Sweet Obsession

by J. Daniels

  With a closed fist, I pound against the bedroom door until my skin grows hot.

  “I need you both to put something on and get out here. Now. You will not believe what . . .” I cut myself off, shaking my head as I try and wrap my own mind around what just happened, but I have absolutely no idea what to think. I can’t even begin to make sense of this.

  Mason passes on a Brooke style blow-job? NOBODY passes on that. Is he fucking mental?

  With a very aggressive grunt, I drop my hand and stare at the door. “Just hurry up and get out here. Please. I need both of you.”

  Muffled voices and the creak of a mattress sound before I feel satisfied enough to cross the room again.

  I step into the kitchen and open the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of wine and digging the container of ice cream I keep hidden under bags of frozen vegetables out of the freezer.

  Joey likes to eat his feelings also. If I don’t hide my snacks, they go missing.

  I fill a glass and grab a spoon just as the bedroom door swings open.

  Joey emerges first, his fingers snapping the waistband of his boxers. He looks half-asleep, digging the heel of his hand into his eye. “What the fuck is it? You interrupted cuddle time.”

  I shove a spoonful of Neapolitan ice cream into my mouth to prevent myself from stating the obvious response, that every time Joey and Billy are within twenty miles of each other, I run the risk of interrupting cuddle time.

  Assholes. Their perfect relationship is a little hard to swallow at the moment. I’m sure neither one of them keep their dicks to themselves.

  Billy files out of the bedroom next with his T-shirt in his hand. He eyes me warily once he takes notice of the wine and the container I have a death-grip on.

  “Uh oh. What happened?” he asks, slipping his shirt over his head and sliding his arms through. “Bad date?”

  I watch him and Joey each grab a stool and sit at the kitchen island across from me. Boosting myself up onto the counter, I place the container on my lap and dip my spoon in, scraping out the rest of the chocolate.

  “No. The actual date was fine,” I mumble around the spoon.

  Joey drops his chin onto his fist. “Just fine?” He looks doubtful.

  I roll my eyes before lowering them to the container. “More than fine,” I confess, jamming my spoon into the vanilla. “He took me to this really nice restaurant where he had to order in Italian, which he fucking did, so just go ahead and tack on a few more ‘how hot can this guy possibly get’ points.”

  “Damn,” Billy comments appreciatively. “I bet that sounds amazing with his accent.”

  “Mm hmm. Boyfriend is full of surprises,” Joey adds.

  I don’t even bother looking up. “Yeah. Tons. So, we had dinner, and he mentioned wanting to stick his head between my legs and taste me in his throat.”

  I glance up at the sound of the wine bottle being slid across the counter.

  Billy brings it to his lips and tips it back, his eyes round as he swallows a mouthful.

  It’s funny how squeamish he gets around any sort of graphic sex talk, when his husband is basically a walking advertisement for it.

  I shift my eyes when Joey motions with a quick hand for me to continue on with my story. He suddenly appears wide awake and eager for conversation.

  “You want details?”

  “Yes,” Joey says at the same time as Billy’s, “Not really.”

  I split the difference. “He did more than just taste me, okay? I took him to this photo booth I found a couple months ago, and that man worked me out like his life depended on it. His mouth is fucking ridiculous.”

  A shiver runs down my spine as that familiar ache settles between my hips. I press the back of the spoon to my mouth, hoping to conceal the smile I can’t seem to control.

  “It was hands-down the best sexual experience of my life,” I admit against the cold silver. “And that includes all the times I’ve actually had sex.”

  Straightening on his stool, Billy scratches his jaw, his other hand still clutching the neck of the bottle. “Photo booth? Did you two actually . . .” he pauses, his eyes searching my face.

  Joey slaps the counter with exuberance. He looks practically giddy. “You little slut. Did you get pictures of this?”

  I glance across the room at my clutch, remembering how reckless and exciting it felt being in that moment with Mason, not knowing who, if anyone, was on the other side of that curtain and if they were listening and waiting for those photos.

