Nine
DALTON
L ander and Everett’s eyebrows are high enough to interrupt satellite paths. They glance at each other and then back at Lander’s laptop before Everett finally faces me. He’s wearing an expression I haven’t seen since we were seventeen and realized I’d asked four different debutantes to prom while I was hammered at a cotillion.
It’s the morning after Halloween, and they’re halfway through a replay of Essie and me. To be specific, they’re at the part where Essie grabbed my hand, shoved four of my thick fingers into her perfect, warm mouth, and sucked every bit she could while she rode me.
“Say something,” I urge. I’ve been pacing in front of Lander’s couch where they’re seated, but I stop in my tracks and so does Pierre, Lander’s golden retriever, who’s been pacing with me. “Say literally anything.”
Everett clears his throat in that measured, elegant way of his—a holdover from when he was a budding congressman from a long line of American politicians. “That,” he begins, selecting and measuring his words with the utmost care as his green eyes drift back to the laptop, “is the most athletic sex I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“ Fuck ,” I mutter, collapsing onto the couch next to Lander, who clasps his hand on my shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze.
“Is she okay?” he asks.
I shake my head before pausing and admitting, “Well, I don’t know. She texted me and asked to talk, but I didn’t respond.”
Lander squeezes my shoulder very hard. “Why not?”
“I’d left my phone at the bar and didn’t get it back until this morning. Plus, what am I supposed to say? Hey, super sorry I thought you wanted to fuck me, so I showed up unannounced and did, indeed, fuck you while dressed like a homicidal maniac, thereby undermining the unprecedented willpower I’ve been exercising for the last eleven months and subsequently putting our parents’ wedding in jeopardy, risking my job at Hannington-Hale, and potentially ruining the dynamic of our friend group for eternity?”
“You could say you also want to talk,” Everett replies, unruffled as usual. “You don’t actually have to say everything on your mind. You could—and I know I’m being radical here—filter some of it.”
“We talked,” I remind him. “I made it clear I’d never move past last night, and she made it clear she wanted me to leave. What’s left to say?”
“Plenty,” Lander chimes in again. “Essie is the most sensible person we know.”
“Maybe. But I don’t want to complicate things. She has a ton going on.”
Lander—a persistent motherfucker—shrugs and says, “So? Juggling a thousand responsibilities and still being sensible is her thing. She could be sinking in quicksand and would still have a rational response.”
“Hey. Don’t ever say shit about her being in danger,” I warn, glaring at him. “You’re going to manifest quicksand or something.”
“We live in the District of Columbia,” Everett comments, never one to pass up a chance to talk topography—even when it’s not the time, you deranged forest dryad . “Quicksand is unlikely unless you’re near an estuary—”
“I will estuary both of you—”
“That’s simply not a verb,” Lander interjects.
“Can we focus?” I question, clapping my hands together loudly enough to make them flinch. “Let’s finish talking about how I made my camboy debut with one of our best friends. After that, you two can go beat off to topographical features and parts of speech or whatever.” I slump back on the couch. “How screwed am I?”
“It’s not that bad,” Everett offers, reaching over to pet Pierre, who always gravitates toward him. “You were wearing masks, neither of you said each other’s names, and it was dark.”
“That’s not the problem. I don’t care if anyone sees me.”
“Well, that’s good then,” he mentions, nodding.
“I don’t care because I look amazing ,” I continue. “Objectively mouthwatering. Why would I care?”
“Sure, sure,” Everett agrees, nodding harder.
“Frankly, I should have cammed sooner. Did you see how the camera loves me? I’m like—”
“We get it,” Everett interrupts, bringing his supportive nods to an abrupt halt. “You like showing cock. You know how special that makes you in this friend group? Literally not at all .”
“Yeah, fair,” I concede.
Everett raises his brow. “If you’re fine with baring it all, what’s the problem beyond the obvious mistake of railing a girl whose future kids are going to have the same grandparents as yours one day?”
“I didn’t…” I trail off. The lump in my throat hasn’t subsided since last night, and it’s difficult to swallow. I close my eyes, steadying myself before I say, “I didn’t want it to be like this.”
Like this .
The first time I saw Essie Romero, she was stuffing herself with a dildo while Valeria and Cora played with her boobs. It was a stream, which I’d come across via Lander, who sent me a link when he discovered the hot girl next door was actually a hot camgirl next door. Like any supportive friend, I wanted to vet Valeria and make sure she was right for my lifelong best friend/basically brother.
