CHAPTER TWO
ELLIOT
I have no idea what I was thinking! Oh, I know what I was thinking, but I need to stop thinking about it, so I don’t get another hard on while trying to drive this damn car.
What red-blooded male can survive the woman of his dreams walking around in nothing but a sports bra and skin-tight pants?! She’s showing all that creamy skin and smooth curves, breasts pushed up by the bra to create cleavage that I want to shove my dick in. She must know how beautiful she is, well maybe not, all Jared ever did was tell her what was wrong with her.
So, I decided to sit down and focus on unpacking when I opened the box I find it full of those little scraps of fabric woman like to call underwear. I couldn’t decide if I was in heaven or hell at that moment.
No matter how hard I tried not to think about her biteable ass perfectly framed while wearing any of those panties, bent over the coffee table sitting in front of me, I just couldn’t contain it! Of course, as soon as I had the good sense to close the box to hide the evidence, AB walks out of the bathroom.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, just thinking about that hungry look in her eyes as she saw the tent in my pants. One thing is for certain, AB knows how big my dick is now. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
PURSUER
God damn, she is beautiful. Just the sight of her alabaster skin gets me hard. I wish she weren’t so far away. I want to caress her skin, bury my nose in her hair, and stretch her pussy with my thick cock. I need her, but I must wait for the right time. She will be mine. There is no doubt in my mind that we are meant to be together. She just needs to forget about all of these losers first.
ANNABELLE
Once I finally stop laughing, put a shirt on and get to the burrito shop, we still haven't said more than about five words to each other.
“So... how ‘bout them Yankees?” I say as an icebreaker. I'm not entirely sure if what Elliot is horrified about is the fact that I saw him rubbing one out or the fact that I now know how big his dick is. Dudes are weird.
“Jesus. I don't know what else to say except 'I'm sorry,’ and I have no idea what I was thinking,” he says.
“Eh, when you gotta jack it, you gotta jack it. Am I right, son?” I smirk in return.
“For the love of God, Annabelle, don't ever say 'jack it’ to me again,” He says exasperatedly.
I start to laugh. It's just so comical.
“Don't you start that shit again, I'm hungry, and I will leave your crazy ass on the floor and pretend like I don't know you.” He sounds almost angry.
“Relax, man. Jeez, Louise. When was the last time you got laid? You seem a little tense.” I say like I’m one of the guys.
“That's it. From now on, we are no longer talking about anything that has to do with my dick. Not even jokes.”
I sigh, and I realize that he's just really embarrassed and will probably be back to normal in a week or so.
“You're taking all of the fun out of my life,” I say as I turn my back to him and place my order.
****
After grabbing our food, we head back to my apartment since I still have to get everything unpacked.
Sitting beside a box full of, I don’t even know what, I pick at my burrito while Elliot digs right in. We’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, and I drop my hands into my lap.
“What is it about me? Why am I so easy to cheat on?” I choke out, on the verge of tears.
I can’t look at him directly, but I can see that he’s stopped eating and is now staring at me, trying to come up with an answer that will hold the tears back and finish the huge bite in his mouth.
After what feels like an eternity, he swallows the bite he was chewing.
He says softly, “It’s not you, Belle.” He uses the nickname that is very rarely used, almost as if he’s afraid of how I will react.
I shake my head and look at him, tears swimming in my eyes, “It has to be, or it wouldn’t keep happening. What is it? Seriously, I want the truth.”
My voice is starting to rise, and my arms raise along with the volume.
“Am I too tough? I don’t act girly or needy enough? Do I make them question how manly they are?” By now, I’m yelling, and tears are rolling down my face faster than I can wipe them away.
Then, as if the wind has been taken out of my sails my arms drop back to my sides, and I whisper, “Am I not good in bed? Am I not attractive?”
My lip is trembling, so I bite down on it to make it stop. I drop my head into my hands and just cry.
Elliot comes around the ‘table’ and pulls me into his lap like a child, pulling my head to his chest and just holds me while I get it all out. By the time I’ve calmed down, he’s moved, so he’s sitting with his back against the front of the couch, but his hand is still rubbing comforting circles on my back.
