She moans, rolling her hips, squatting over my dick, bouncing up and down. I can see it happening—her eyelids flutter, and her grip gets stronger. I massage her clit faster as her head falls back, and she screams, spurring on my own need.
Her body’s quivering, jerking as she comes, but I barely give her time to come down before I lift her sweet ass to standing and growl.
“Get down.”
She drops, her lips parting as I stroke my rock-hard cock, coming all over her tits and her goddamn mouth. I’m panting, completely sated, as I watch my cum drip down her chin. And I don’t know what comes over me, but I reach down and swipe it back into her mouth as she smiles and licks her fucking lips.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Wild Card.”
She winks.
“I’m gonna be the death of you? I should buy stock in Tylenol because my pussy getting murdered is keeping them in business.”
I’m laughing as she stands, washing me away before she grabs my razor.
“Hey. Isn’t that my razor?”
She glances over her shoulder and nods before slathering her armpit with some homemade shave cream she concocted and proceeds to go about her business like the audacious little thing she is, throwing her words over her shoulder.
“Oh, come on, QB. Your dick’s been in my ass. You can’t be worried about my armpit.”
“How much for your car?”
The kid standing at the valet service counter stares at me, confused. But I just saw him coming to work. He drove past me in a beat-up pickup truck, and I wanted it.
I point toward the garage, where I saw him park inside.
“Wasn’t that you…who drove by here about two minutes ago in a red Chevy pickup?”
He runs his hands through his hair, looking nervous.
“Oh man, Mr. Matthews, I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to park in that garage. But I was running late for work… there’s this girl…anyway. I swear I’ll move to employee parking on my lunch break.”
I chuckle, putting my hands in my pockets.
“I don’t care where you park. How much to let me borrow your car for the night?”
More shock bleeds out over his face.
“Ummmm—” he draws out. “How would I get home when I get off?”
I motion with my chin to the wall of keys behind him.
“Swap our keys out. You can take my Range Rover.” I pull out my wallet. “And this too.”
I peel a couple of hundreds off and hand it to him, adding, “For your discretion… There’s this girl.”
His eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head before he chuckles and nods. He digs into his pocket, showing me the keys before walking over and exchanging them with mine, turning to look at me.
“Mr. Matthews, you are now the proud owner of a beat-up red Chevy.” He winks. “There are blankets in the bed.”
eleanor
“Why are we in a car owned by”—I open the glove compartment and pull out the insurance, reading the owner’s name—“Steven Larson.”
“Because we need the bed in back,” Crew says so matter-of-factly that I almost smack his arm.
Instead, I laugh and look out the window, wondering where he’s taking me. All I know is that one minute I was lying on the couch, scrolling through comments on Instagram of this guy who posted that women can’t really orgasm, as I laughed my ass off—because sometimes the internet really just wins—and then I was told I needed to put my shoes on and “come with” him.
Now, here I am, in a truck that might be stolen, in my pajamas at 10:30 at night.
“Crew,” I muse. “This feels almost romantic. Are you taking me on a date?”
His answer begins on the tail end of my question.
“I’m not allowed to take my wife on a date?”
I laugh, giving one shoulder a pop.
“I mean, whatever keeps the magic alive for what…like…half? Oh man, we’re almost at the halfway mark in this marriage of convenience.”
He nods, chuckling.
“This marriage is anything but convenient.”
“Truth.”
We’re kidding-not kidding, but saying that out loud really makes me think. It’s been two weeks-ish since we got stuck in this arrangement. And it’s been strangely easy, which is unexpected.
I’ve spent my days getting to know everyone at the casino, eating at every single restaurant the Encore offers, and even hanging with TJ and Nate for what we now call Adventure Tuesdays. But when I say easy, I’m talking about the me-and-Crew part—we’ve settled into these hangouts where we watch movies…and fuck. We always fuck. And laugh though.
If somebody had told me at the start of this that not only would we fuck our anger out but that we’d find an easy comfort with each other, I would’ve called bullshit.
Crew was cool when we met, but I went from one-night stand to live-in nanny for his dick. So hiccups would’ve been expected…aggravation…something. But we’ve been easy breezy outside of pretending to almost say his name when I come just to torture him.
My brows draw together as the thoughts start to compound.
Oh shit…we’re severely couply.
I pause at the thought. Turning my head to stare at him, I’m suddenly panicked that I used his razor on my legs this morning and that he was using the homemade shave cream I just made on his face.
That’s couple shit.
Do I like you…too much?
Oh, I’m going to be pissed if I like him too much.
I clear my throat, smiling tightly as he glances at me before I scrunch my face in worry again.
No, I’m overthinking.
But not one of my personalities believes that.
Wait.
No…I’m fine.
He’s Crew. Serial non-monogamist and just that guy I married. We’re just friends who fuck…and also have more fun with each other than we have with other people.
But I could say that about Millie, and I don’t want to date her.
Oh, this war in my head is making me actually feel like there are multiple POVs happening upstairs.
I pull out my phone, typing out a quick text.
Me: What’s the non-emergency number because this isn’t a 911, but it’s still a priority…
Sami: 311
Mills: ha ha nerd. She’s prefacing, not being literal.
Me: I think I like the way he likes me, and I want to like him back that way too.
Sami: Ummmm, what?
Mills: Our girl has a big-ass crush and is worried she wants a boyfriend.
Sami: That was inevitable, Elle…you’re fucking him. Of course, you like him. But the only reason this feels so strong is because it’s got an expiration date. There’s no real commitment. You can lower your guard because you know it’ll end.
Mills: Sam’s preaching facts. There’s comfort in premeditation. *smirk emoji
Me: Okay, serial killer. But you’re right, Sami. I def don’t want a boyfriend. I want a salon and Sunday mimosas with besties without anyone having an opinion.
Me: And tbh if this was real, I wouldn’t be fucking his friends without any conversation about our feelings.
Mills: WHAT!!!!!
Sami: THAT WASN’T THE LEAD IN?!?!?!?!?!?!
I’m smiling at my phone, feeling relieved. They’re right. We’re living in a Utopia. What we have isn’t real. In real life, Crew and I would be fighting about warring schedules, dreams, and destinations. His life is football. Mine is the salon.