I’m lying. It was the tits.
But the link he sent was one of Valeria’s monthly collaborations with her two best friends, and I saw Essie—Emerald X—for the first time.
It was all over for me the moment I laid eyes on her.
It was more than the plumpest pair of red lips I’d ever seen, or her perfect, round breasts with those cute, puffy nipples. It was more than the landing strip of light brown hair on her glistening wet pussy.
Really, it was the way she moaned.
I wouldn’t trade my dick for anything, but I know it’s not for everyone. I’ve made enough women uncomfortable and even had a few reconsider me once they saw my size. But there was Essie with her legs spread and her hand nearly blurry while she worked herself with a humongous, flesh colored toy. She was moaning like it was transcendent.
Deep down, in a hard-learned way, I knew she wasn’t faking. Emerald X—Essie—loved that big shit.
From then on, I watched every week and tipped her like I was trying to become a majority shareholder. And months later, when Lander asked me to be his wingman, there was Essie—in a bar, of all places.
People always say, “Don’t meet your heroes,” but I met mine—and she was better than I imagined. She looked up at me, I looked down at her, and we smiled at each other.
Right then, experiencing a foreign feeling of astonishment, I knew I was in love with her.
Now, I breathe out slowly. “I thought the first time I slept with Essie would be different. I thought…. Guys, she didn’t even know it was me.”
Lander and Everett are both quiet in response.
I didn’t get to kiss her. I didn’t get to taste her. I didn’t get to gaze into her eyes while she came on me. I didn’t get to hold her afterwards. I didn’t get to tuck her in and fall asleep around her.
Silence unnerves me, and my friends know it, so when I shoot a pleading look at Lander, he immediately says, “I mean, look on the bright side. You two finally did it. And hey, if I’m being honest, I logistically didn’t think you guys could have sex since you’re practically a different species.” He holds up both hands. “But that was a misassumption, and that’s on me.”
From the opposite end of the couch, Everett releases one of his trademark heavy sighs. “Alright, so what outcome do you want?”
“In a perfect world, I’m not a hot mess, Essie doesn’t work at my bank, and the first time our parents ever meet is at our engagement dinner.”
“So, in a perfect world, the entire reality you have right now doesn’t exist,” Everett clarifies.
“Pretty much.”
“Look,” Lander begins, “I don’t understand what you and Essie have. If it were me, I would have fucked Valeria at the first reasonable opportunity—”
“That’s exactly what you did, Lan,” Everett mutters.
“—but I’m telling you to treat this delicately,” he finishes.
“I know. I know we can’t do it again, but it kills me.”
“It’s that bad, Dalt?” Everett asks. “You guys only did it once. If anything, screwing is just a few steps up from watching her while she cams.”
“I don’t watch her though.”
Lander draws his head back. “ What? ”
I shrug. “I stopped subscribing once I met her.”
“Why?” he demands, voice nearly cracking. “For the love of god, why?”
I glance between Lander and Everett. “I didn’t want to overstep since we were becoming friends,” I answer, trailing off as I move further along my sentence. “Didn’t you stop once—”
“Nope.” Lander shakes his head. “Literally didn’t even occur to me.”
“I once pulled an all-nighter watching Cora’s old streams,” Everett adds.
“I started watching more , actually,” Lander muses.
And then Pierre rests his head on my thigh, which makes me think he’s pitying me.
My jaw lowers. “Well, why didn’t you guys tell me?”
“We were busy with our camgirls,” Lander answers, smirking. He checks his phone. “Hey, Cora says she’s with Valeria and they’re bringing Essie over.”
“Valeria still hasn’t found her phone?” Everett asks.
“Nope. She’s been tracking it though. Last night, whoever stole it brought it to Penn Quarter.”
“Asshole,” Everett mutters while I shift in my seat.
Penn Quarter—my neighborhood. Oops.
“Anyway, Dalt,” Lander continues, “be normal. Don’t make it a big deal, and it won’t be a big deal.”
Right then, the door opens to reveal Valeria, Cora, and Essie—and Essie looks so gorgeous. Her long hair drapes over her shoulders, and the soft brown of her eyes offsets the gold in her skin, which is tinged pink from the brisk November morning.
She was supposed to be mine. For a few minutes last night, I really thought she was mine.
“I love you,” I blurt out as soon as our eyes connect.
“Jesus, Dalton,” Everett mutters, propping his elbow on the arm of the couch and pressing his palm against his forehead while Lander sighs and hisses, “Come on.”