Until You (Until #1)

by Briar Prescott

“Will you keep your shirt off, so I have some eye candy while you do your thing?” I ask. He gives a tired chuckle. “Sure. I can let you objectify me for the greater good.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not a hacker, because you absolutely shouldn’t have read any of that.”

I give myself five seconds and if he doesn’t answer, I’ll get out of here. “Hello?” he says when seventeen seconds have passed.

Our eyes are locked. It’s too intimate. Absolutely awful. Somebody needs to put an end to this. The sooner the better.

Sharing is infinitely more disgusting than people make it out to be, and so far, I gotta say, I’m not a fan.

“You’re pulling me in like quicksand.”

“So he’s available?” She fluffs her blond hair, eyes trained on Blake, who’s completely oblivious to our staring. “No,” I say. “He’s seeing somebody. It’s a very committed relationship. They’re talking about marriage.”

“Dinner? I’d kill for a taco.” “I hear you can get them for money these days, so you don’t have to resort to crime.” “Smartass,” he says and walks out the door, clearly assuming dinner is a done deal. I suppose it is since I follow him.

“I don’t know anything about art.” “Neither do I, but I’m pretty sure they don’t have a test at the door to determine who’s worthy of entrance.” “You better hope not because if there is, I’m copying your answers.”

I only know the most famous paintings, so unless they have the Mona Lisa on display, I won’t have anything smart to say. And even if the Mona Lisa is there, my contribution will still be something like, ‘Oh, look. It’s that famous painting with that woman.’”

And when I Google ‘what to wear to an art gallery,’ to my great disappointment, none of the results say sweats are the way to go.

I buy her lunch as a thanks for the privilege of having heard her complain about my taste in clothes for the past two hours.

I haven’t really been in the mood to objectify him. Obviously something’s broken inside me.

“There’s an open bar, so if all the paintings suck, I bet we can drink them better.”

She says the word interesting the same way people would say a peanut butter and onion sandwich is… interesting.

“I sound like a bitch.” No argument from me, lady.

“Blake is a homosexual,” Dominic says loudly. I’m not sure if it’s the homosexuality or the wildly inappropriate remark that’s making people stare. I’d go with the latter, but you never know. “Yes, here on a recruiting trip,” Blake adds. “If anybody’s interested.”

I see neither of us are going to address the boyfriend comment.

I just want to get away from this place, and I’m not sure how to do it politely.

“—the idiotic things you’ve ever done, this takes the cake,” Sage is saying. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Interesting...

“Don’t you think I know that?” Blake snaps “I know it’s stupid. Believe me. I tell it to myself every fucking day. Look, I didn’t plan on it, but he’s…”

...VERY interesting

Blake and I are both lying very properly on our own sides of the bed, hands on top of the blanket like a virgin married couple on their wedding night.

“I should warn you I have this thing where I have no idea what to say to people when they divulge deeply personal information, so I’ll make a joke or say something stupid,” I say.

Meee

“The apartment’s in the middle of the building, so it’s always warm. Even in the middle of the winter.” “That’s good. If you have a smart heating system, it can save you a lot of money.” We’re honest-to-God talking about utilities now. Riveting.

“Yeah, well, Blake and I just sleep.” Steph chews thoughtfully. “Fucking weird,” he concludes. “Why? Why is that weird? We’re friends.” “I know. That’s the fucking weird part.”

“Like, you want to hold his hand and boop his nose and sniff him? That kind of shit?” “What? Why would I want to boop his nose?” “Dude, I don’t know what you people do when you’re into that whole intimacy thing.”

“Are you sleeping with him now?” I take an exaggerated look to my left and right, then down at my lap. “I don’t think so. Unless you see something I don’t?”

“Have you ever wanted something?” He pauses. “Somebody,” he corrects, eyes moving up and down my body with such intensity it makes my skin tingle. “So badly that you can’t fucking think when they’re around?”

the trail of golden hair that runs down from just below his belly button to his cock. Like an arrow pointing your eyes in the right direction. Not that I need a compass, but I appreciate the gesture.

I approve. I fucking approve. I approve so much that all the compliments I plan to give him on his skills come out as moans.

“I have lube somewhere,” he rasps in between kisses. “But it’s so very far away, and I don’t want to stop what I’m doing, so here’s how it’s gonna go. You’ll hold off until I get myself off on you, and then I’ll jerk you with my cum. How does that sound?”

“You ruined my plan,” he says once his breathing has calmed down a bit. “My bad.” He flops down on top of me, lips against the side of my neck. “You owe me.” “Put it on the list.”

“I learned something about myself today,” he says with a deceptively casual air to his words. “Turns out I don’t like to wake up alone.” “I hear some people buy body pillows,” I say. “Might be worth looking into.”

“Some of us have jobs they can’t do from their living room.” “At five a.m.?” “It’s a busy day. I’m a responsible employee and wanted to get a head start.” “You open at eleven.” “I’m slow. A better man wouldn’t rub it in like that.”

“You want a sandwich or something?” I ask. “Because if not, I’ve got shit to do, and you’re holding up the line.” He looks behind himself at the total emptiness before he sends me a withering look.

He comes out with something silvery between his fingers and places it on the counter in front of me. I eye the key. By the way my stomach hollows out, it might as well be a wedding ring.

I guess personal space isn’t a thing we do anymore.

There’s grazing. And cupping. And chest pressed against chest. And my dick is pretty much convinced this might as well be a handjob, judging by how it salutes all Blake’s ministrations.

I glare down at the bulge in my pants. “We’re not going to do this,” I grit out. “We have pride.” It’s pretty much the only thing I have left.

I’m exactly one step away from my next act of idiocy. A smart man would reassess and reconsider. Get the hell out of here. Stick his dick in an ice bucket and put his brain back in charge. Not me, though.

It’s not that I’m in love with him—thank fuck for small mercies because at least that’s something I’m certain of—but

He’s an uncomfortable obsession I don’t want to have, and I clearly have very little willpower, since I’m at his apartment and not at home where I should be.

“What’s with the clothes? I was promised nakedness.” Annoyance rings loud and clear in my voice. Good. “I was, but you were late, so I already jerked off.”

I spent hours earlier trying to convince myself I had self-control and common sense and wasn’t going to show up here. Clearly, I lack both.

I’m thinking with my dick. It made some pretty persuasive arguments earlier, so it won the debate in the end.

“People make pasta from scratch? In real life? While they’re not auditioning for MasterChef?”

We’re making plans now for date nights. Isn’t that juuuuust awesome?

I suddenly realize I’m starving. I haven’t eaten anything today. Too busy sneaking out of apartments and freaking out about life.

“I came, I saw, I conquered,” I say. “It went more like I went, I saw, I got caught.”

“What were you doing?” I ask. “Rearranging the furniture for better sex feng shui?”