  If they would see me, and how I looked at him. With him.

  I return my gaze to the two men staring intently at me. “I gave Mason his own set of solo’s to keep. That seemed to go over smashingly well. Then, while he was down there, going at it, he told me to put money in.” I shrug. “I did.”

  “Where is this photo booth exactly?” Joey grabs the small pad of paper and the pen we keep by the phone, ready to jot down the address.

  “Joey,” Billy starts, waiting for his husband to look over at him. He jerks his chin. “No.”

  Joey shoots him a pleading look. “Oh, come on. You know you’d love it.” He leans in for a kiss, hovering a breath away from Billy’s mouth. “Just think of how cramped it probably is in there. How tight it would be. Mm. I bet there’s hardly any room for you to move, but you like that, right? You like tight things, don’t you, baby?”

  Holy shit.

  I shove a massive bite of strawberry into my mouth as Billy groans, pinching his eyes shut and dropping a hand to his lap.

  “Brat,” he murmurs, adjusting himself while he tries to look annoyed but only succeeds at looking immensely turned-on and on the brink of dragging his husband back to the bedroom.

  Joey leans away, grinning and tapping his pen on the paper. “See? Do I know my man, or what?”

  “You do. But let’s get addresses later.” Billy covers Joey’s hand with his, forcing Joey to release the pen. He then turns his dissecting attention onto me. “Brooke, what are we missing here? Why are you binge-eating and nearly breaking down doors? What else is going on?”

  I drop my spoon into the container and set it on the counter, exchanging it for my glass of wine. I lift it in the air, toasting. “Mason is withholding the dick.”

  “This is news?” Billy raises an eyebrow. “I thought he made it clear when you two first met that he wanted to wait to have sex. Get to know you and all.”

  “He did. But apparently, he wasn’t just referring to sex.”

  Joey grabs the bottle of wine. “What else was he referring to?”

  “Oh, you know.” I sweep my hand through the air. “Everything. Touching it. Sucking it. Anything I could possibly do to get him off. The entire thing is a no-go apparently.”

  The bottle hovers in the air an inch away from Joey’s mouth. He leans to the side to see me around it. “I’m sorry. What?”

  I bring my glass to my lips, swallowing a generous amount of wine. “You heard me. After kissing my fucking brains out at the door, he walked away, refusing my offer to come inside . . . pun intended, and left, taking his glorious erection with him. He told me he wants this to be about me. That he didn’t get me off just so I would return the favor.”

  “That’s actually kind of sweet, Brooke. Unconventional, but sweet,” Billy remarks, laughing quietly at Joey as he mirrors my reaction to this discovery and goes immediately for alcohol. Running a hand through his short blonde hair, Billy turns back to me with a gentle smile. “Name one other guy who has ever done that for you.”

  I let my eyes roam the condo, pretending to think, but I don’t need to.

  The truth is, I can’t name anyone. I can’t think of any man who has ever done half of the things Mason has insisted on or offered. If I could, this might not seem so completely baffling to me.

  Why is he putting himself through all of this? He’s taken every sexual release I have to give him off the table, and yet he’s still fixated on me.

  Why?

  “Ok
ay.” Joey sets the bottle down and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “First of all, this wine is terrible. Let’s never buy it again.”

  I quietly chuckle as I lift my head.

  “Second, I can see this being a problem if you weren’t getting off, Brooke, but you are. And although you refuse to admit this, I think you like this guy.”

  “But I don’t understand him.”

  And for the first time in my life, I feel completely out of my league.

  Joey crosses his arms against his chest, sitting up a little straighter, showing off his proud smile.

  “What?” I ask, confused by his sudden disposition.

  “You didn’t argue with me that time. You like him.”

  “I like a lot of men who get me off. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Joey loses the smile and levels me with a skeptical glare. I look to Billy, only to find him mirroring his partner’s demeanor.

  Fuck this. I’ve had enough girl talk for one night.

