The Billionaire and the Best Friend Boxed Set

by Nikki Steele

  * * *

  “Wow, you’ve tidied.” Not the best words with which to greet someone you hadn’t seen in a week.

  “Thanks. Um, yeah, I thought it was time to start getting my act together. You know, be able to find things around the house?”

  I laughed. “Too late to find your sanity now! Wait. Did you cut your hair, too?”

  Ryan’s hand went to his hair self-consciously. “Do you like it?”

  I looked at him appraisingly. Tall, strong body. Solid arms. They were hidden now behind long sleeves but… a memory resurfaced of that night—a memory of those arms around me. Of how I’d felt wrapped within them. I swallowed, forcing my eyes to move further up the body before the thoughts could coalesce. Nothing happened. And if it did, it was better left forgotten.

  Sharp jaw. Soft lips. Blue eyes. The dark wavy hair that had always been just a little longer than fashionable now trimmed and styled. I cleared my throat. “Um… so what brought this on?”

  No reason. Just, you know, time for a change.

  “It’s something to do with the text, isn’t it?”

  “Oh… yes. The text.”

  I’d said the wrong thing, but I didn’t know why. “You don’t need my help anymore?”

  He hesitated, but then his eyes cleared. Actually, I do need your help.” He forced a grin. “You know that saying, a good deed never goes unrewarded?”

  I nodded.

  “Well that algorithm I wrote for you—the image matching software?” Now his grin was genuine. “Google’s interested in it. I’m flying out for a meeting this afternoon.”

  I squealed, hugging him tightly. Firm body. Hard muscles. Oh God. I leapt back. “That’s, um…” I forced myself to focus. “I’m so happy for you! Is it… have they said how much they’re offering?”

  Ryan looked kind of dazed. “Yes, actually. Seven digits. Apparently they’ve never seen anything like it.”

  I squealed again. “Ryan! You know what this means!”

  He nodded. “I’d be an instant Millionaire…” he paused, considering. “Well, I guess I already am, with the family money behind me. But now I’d be more than that— I’d be self-made.”

  Ryan was too modest by half. He was an only child. When you added his parents fortune and now this… well, he’d be more than self-made. He’d be a Fortune 500. I put my arms around him, hugging him tight. “I’m so happy for you. I really am.”

  Ryan’s arms wrapped around me in return. “Tiff. This is all thanks to you. I want to share it with you.”

  I pulled back. “What do you mean?”

  “Whatever I make. We’ll split it.”

  “Ryan, no! Why would you do that?”

  He shrugged. “You’re the reason I wrote the program. Without you, it would never have happened.”

  I frowned. “Don’t even think about it. It was your hard work that did this, not mine. I won’t accept a dime.” Then I smiled. “Though I will accept some very expensive dinners, if you feel so inclined.”

  He grinned. “You mean I wouldn’t have to use my golden ticket to make you have dinner with me?”

  I groaned, remembering the IOU card I’d given him for his birthday. It was a promise that for three hours I’d do anything he wanted. His golden ticket, as he’d started to call it. I’d been expecting a Star Trek convention, or at the very least, house cleaning. But if I could get away with him using it for dinner… I brightened. “If you want to waste it on dinner, please, be my guest!”

  He laughed. “Maybe I’ll hold onto it. For something special. Speaking of which…”Ryan looked down at himself. “I need to buy a suit. I know you’re always saying I should get one—I was wondering if you’d like to help me pick one out?”

  * * *

  Ryan’s tailor was located in an old white building with ornate lace iron windows. The word ‘Saville’ was written discretely just above the door.

  “It’s my father’s tailor; he’s been coming here for years. Tells me that the service is atrocious, but the suits are impeccable.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve never worn a suit before.”

  “Nervous?” I asked, hand on his arm.

  He shook his head. “Excited. You’re always saying I would look good in a suit.” He pushed through the door, a small bell ringing as we stepped through. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you think.”

