilla-scented candles and listened to his pleasant singing while he showered. I tiptoed over to the door and contemplated joining him. I peeped through the door to find him sniffing the shampoo. His tight, muscular butt was on full display. The shower door left nothing to the imagination. Quin looked like a seductive sea nymph. I took off my briefs and snuck into the bathroom. He had his back to the door, so he didn’t see me.
“To the window, to the wall, till the sweat drip down my balls,” he sang.
Oh shit. That was fucking hilarious.
I moved like a ninja, taking advantage of the loud water gushing down from the jumbo shower head. The inside of the walk-in shower looked like a tropical forest with emerald-green tiles and chocolate-brown marble floors. Quin shook his hips from side to side, clearly enjoying his coconut-scented shampoo. How the hell did he manage to both arouse and amuse me at the same fucking time? I palmed my cock and pushed the door open.
“To the window, to the wall- what the hell?” He spun around just in time to see me joining him.
“Oh, please don’t stop on my account.” I grinned. “Your choice of shower music is very unusual, but I like it.” My eyes roved over his tall, wet frame. We were approximately the same height, but he had enviable bone structure. His ancestors must have been Greek or Roman gods because his features were chiseled to perfection.
Foamy coconut goodness flowed down his chest while he stood there in all his naked glory.
“This feels just like old times,” I said, finally making my move.
I kissed him hard, showing him just how much I fucking missed him. He tasted like expensive champagne with a hint of sexual frustration. Or maybe that was just me. My hands were everywhere, touching his edible ass and squeezing every inch of his soapy skin. He gasped in surprise, but his body told me he wanted this just as much as I did. I felt it in his passionate kiss and his greedy fingers when he dug them into my wet hair.
I heard the rumble in the back of his throat as his tongue tangled with mine. Our kiss was wet and hungry. Years of pent-up lust and tension came flooding out of him in waves. I backed him up against the turquoise tiles and deepened the kiss. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and moaned into my mouth.
Fuck waiting. I pulled back and moved my hand to his hard cock. “Shit. Greg.”
My tongue darted out to lick and suck on his collarbone. I wanted to do bad, bad things to him.
How could I deny my body what it wanted after years of deprivation? Quin was unlike anyone I had ever been with. He was irreplaceable. I reached down and stroked his swollen cock. He hissed and attacked my lips. We kissed for what felt like hours. I wanted to swallow him whole. I had flashbacks to when we were in boarding school. Back then, we were practically joined at the hip. We fucked everywhere and anywhere. Our raging hormones were out of control.
I wanted to feel that again. I needed to be inside the man of my fucking dreams. My body took over, spinning Quin around and bending him over. My lips kissed every inch of his wet back while my fingers kneaded his firm ass cheeks. I grabbed a bottle of complementary lavender oil from the shelf and drizzled some on my hands. “Bend over,” I urged Quin. His heavy breathing was so damn arousing. I tightened my fingers around the base of
my cock and used my free hand to trace circles around his puckered hole.
He clawed at the bathroom tiles, barely keeping it together while I stretched him with my fingers. The oil made it easier for me to slip deeper into him, rubbing against his prostate. He cried out and reached back to grab my arm. “Do it. Now.”
I quickly replaced my fingers with my cock. We both hissed at the maddening sensation. It felt good to be inside him again. I missed the way he held onto my arm while I fucked him. Every couple of minutes, he would turn back and look at me with those come-hither eyes. I knew he would never be able to resist me. I was his weakness. His Achilles heel. He was tight. Oh, so tight. He fit me like a fucking glove. I pulled back and slammed into him. Hard. He moaned and pushed his hips back to meet mine. My body knew exactly how to pleasure him. My mouth feasted on the skin of his neck as I continued to roll my hips into him. Our wet bodies made loud, squishy noises as I pounded him over and over. There was no stopping me. Quin rewarded me with a particularly loud moan followed by my name.