“Wine or ice cream?” is all Elliot says.
I can’t help but laugh. He really does know me better than anyone else.
“You bring anything harder?” my voice gravely from crying.
Now it’s his turn to laugh, “Sorry Drunkie MacGee. Wine is all I brought with me.”
I let out a sigh and sit up, so I can look him in the face, “I guess that will have to do.”
Elliot sets me on the couch and gets up to get a bottle of my favorite Moscato out of the fridge. He bought one for me today to celebrate the new digs. He looks over at me, raises one eyebrow like he’s asking a question then shakes his head. He opens the bottle and just brings it to me, no glass.
“Chug it. Time to get wasted.” He says with a smirk, one that I know all too well is going to get me into trouble.
“I really don’t want my neighbors to hate me before I’ve even unpacked,” I say as I eye the bottle, it is tempting.
Elliot waves the bottle just a bit, “Come on. You know you want too.”
“Fuck it.” I grab the bottle and take a long drink, “I blame you for the hangover I’m going to have tomorrow.”
Elliot chuckles, “I take full responsibility.”
****
An hour later, I am completely wasted. After the first bottle was finished, I dug through a few boxes to find more and have now drained the second bottle, on an empty stomach.
Elliot set up the TV and Amazon Fire Stick so that we can binge-watch Parks and Recreation. I’m laying haphazardly on the couch. One leg slung over the back, shoulders on the armrest, one hand on the floor.
“Elliot?”
Without turning to look at me, he responds, “Yeah?”
“Will you have sex with me?”
Elliot whips his head around and stares at me for a moment, “What?”
“Come on. I need to know if I suck at sex. You could give me tips or something. Or tell me if I have a really gross hairy mole that I don’t know about.”
“Okay, that’s enough wine for you. Now you’re talking crazy. Why don’t I make some coffee, and you can take a shower, sober up some?” He says as he stands and heads towards the kitchen.
“You were the one that told me to get drunk!” I was pointing a finger at him; it’s hard to keep my finger pointed at him since there appears to be more than one…
“Now you won’t even help me? What the fuck? I thought we were friends!?!” I shout the last question at him, too drunk to care about the volume of my voice and that my neighbors can probably hear me.
“Annabelle Kingston, I am not going to fuck you. Get in the shower. Now.” Elliot has taken on a commanding presence that I'm not used to having directed at me. It’s probably the only thing that would have cut through the drunken haze.
I get up and turn to head towards my bedroom and attached bath but lose my balance and end up on my ass.
I hear Elliot sigh behind me from the other side of the living room, “Jesus. Come on. I’ll help you.”
He picks me up with one arm under my knees and the other arm on my back. He strides down the hallway and deposits me on my feet in the bathroom.
“Can you get undressed by yourself?”
I struggle to pull my t-shirt over my head and barely manage it, but my sports bra gets tangled in my waist length hair, trapping my arms along with it, so I end up screeching for Elliot to help me. Somehow, Elliot manages to help me get undressed and into the shower which is cold.
“DAMN YOU! THIS IS COLD!”
“It’ll sober you up,” and he slams the door.
*****
I manage to shower and get dressed in a loose tank top and boxers that I stole from Elliot a few years ago. I’m suddenly tired, so I lie down on my bed for just a minute and pass out.
It feels like I’ve been asleep for approximately two and a half minutes when the wine in my stomach makes a dramatic re-appearance. I try to get to the bathroom but get tangled in the sheets and end up falling off the bed where a trash-can magically appears in front of me. Someone is holding my hair back and cursing at me, but I’m still too drunk to care or think about it too hard. Once my stomach is empty, I lie down on the carpet and pass out.
*****
At some point during the night, I wake up, and I’m in my bed, under the blankets and warm. It’s dark in my room, and I’m still not sober enough to care how I got here.