  With a heavy head and an exhausted mind, I hop off the counter, polishing off the rest of my wine and setting the glass in the sink. “I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. I can’t think about this anymore tonight.”

  I wave a limp hand in the direction of my two roommates as I pad across the condo.

  Billy starts to say something but I shake my head, cutting him off before I escape into my room.

  Morning comes too soon after I close my eyes, and because of the restless night’s sleep I’m suffering from, I arrive late to work for the first time in three years. Luckily, having chatty Cathy as my roommate pays off for me and I don’t get much of an earful from Dylan when I step inside the bakery.

  I’m sure she has been adequately filled in on the night I had.

  “Sorry. Sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise,” I say, reemerging from the kitchen after setting my purse down. I secure my unruly hair up into a pony and step behind the counter. “I don’t think you want me doing any detailed piping work today. I’m running on about five minutes of sleep.”

  Dylan drops her head into a nod as Joey finishes up with a customer. “That’s fine. Man the front with Joey. I need to be off my feet today anyway so I’m going to stay in the back. I can work from a stool.”

  “Are you feeling okay?” I watch her close her eyes through several slow, deep breaths.

  My gaze shifts to the shop phone hanging on the wall.

  Even though I’ve never had a reason to call it, I was forced to memorize Reese’s work number when Dylan was first pregnant with Ryan. I wonder how quickly he could get over here if I called him right now.

  I imagine before I have the chance to hang up.

  The door chimes as the customer exits the bakery, and Joey comes to stand beside Dylan, resting a hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m fine. It’s not contractions or anything,” she reassures, looking back at him and then pressing two fingers to the inside of her wrist. “I’m just feeling anxious for some reason. I think I should take it easy today.”

  “Then get your pretty little ass in the back, cupcake. I’m not dealing with that man of yours if you go into early labor due to work-related stress. I’m sure he’ll somehow blame that shit on me.” He guides her in the direction of the kitchen with a gentle push, then comes to stop beside me, dropping his head next to mine.

  “Mason missed you at the coffee shop this morning,” he murmurs. “I told him you were up late hitting the sauce.”

  “Did you really?” I glare at him as he leans away.

  That’s just what I need, Mason thinking he drove me to alcoholism. He’s so fucking sweet he’ll probably pay for my rehab.

  He smiles. “No. I said you had to do an early delivery this morning and skipped the coffee. He seemed to buy it.”

  I gaze through the shop window. “I know I just got here but . . .”

  “But you need to go talk to him.”

  Our eyes lock. I nod at his spot-on remark, rubbing my hand down my face. “I’m just so fucking confused, and I need sleep, Joey. My skin doesn’t do well without it. I’m going to start looking like I’m in my thirties.”

  “Heaven forbid.” Joey steps back and leans his hip against the counter, exaggerating his stare the longer I look at him. “Go, before Dylan comes back up here and discovers you’re missing.”

  “Right.”

  I slip behind him and grab an empty bakery box, filling it with four cupcakes.

  “Shut up,” I snap when I hear Joey’s breathy laugh behind me.

  It’s just because I need something to hold when I’m talking to Mason, otherwise I’ll reach for him, hold his face, try and slip my fingers through his hair and feel his soft curls.

  There will be none of that happening.

  I hastily exit the shop and cross the street. Peering through the large studio window, I can see a class is in session, but that doesn’t stop me from barging in with baked goods and a pissy attitude.

  “We need to talk,” I exclaim, stopping just inside the door and glaring at the twenty-plus pairs of eyes on me. I focus in on one set in particular, crystal blue and softened with curiosity.

  Mason steps between mats to see me better, his faded, sleeveless tee darkened with sweat. “Can you give me five minutes, Brooke?”

  I look at him, at the crowd of women and their irritated expressions. With a quiet sigh, I slip past the elongated table covered in brochures and vitamin supplements and perch myself against the wall. I hold the box against my belly, letting my eyes wander the studio.

  “Whatever.”

