Eye Candy

I know an awful lot about my best friend’s sex life. In the past I would’ve been just as free with mine. Except ever since I’ve been with Armstrong there’s not as much excitement to share. But then I guess that’s to be expected since I’m settling down. No more Anarchy Amie on the prowl. Not like when we were in high school and college and I went a little wild.

That kind of reckless free-thinking can’t last forever. And discretion is far more important than hanging-from-the-rafters sex.

Although we did have a bit of that, back in the beginning. Once we had sex in a coatroom at a huge corporate function. That night I moved from date to girlfriend status. A few months later he took me on a trip to Paris and proposed under the Eiffel Tower with an orchestra playing behind him. It was incredibly romantic. We had a beautiful dinner and then we had sweet engagement sex. That’s what sex with Armstrong is like: sweet and polite.

Over time I’m sure that will change, that I’ll be able to persuade him to get a little dirty with me. And that he’ll learn what’s guaranteed to make me come. Sometimes I take a long time to orgasm with him, and he gets frustrated. Armstrong likes to be good at everything. So occasionally I fake it and take care of the situation later, after he’s asleep. That’s been happening more frequently as of late, but with the wedding coming up, we’ve both been under stress, so sex has taken a backseat.

At nine thirty Armstrong calls for the car. He’s been touchier than usual tonight, so maybe if I play it right, I’ll be able to stay at his place and get some relief for the tension that’s been building since Friday.

I hug Ruby, who’s still dressed in her costume. Her makeup is still nearly perfect. We make plans to have lunch later in the week before Armstrong ushers me out the door and into the elevator. The car is waiting for us when we arrive at lobby level.

We’ve been in the car for three minutes. I glance at Armstrong, then at the tinted divider. We’re isolated from the driver. He can’t see or hear us. We have at least twenty minutes in the car together, and that’s a conservative estimate based on there not being any traffic. But this is New York. There’s always traffic.

Armstrong is frowning while checking emails on his phone. I unbuckle my seat belt and slide closer.

He looks up. “That’s unsafe. You should put your seat belt back on.” Armstrong is very concerned with safety. He drives no more than five miles over the speed limit. Once I drove his car and he nearly had a heart attack. I wasn’t going that fast.

I drag a fingernail down the side of his neck. “Ivan is a very safe driver. It’s fine.”

He eyes me. “What’re you doing?”

“I was thinking, maybe I can come back to your place tonight instead of going home.”

He appears confused. “But it’s Monday. I have squash in the morning. It’s why you don’t stay over on Mondays.”

I’m not sure whether to laugh or roll my eyes. “We could live on the edge. You could miss squash tomorrow.”

“It’s too late for me to cancel, and if you stay neither of us is going to get enough sleep.”

Always so pragmatic about everything. I sink to the floor with the intention of giving him some incentive for a Monday sleepover.

“What’re you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I go for his belt.

He glances up at the divider that keeps us separate from the driver. “Amalie, we’re in the car.”

“I know.” I give him my naughtiest grin and pull down the zipper. Slipping my hand in the fly I find him already semi-hard. It shouldn’t take much to get him excited. I pop a couple of buttons on my blouse and push his boxers down.

He must’ve decided he’s not so concerned about my safety anymore, because he spreads his legs wider and brushes my hair out of the way. I try to stay in the moment while I’m pleasuring my fiancé, but my mind starts to wander to the Halloween party we may be planning. In my head I start creating the guest list, reviewing cocktail options, whether it will be a seated dinner or just appetizers. Soon enough I’m being given the complimentary warning that an orgasm is imminent.

Afterward, I crawl up his body, thinking maybe we’ll make out for a bit en route to his place, but he turns his head and gives me his cheek when I go in for a kiss. I make my way over to his mouth, but he keeps turning away. “Oh, no, no. Not after you’ve—” He purses his lips and shakes his head.

“Not after I’ve what?”

“You need to brush your teeth first.”

“What?”

“You have my cum in your mouth.”

“I swallowed it.” I stick out my tongue. “See. No cum.”

He makes another face. This one is disapproving. “Amalie.”

I straddle his lap and tug on his tie, bringing my lips to his ear. “Come on, Armstrong, I’m horny. I wanna fuck.”

He puts his hands on my hips and makes another disapproving sound. Dammit. That wasn’t the right thing to say. Armstrong isn’t turned on by my potty mouth, as he calls it. I keep hoping if I say things like that he’s going to turn me over his lap, flip up my skirt, and spank my naughty ass. I should know better. It’s a turn off and I’ve ruined any chance of getting a reciprocal orgasm.

I mutter an apology and flop down in the seat beside him, buttoning my blouse. I really need to find a way to loosen him up. In addition to the wedding preparation, he’s been under a lot of stress at work with the changes happening at his family’s media empire. They’ve been talking about a merger with a rival corporation. I shouldn’t be upset about this, but after spending an entire evening watching Bancroft and Ruby make sex eyes at each other I’m seriously wound up and in need of some release. Not to mention how territorial Armstrong seemed to become when Lex showed up.

When Ivan pulls up in front of my apartment building several minutes later I don’t ask about sleeping over again or invite Armstrong up, because he’s already fallen asleep post-orgasm. At least I have the ability to take care of my own problem. God bless the sex toy industry and multiple orgasms.





Chapter 3: Naughty Girl


Ruby

“You know what I need right now?” Bancroft wraps his arm around my waist. He also tries to press his chest against my back, but I’m still wearing the fairy wings, so he can’t get that close.

“Another glass of scotch?” I’m being snarky. Mostly. Even I opted for a second glass of wine at dinner and I’m not a big drinker.

“Now that Armstrong is gone I can manage without alcohol.”

“What does it say about him as a person that no one can deal with him without drinking?”

“That he’s an asshole.”

“Who you happen to be related to,” I point out.

“And who your best friend is going to marry. Can’t you do something about that?” He fiddles with my wings, making them flap against my back. “You’re a fairy, you should be able to make magic happen.”

“What kind of magic do you think I’m capable of? I can’t tell her not to marry Armstrong just because we don’t want to hang out with him.” I finish washing the last wineglass and set it in the drying rack.