  An old man with white hair tottered toward us from the back of the shop. “Master Ryan, what a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “Um… you know my name?”

  “I know your family sir. I’ve heard all about you from your parents.”

  “Great! Well, I guess I need a suit. Are you able to help?”

  The old man chuckled. “We sure as hell don’t sell cupcakes here.”

  Ryan coughed. “Yes, well, ok then, Mr…?”

  “Charles, sir.” The old man pulled a measuring tape from round his neck. “Let’s get you measured up. Will it be custom, or off the rack today?” Then he looked to me. “Lovely to meet you ma’am. We’ll have your boyfriend looking like a prince before you know it.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said quickly.

  The old tailor winked. “Like that is it? Well his bad luck then.”

  I burst out laughing. “I love this place!”

  The old man began measuring Ryan. I walked idly around the store. It was an old shop, the kind I could see Ryan’s great grandfather in, the crisp smell of starch mixing with deeper notes that emanated from the dark oak paneling.

  It was narrow and deep, with muted lighting and an old mirror at the very back. Walls on both sides were lined with suits, shoulders all perfectly aligned, colors graduating so minutely from dark to light that, as I strolled, I almost didn’t notice the transition.

  In the middle, Ryan standing on a small stool. Whatever the tailor said had just made him laugh. “No, no, not today. It will have to be off the shelf I’m afraid—I need to walk out with it.”

  “Very good sir. We should be able to find you something that will get the ladies excited.”

  Ryan colored. “Um, yes well, this one is for a meeting, actually.”

  “Oh really?” The old tailor looked to me. “They say that a well-tailored suit is to women what lingerie is to men,” he said, winking.

  I almost snorted with laughter. “I’m sorry Ryan, but it’s true. The power of a good suit knows no bounds.”

  Ryan was outnumbered. “Maybe I should come back for that custom piece.”

  “I could put it on your parent’s account, sir. You know they’ve always had a line of credit here for you.”

  Ryan shook his head. “I can’t do anything about the gifts they buy me for birthdays, but I can choose to live by my own means. I’ll pay my own way.”

  The old man raised an eyebrow. “Very noble of you sir. Half of my clients live by family trust fund.”

  “Well I don’t. Or I try not to, anyway.”

  “Very good sir.” The old man stepped to a rack and pulled out a crisp white shirt and dark grey suit. “If you’d just like to step into the change room and put this on, I think it will be your size.”

  Ryan took the clothing and stepped into the change room, the old man tottering off to look over the vast back wall of ties for something suitable.

  Between the curtains, which hadn’t quite closed, I saw Ryan begin to undress. Swallowing, I looked away. “So, how long are you going to be going away for?” I asked over my shoulder

  I heard Ryan grunt, and imagined him stepping out of his shoes. “Three days maybe. I’ve got meetings this afternoon and again tomorrow,” he said.

  He’d probably be dressed by now. Totally not naked. I really shouldn’t look. I really shouldn’t…

  I couldn’t help it. I turned, and there was Ryan, shirtless, pulling on a set of pants. My eyes slid over his body. Loose white boxers, obliques bunching above, and rippling biceps beyond. The view seemed… familiar. Now why would that be?

  Then suddenly I knew.
Ryan with slightly longer hair. Ryan, in my room, bending just like that, but this time taking off his pants…

  I shook my head violently. No! I wasn’t going to remember that night. If I didn’t remember, it didn’t happen.

  Ryan reached for his shirt on a hook. A crisp, clean white business shirt. He put it on, the linen falling over his muscled shoulders with easy grace, and another memory rose unbidden. Ryan under the sheets; Egyptian cotton that hid his body but revealed his need. A kiss, even better than the first; my body next to his. My body on his.

  My hands went to my head. I couldn’t. We couldn’t!

  But we had. And now I could never look at him the same, ever again. And if Ryan ever found out… I began to tremble. The friendship would be over. He’d said it himself. He didn’t do one night stands anymore.