  Class resumes. Mason goes through various positions and breathing techniques, offering assistance when some women struggle to hold a pose.

  I reach into the box and bite into a strawberry ganache cupcake, smirking when a nosy chick in front of me scowls in my direction.

  Fuck off, I think. You have no idea what that man is putting me through.

  After the last attendee leaves and I swallow my last bite, Mason pulls the door closed behind him and stalks toward me. He tugs his shirt off with one hand and wipes it across his face.

  “You wanted to talk?”

  I take in his perfectly sculpted torso, from his lean hips to the muscles thickening his shoulders, every inch of him damp with perspiration.

  “Yeah.” I set the box on the table and lick the frosting off my lip. “What the hell is your problem?”

  His steps falter. “My problem?”

  “Don’t do that.” I point a finger at him, advancing closer. “Don’t act like you have no idea what I’m talking about. I’m not allowed to touch you? I can’t . . . do anything to you? Why not?”

  “Brooke.” He tosses his shirt on the table, reaching for me.

  I step back to avoid his touch. “Answer my question first.” He takes in a deep breath, and my next words slip out before I can stop them. “Is it me?”

  Other women have touched him. Other women have done everything with him. Why can’t I?

  His eyes widen and he closes the space between us. “No. Fuck no, it’s not you. Jesus. How can you think that?” He slides his hand to my hip, his eyes following his finger as he runs it along my jaw. “It’s overwhelming how you affect me. Can’t you see it? How I look at you? I’m a bloody wreck here, Brooke. I want to take my time with you, but fucking hell if I don’t want everything you were offering last night.”

  “Then take it.” I squeeze his hips, pressing us closer.

  Take me. Stop torturing yourself.

  “I won’t be able to stop,” he confesses, bending to kiss the corner of my mouth. “I’m not a God, Brooke. I only have so much restraint, and you on your knees sucking my cock would smash it all to shit.”

  “So you’re just going to jerk off alone after you leave me? Come on, Mason. That’s ridiculous. You could at least let me watch.”

  A small laugh erupting past his lips has me pulling away and out of his reach.

  “This isn’t funny,” I snap, turning m
y body when he tries to grab me again.

  I need distance anyway. He’s half naked and those loose shorts he’s wearing do a piss poor job at concealing every perfect inch of him.

  He slowly advances on me with his hands raised between us, with that cocky smirk tugging at his mouth.

  “Are you not enjoying what I’m giving you, Brooke? Because if I’m remembering correctly, you seemed pretty fucking happy grinding that sweet pussy against my face last night. There’s pictures to prove it.”

  Warmth surges between my hips. I narrow my eyes and silently curse my lower region for reacting to that reminder. “You know what? I’m going to go.”

  His eyes snap up to mine. “Why?”

  “Because I have work to do and you’re making my brain hurt.”

  He grabs my waist before I can take a step. Pulling my back against his front, he drops his lips to my ear, whispering my name before he asks, “Are we still on for this weekend?”

  I turn my head to look at him, biting my cheek to keep myself from reacting to the smug grin staring back at me. “I don’t know. Am I going to be allowed to touch you?”

  “In a matter of speaking. I’m sure your hands will be in my hair while you beg me to make you come. That counts, yeah?”

  With a grunt, I pry myself out of his arms and gesture at the box on the table as I stride past it. “I ate one of your cupcakes because you kept me up all night, and not in the way I wanted to be.”

  “You kept me up too. Fucking that pretty little mouth was one hell of a visual. I came all over my sheets.”

  My mouth falls open. I nearly face-plant . . . again. Bastard.

  “Yeah? Well, it’s too bad I wasn’t there to lick it all up for you. Good luck getting those stains out.”

  I push through the door with the biggest smile on my face.

  Have fun with that visual.

  I stare into the darkness of my bedroom, pulling the covers up around me when the AC kicks on.

  It’s almost eleven, and I could be asleep. I should be. God knows I’m exhausted but I can’t seem to close my eyes yet.