“Fuck. Greg!” He pressed his forehead against the slippery wall and fucked me back with equal enthusiasm. My knuckles turned white while I fucked him within an inch of his life. We needed a fire brigade up in here because we were both about to combust.
“You feel so fucking good, baby!” I gasped into his ear.
Fireworks erupted behind my eyelids when I came, and boy did I come hard. My spine tingled and my balls erupted like a motherfucking volcano. I collapsed on top of Quin who sounded like he’d just finished running a marathon.
“Fuck me sideways.” He panted.
“Next time I will.”
5
Quin
The casino at Wynn Hotel in Las Vegas was bigger than a Microsoft data center. The place was packed with tourists and retired couples. The cocktail of noises coming from the endless rows of slot machines was enough to give me a headache. Luckily, Greg was more interested in the table games section with its cigar smoking clientèle. The prince looked like a kid in a candy store. He rubbed his hands together, his hazel eyes twinkling beneath the chandelier lights. I followed him to the bar where we ordered whiskey on the rocks. Greg said it was part of his casino ritual. I watched him charm the socks off our bartender.
“Would you like to try something different for a change?” He offered.
“Sure. We’ll have two flaming assholes.”
“Say what now?” I asked.
The bartender nodded and mixed a bunch of ingredients. He grabbed a bottle of white rum and added some to the mix. He then lit our drinks on fire and put straws in them. I gasped in astonishment and marveled at the glass. “What fresh hell is this?”
Greg grabbed the drink like it was nothing and sipped on the straw. I did the same thing and was quite impressed with the lemony, minty flavor. The grenadine added just enough sweetness to make it one unforgettable drink.
“So, how was your first ever-flaming asshole?”
“It was surprisingly great.”
He grinned and motioned for me to follow him. We stopped at a blackjack table where he sat down and took a turn to play. I stood right behind him and watched him place his chips in the betting circle. Greg was a seasoned player, so it took him only minutes to beat the dealer and double his earnings. We moved on to French roulette where he also won. He most definitely had the luck of the Irish. His winning streak refused to die down.
I had zero interest in playing, so I ordered more whiskey and watched him do his thing. He once told me that playing cards was better than sex. Not that I believed him.
Our hotel shower was a witness to his sexual appetite. I sipped on my drink and tried not to think about his hands on my hips, gripping me hard while he fucked me into oblivion. His body revived me the same way I revived my old Macintosh computer. I came alive under his burning touch. He accessed that ancient part in my brain. The one I buried deep down in order to be with Wendy. The way he spun me around and bent me over was the definition of sexy. He brought back memories of our time in boarding school. Back when life was simple and less complicated.
I hated the way he made me feel. I really did. He took me back to when I was helplessly in love with him as a teen. Once upon a time, he used me like a box of tissues and moved on. I slammed my drink on the table, angry with myself for allowing him to take advantage of me. Now he was stuck in my mind and wouldn’t get out. Sleeping with him must have rebooted my RAM. That part of my brain that stored all my random memories of him. From the first time we ever had sex, to the day he told me we were just fuck buddies.
How did I let myself fall down that rabbit hole again? I groaned and cradled my head in my hands. Greg was nonchalant about the whole thing, not seemingly bothered that we just had sex. He was having the time of his life, laughing and winning while everyone at the table cheered him on. I ordered a glass of wine and waited for him to finish playing baccarat. If only I had my headphones with me so I could listen to a bit of angsty music. The cacophony of casino noises was driving me up the wall. I glanced at the ocean of slot machines and decided to try my luck for a change.
An old lady suddenly tugged on my shirt and asked me to follow her. She wanted someone to teach her how to use the machines. She was so thin and wrinkly. She reminded me of Origami paper. I helped her into a chair and showed her how to insert the coin. It was pretty straightforward. “Are you single? Because my granddaughter is just around the corner.”
She raised a hand and pointed in the direction of the poker table. “If I hit the jackpot, I will introduce you to her.” She promised.