  I looked away again. I needed to clear my head. It was good that he was going away—it would give me time to calm down, right? I could mediate, or pray, or… or, what was it he’d said, the other day? Guys only ever truly forgot their last girlfriend when they slept with the next?

  Maybe… maybe there was truth in that. Maybe I should go on another date. It would help me forget about Ryan. Forget this fantasy getting changed in front of me.

  My hand slipped to a card in my purse. A card I’d been given a week ago, and should have thrown out by now. But hadn’t. It was from a man that I knew wasn’t right for me. But perhaps, he was right for right now.

  “What do you think?” Ryan asked, stepping out of the change room.

  “You look so handsome,” I breathed. I turned and ran for the door. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Old Flames & New Loves

  Posted by Miss Kitty [16:45]

  I had a conversation with a friend the other day. It was short, and we spoke about lots of things, but one thing he said just keeps coming up in my mind.

  I don’t know if any of my readers out there are like this. Maybe it’s just me. But you know when something small just sticks and sticks and suddenly its all you can think about? Well what he said was this. “Guys only ever truly forget their last girlfriend when they sleep with the next.” It sounds horrible, I know. But when you think about it… really think about it… I wonder, does it work?

  Wouldn’t it be great if all you had to do was sleep with some random person to forget another! You wouldn’t do it all the time, of course. But hypothetically, you know, when you’re falling for someone who’s untouchable. Someone you categorically have absolutely no chance with…. That would be pretty cool.

  I could really use something like that right now. Some magic formula to make me forget all about a guy. He’s everything I could ever ask for. But he falls into the untouchable category. Not because he doesn’t see me. But because of what would happen if we did touch.

  Maybe it’s time I start thinking like a guy… Maybe it’s time I just said ‘fuck it’, and had a little fun.

  The movies—seriously? I give Edward an almost blank canvas to have his way with me, and he takes me to the movies? I sighed. Perhaps Edward had reformed a little too well.

  He returned with popcorn just as the screen came to life before us. Something in Black and White began to play. I couldn’t help it, I let out a groan.

  Edward leaned over. “It gets better, trust me.”

  “Edward…” I didn’t know why I was whispering. We were the only ones in the cinema, after all. “I appreciate you taking me to the movies, I really do… and… well I know you’re trying to prove that you can be… well, that you’ve changed. But that doesn’t mean you have to be a saint, either. Why don’t we blow this joint?” I looked around. “We’ll get a drink, maybe two… and see what happens from there.”

  Edward shook his head. “Have some popcorn. Trust me, the movie gets better the more you eat.”

  What had he done, lace it with LSD? I sighed, then reached over, resigned, to grab a handful from his lap.

  The cinema was one of those old affairs with plush, deep red seats and velvet curtains that pulled back for the main screening.

  I reached for another handful of popcorn as Edward’s arm stretched over my shoulders. Mmm, it was good. Then I stopped, hand in the bucket. There wasn’t just popcorn in here. I reached down further, glancing at Edward. He had the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

  Well this was interesting. Suddenly the cinema wasn’t quite so boring after all. And suddenly I understood why we had booked a private room.

  I took another mouthful of popcorn, then some soda to wash it down, and then—screw it—began to flick popcorn onto the floor until the bucket was half empty. Well—not empty, per-se. It contained something else besides popcorn. Something warm and hard, standing at attention just for me. Edward had cut a hole in the bottom, then maneuvered himself inside.

  I leaned into him, and began to stroke my discovery slowly. “So you did have the same thing on your mind as me,” I whispered into his ear.

  His hand slid off my shoulder and snaked up my leg in answer. His fingers, when they reached the lace of my underwear, sent shivers back down both thighs.

  I leaned down quickly, holding my hair back as I bent into his lap. He tasted salty, like… well, like eating popcorn. My tongue slid over the top of his member, licking his tip, enjoying the flavor and the naughtiness of what we were doing.

