Page 25 of A Match Made In Evan
It’s darker than the rest of him, and an almost angry shade of purple at the head. I have the unexpected urge to know what it tastes like —what it feels like on my tongue— and I convince myself it’s only because he just sucked mine until I came.
We’ve always been a little competitive, in a friendly way.
Still, I don’t make a move to follow through on the random impulse, swallowing it back and watching as Ev pushes himself closer and closer to the edge. I can tell when he’s getting close.His chest heaves and his breathing gets ragged and raspy. He’s got a dark flush creeping into the collar of his shirt, and his eyes are turning glassy.
“Fuck,” the awed murmur escapes me as his hips still, “Ev…”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him how unbelievably sexy his little show is, but the words fade away into a gasp as he groans and spills over his fist, rivulets of creamy liquid dripping over his flawless skin.
I lick my lips, my heart thumping almost as hard as if I just came again. “That was…”
His eyes are hooded as he slumps backwards, a lazy, pleased smile on his face. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It was.”
***
It keeps happening. Some nights, I tell Mia that I’m grabbing a beer with Ev and then we wind up exchanging hand jobs in his car, or we get each other off in his apartment. Others, when she’s sleeping over a friend’s place, he comes over to mine and we barely even make it to the bedroom.
I haven’t ever had this much sex in my life, not even when I was at uni.
I feel like a teenager — constantly horny and ready to go at the drop of a hat, or zipper as it were.
And, as strange as it might sound, this whole friends with benefits thing seems to be making our friendship stronger. Ev and I hang out a lot more than we used to. We watch movies, talk about work, exchange orgasms, then fall into conversation about his indoor soccer team or plans for Mia’s school holidays. It’s effortless and fulfilling in ways I never imagined the arrangement could be.
Hell, if I could have a relationship like this, life would be perfect.
I mean arealrelationship. Not a friendship with sex.
How is that different to a real relationship?
Thoughts like that one are dangerous and I push it aside, then attempt to bury it in the same place where I bury the rest of my ‘Do Not Touch’ memories.
“Penny for ’em?” Andi, one of my colleagues —the kind I consider a friend, though perhaps not a super close friend— asks as she drops down into the empty chair beside my desk. She spins around in it like a child, her red hair flying around her face with the motion. Her blue eyes sparkle at me as she prods, “Your thoughts. Penny for your thoughts?”
Understanding dawns over me as my brain sluggishly pulls out of the Evan-induced fog it has been in for weeks now. Months, even.
Years, if you’ll be honest with yourself.
That thought gets buried, too.
“Just…thinking about Mia and her school stuff,” I answer, and the lie comes so easily now that I wonder who I’m becoming.
Andi nods, her face lining with empathy. “They’re really putting you through the ringer, huh? All that time you have to take off…”
“Thankfully, Collin is really good about letting me do that,” I acknowledge.
“Yeah, well, you can do a lot of your job remotely,” Andi shrugs. “We all can. Why they insist on making us work in this office is beyond me. Well,” her tone turns a little snide, “aside from justifying the overpriced lease. I reckon commercial industries could topple the real estate market, given half a chance.”
“It’s one big conspiracy theory,” I agree placatingly, nodding my head. “I know.”
The thing is, she’s not wrong. I can do the bulk of my job from anywhere. I’m in marketing, and I can plan campaigns and analyse data without being in the office. We can even hold virtual meetings with clients and potential clients — something we do have to do more often than not, given that a lot of our clients are based interstate or overseas nowadays.
Nevertheless, I quite enjoy my job, and I consider myself lucky to have a boss who is happy to be as flexible with my hours as he is. I’m not going to rock the boat and complain about company policy when he can’t do much to change it, either. Andi has no such qualms.
“Anyway,” I cut her off before she can really get going on her usual rant, “It’s been, what, six months? Only another eighteen to go and then Mia will be graduating.”
“Less than eighteen months,” Andi nods. “Especially when you count school holidays.”
“Shit,” I look at the calendar, “June holidays are coming up soon.”