I was tipsy enough to laugh at her suggestion. If she only knew about my current dilemma. Greg suddenly showed up with a bag filled with chips. He cashed them in at the booth and bought us the most expensive bottle of wine. It was a 1988 Vintage Brut which was a mix of Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. He opened it in the lobby and made me drink straight from the bottle. It was love at first taste. I took a long, leisurely sip and gave it back to him.
I felt the familiar buzz that came with drinking wine on an empty stomach. The amount of alcohol I consumed tonight was enough to fill up a kiddie pool. Greg was tipsy too. He draped an arm over my shoulder and took me outside. We were greeted by Nevada’s warm desert air and the rainbow of neon lights along the Strip. We walked aimlessly down the street. Our spirits were high, and our inhibitions were lower than low. Greg insisted on taking me to a nearby gay club.
He pinched my ass and called me his good luck charm. I laughed and pinched him back. My body was wrapped in a warm and fuzzy blanket of blissful drunkenness.
We finally stumbled into a club called Piranha. It was loud and littered with single women. I exchanged amused glances with my best friend. The bartenders were hot and shirtless, but the music was horrible. I hated house music. Greg pushed me towards the crowded bar. We slammed into a loud group of girls who were dressed in bridesmaid sashes.
“Prince Gregory the Third orders you to stay away from the bar!” he exclaimed. “Move along before I call in the cavalry.”
“Sorry.” I apologized. My voice was too loud. Obnoxiously loud. I spotted a handsome guy checking me out. He had deep blue eyes and a cute man bun. He stood at the edge of the dance floor and beckoned me over.
I swayed towards him, my fuzzy brain enjoying the attention of such a spicy specimen. Mr. Man Bun danced up to me and introduced himself. His name was Andrew. He studied architecture at the University of Nevada. His body was limber, and his dance moves were incredible. When he started dancing up on me, I did nothing to stop him. He was like a brand-new laptop with an i7 processor. He had killer moves. He spun me around and ground his hips into my ass.
“Hey! Quin! What the fucking fuck?” Greg suddenly shouted over the loud music.
He bumped into a couple of dancers on his way over to us. His face was flushed red, and his eyes were glazed over. He looked angry and jealous, and I loved it. “Unhand him right this instant,” he demanded.
Andrew remove
d his lanky arm from around my waist and stepped right in front of me. “Sorry, but who are you to spit orders at me,” he said. “Prince of Persia?”
“No.” He snorted. “You may call me Prince Gregory the Third.”
Mr. Man Bun threw his head back and laughed. “Nice one, bro. Really.”
“You lowly peasant. How dare you laugh in my face?” Greg was full-on drunk. His accent changed. He sounded posh and preppy. It was freaking hilarious.
“Go back to where you came from, grandpa.” Andrew waved him off before turning around to face me. “Do you want to get out of here? I can buy you a drink at this place that sells yummy vegan desserts.”
Greg tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, did you just call me grandpa?”
“Oh Lord.” Mr. Man Bun rolled his eyes. “Do you know this guy?”
“Umm..yes?”
My drunk best friend suddenly yanked him backward by his hoodie and slammed his face into the bachelorette party table. The ladies gasped in shock when Andrew’s face landed in the penis-shaped cake. “Oh shit!”
White icing flew everywhere, some of it landing right on my shirt. The poor guy coughed and spluttered. He was covered entirely in spongy vanilla cake. Greg burst out laughing and so did I. My mouth betrayed me. It was out of control.
“Uh-oh.”
Two beefed-up bouncers were suddenly upon us. Greg tried to duck past them, but they caught him. I ran after them and demanded they put him down. I latched onto the tattooed guard and ended getting thrown out of the club too.
“You imbeciles! No one treats Raplen royalty like trash and gets away with it,” Greg said in between sporadic bursts of laughter. He was drunk off his ass.
“I can't believe you dunked that poor guy’s head into the cake!” I chuckled. “What the hell were you thinking? Where did all that royal decorum they taught you at the palace go?”
