Brothers share a willing girlfriend.
Guys-rough-looking guys, when I was feeling like being handled roughly-were working my vanity and playing a yelled-out guessing game of what movie star I looked like while I danced and stripped for them-with a few actually coming up with the name of the matinee idol of years gone by who was, in fact, my father.
I'd obviously made an impression on their libido and they on mine, because here I was, in my bed, next to a lightly snoring biker type with a nice fat dick. I almost regretted that I didn't remember what we did here that tired him out so much that he was sleeping in my bed. It couldn't be much beyond 11:00 PM, I didn't think, gauging from the noises that were coming up from the street.
That part had amazed me when I moved in here-discovering that it didn't take me more than two weeks for my internal clock to set to the differences in the types and volume of sound coming up from the canyon-like New York street. That I didn't need any other clock.
And thinking about the time told me why I was hearing the buzzing off and on.
"Shit," I muttered and turned over toward my nightstand to where I was sitting on the edge of the bed, feet on the cold, dusty tiled floor. A new cell phone. I wasn't used to the ring tone I'd set it to.
I picked the cell phone up and hit the talk button. Didn't even have the chance to say anything.
"Clint, where the hell are you? I've been ringing for an hour."
"Uh, sorry, Chief. Not feeling well; decided to give it a pass, but forgot to call before I hit the sack."
I nearly added a yelp. My answering the cell had awakened the giant, and he had rolled over toward me and had an arm around me. One hand was on my cock and the other one was running under me, snaking between my butt cheeks, a finger pressing up into my hole. I slapped at the hand encasing my cock, and I felt the bed shift as he snorted and rolled over on his back again. The other hand stayed where it was, though, and I felt a second finger pushing into my channel. Visions of memory hit me of earlier-mostly the vague sensation of feeling, though. He had been good with his cock, very good. The memory was almost of more than just his cock in there, a counterpistoning. I didn't wonder why we'd both been exhausted enough to doze off.
"Danny told me that would be the case." Burton was saying into my ear. "He isn't surprised and sore. He said you could catch him on his bachelor's party for the next marriage. Reminded me it's Brad's birthday."
"Thanks. Tell Danny thanks-and that I'll toast him alone some day this week. And sorry, Chief. You're right. I guess I just couldn't party today."
I felt guilty about that, about giving the chief the impression I was alone and just in a funk I wanted to handle in solitary. Obviously, I could party. A vision of the guy on my bed on his back and me straddling him and riding his shaft hard blew through my mind. I was hardening right up and knew what I'd be doing when I clicked the phone off. I was partying. But not in the "new beginnings" way the guys from the squad were partying. I was doing it my own way, my own self-pitying way, I had to acknowledge. But it was my way. And I was hooked into it, even though some of my friends, meaning the best, told me it was self-destructive behavior.
"Won't be toasting him this week," the chief of NYPD Homicide said. "Got a call after you left. You might pack your bags tonight. You'll be going out West tomorrow night. A special assignment. Your specialty. I'll tell you about it when you come to headquarters tomorrow."