*****
Slowly, I wake up in the morning. I’m so warm and comfortable that I don’t want to move, opening my eyes is going to be painful, and I want to avoid that as long as possible. The more awake my brain becomes, the more I notice about my situation. Like the mostly naked body spooning me, I am also mostly naked. My mouth tastes like shit, and my eyes feel swollen and itchy like I cried all night. What the fuck happened last night?
As I start to pull away from the mysterious body behind me, an arm snakes around my waist and pulls me back into the hard chest and impressive morning wood. Mystery man then pushes his other arm under my neck, bends his elbow at my shoulder, and is now holding my tit in his deliciously warm hand, while the arm around my waist slowly makes its way to my panties.
Who the fuck is this?!?
Before I can express my dismay, his hand is in my panties, and his fingers are stroking my recently waxed inner lips. His hips are slowly but forcefully rubbing his cock against my ass. Then, using his knee, he spreads my thighs, opening me up wide. I have one hand on each of his arms, holding on tight, I’m so turned on that I’m not sure whether I should be objecting or allowing it to continue. Not knowing who is behind me is part of what has me soaking his fingers, my panties, and the sheets. His morning scruff is scratching the skin at my shoulder and neck, and I am so close to cumming that I’m afraid to make any noise and break the spell.
His fingers are torturing me, circling my clit then sliding down to thrust two fingers inside of me, only to return to my clit and start the process over. I’m on edge. I get right to the point of no return when he moves his fingers again. After enduring this cycle for what seems like hours, he keeps his fingers on my clit long enough for me to cum, hard. I am riding his fingers like a cowboy on a bull and pushing my ass against his cock, so he cums too.
I’ve never experienced anything like this before, getting off is never easy for me. It’s a struggle every damn time, but this was fast and extremely intense.
I’m slumped against him as I gasp for breath, trying to get control of my heart rate.
He tenses but his hands are still on my boob and my clit, he seems afraid to move. I can feel his cum cooling in his underwear behind me, and his head pulls back away from me, enabling me to turn just enough to see who he is.
“ELLIOT?!?!” I screech, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?!?” I shout as I jump from the bed.
Elliot falls off the bed, arms and legs flailing wildly as he tries to catch himself, “FUCK!”
I can hear he’s breathing hard from the other side of the bed. “What the hell is going on?” I say as calmly as possible. I’m so embarrassed and so shocked at this turn of events that I can’t do anything but stand there, not knowing what to do or say.
Elliot chooses that moment to stand up and rub the sleep out of his eyes. After blinking a few times, he suddenly realizes the crazy situation we currently find ourselves in.
“Shit…Annabelle! I…I… I’m so sorry…You got sick last night, like a lot, ended up puking on yourself and me.” He’s passing the side of the bed, running his hands through his hair.
“Then you broke down crying hysterically because Fred, your fifth-grade goldfish, never loved you so he just up and died, like a goldfish can commit suicide! After 45 minutes of that nonsense, you started going on about how you let Jeremy Fletcher get away, and how he was the one for you, even though you were eight when he moved away! And you HATED him!” He comes to a stop, facing away from me, rubbing his temples.
“THAT DOESN’T EXPLAIN WHY YOU JUST HAD YOUR HAND IN MY PUSSY!” I scream in response. I can’t handle this shit right now.
“I thought I was dreaming!” He finally turns to face me, shoving his hand in my direction.
I am horrified. I’m standing in front of my best friend, the only person I have in the entire world, in only panties after he just finger fucked me to orgasm following a night of drinking.
Once I notice that my tits are out and bouncing around, I snatch a blanket off the bed and wrap it around me like a cocoon.
“Just get out of here,” is all I can think of to say, not looking at him.
There’s no coming back from this, and there’s no way our friendship can survive this. Tears are slowly falling down my cheeks. Now I will always assume that he’s thinking about me naked, that he’s jealous of anyone I ever go on a date with.
I can’t deal with any of this right now.
My head is screaming.
For some reason, he finds this situation amusing, since he’s smirking at me.
“So, are you super mad now?”
I just stare at him, not understanding.
“What? What does that even mean?”
Now he’s laughing, “You have a cape on, so now you must be Super Mad.”
“Get out, Elliot.”