  I came up as a scene change temporarily lit the theatre. We sat there, hands in each other’s laps but not moving, until everything darkened once more. It was silly; I don’t know why we stopped when the lights came up—some vestige of youth perhaps, or fear of the cinema attendants seeing.

  The lighting dimmed once more, and my hand moved quickly to raise the popcorn box out of Edward’s lap, popcorn pouring like sand from an hourglass all over the seat, but neither of us caring—the box had been fun, but now I needed full access.

  Edward’s hands dragged the lace of my underwear down to my knees, and then further, requiring full access as well. I spread my legs as he began to explore my moistening center. We snuggled closer.

  Our eyes were on the screen but our minds were on our laps, hands working quickly in the quiet but pausing every time the screen lit up with light. Soon I was fighting to keep my breathing normal—the on again, off again nature of our tryst both exciting and infuriating; it might be a black and white movie on the screen, but I’d soon be seeing color.

  I began to slide my hands up and down faster, ignoring the flashes of bright, not stopping every time it became light. I was too excited, and I had him too excited. I didn’t want to slow down. I wanted to get to the climax.

  It was like he could read my mind. He leant into me, hands fast and firm as they slid over me. I was floating on my own private cloud, or perhaps starring in my very own movie, sensations trumpeting through me in Dalby Surround Sound. I closed my eyes, struggling to hold on. His fingers paused, and then slid inside.

  My eyes flew open, and then the end credits on my own little paradise were rolling, and I was Julie Andrews spinning on a hill the Sound of Music, laughing silently up at the sky with not a care in the world. My hand gripped him harder as I sat wracked in convulsions on the seat beside him, my strokes temporarily forgotten.

  Screw watching the movie. I threw all pretense out the window and dove my head into his lap, my body quivering in a climax that had me moaning into him; low vibrations that travelled from his fingers between my legs to my lips between his. He began to breathe faster, heavier; and now he wasn’t watching the movie either, if he ever was, but leaning back in his seat—hands clasped upon my head tightly.

  We were being noisy, I know, but screw it—what else was a private cinema for? The pleasure created within me was overwhelming. The pleasure I knew I was creating in him, equally exciting. I felt him begin that final swell within my mouth; the one that would end but moments from now with him climaxing with head thrown back beside me.

  He groaned quietly, his fingers gripped my hair, and then, the
tingling sensation of my own climax still a ghost between my legs, his body began to convulse around my lips and I was swallowing his salty popcorn taste. I stayed there, his hands resting on my head, until he had no more left to give. I rose slowly, smiling. “I think I like this movie. What’s it called again?”

  He stood, zipping himself up, and grinned. “Who cares?” Then he pulled me up to. “That was supposed to be the main event, but I’ve decided this movie is going to be a double feature.”

  * * *

  Edward pulled me through a door at the back of the cinema and up a short flight of stairs, and suddenly we were in the control room.

  It was a small room, hot with the heat of electronic equipment; walls were lined with videotape in large round spools, a tall gunmetal-grey projector stood on a pedestal in the center, pointing out a small hole in the wall to the cinema we had just come from.

  A pimple faced attendant looked up at us, startled, when we entered.

  “Out,” Edward commanded.

  The boy opened his mouth to protest. Edward thrust a series of hundred dollar bills in his face. “Do you know who I am?”

  The boy gulped, and nodded. “The new owner.”

  “Good. Consider this a bonus. We’re not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Now leave.”

  He looked from Edward to myself, wide eyed, then left promptly.

  “Edward, what was that? About being the new owner?”

  He shrugged. “They wouldn’t rent out private rooms, so I bought the cinema. For you.”

  “Edward, I…” I didn’t know quite what to say about that. I’d never had someone buy me a cinema before.

  He pulled a reel down off the shelf, then began unspooling it in long reefs that had the black film floating to pile at his feet. “But that’s not important right now. What’s important is you. And what you make me want to do to you.”