Billionaire Beast

“I’m going to come!” Yoga Chick yells, and I’m just hoping she’s not a squirter for reasons which should be obvious, given her positioning.

“I’m going to come!” Buzzed Girl yells back.

I’m starting to wonder if they’re just trying to verbally outdo one another, right up until the moment I can feel both sets of legs shaking and the muffled sounds of their groans as they kiss somewhere above me.

This is one of those times I wish I could congratulate myself for a job well done, but honestly, I’m not sure I have more than a mechanical part in any of it right now.

When the two finally separate, I can barely hear them, as Yoga Chick’s thighs are still quivering against each side of my head.

That, mixed with their continued vocalizations, is almost loud enough that I don’t hear it.

“Breann, I told you to turn your cell phone off,” one of them says to the other.

I wish I could tell which one says it, but my field of vision is somewhat restricted at the moment.

“It’s not mine,” whichever one is Breann answers.

“Shit,” I say—if you can call what I’m doing right now talking. “It’s mine.”

Yoga Chick raises herself off of me just enough to ask, “What?”

“That’s mine,” I tell her. “I’m sorry, but I really have to get that.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Buzzed Girl says, still grinding her hips against mine, pushing me into her again and again, so deep.

“It could be about my apartment,” I tell her. “If I don’t answer, someone else might get it.”

Yoga Chick sighs and lifts herself enough for me to angle my upper body toward the edge of the bed.

Buzzed Girl takes this as an opportunity to get one up on her roommate, and only rides me harder.

I pull the phone out of my pants pocket, just hoping that it’s not my mom calling to see if I’ve found a new place to live yet.

I’m not a total neophyte to the city, but my last apartment, well, let’s just say things kind of got complicated with the roommate.

“If you don’t get the apartment, you can stay in my room,” Yoga Chick says, running her hands down the front of my body.

“Oh, hell no,” Buzzed Girl retorts. “If he’s staying with anyone, he’s staying inside of me.” She giggles.

The slip was clearly intentional.

“Shh,” I whisper. “This is Dane Paulson,” I answer the phone.

I can only hope that whoever’s on the other end can’t hear Yoga Chick lifting Buzzed Girl—by the ass, mind you—off of my cock, or the mostly-self-satisfied tone she exudes as she works me inside of her.

“Dane, yeah,” an only vaguely familiar voice answers, “I just wanted to let you know that my first three choices were unavailable, so it looks like the room is yours.”

“Thank you,” I say, trying not to sound anywhere near as relieved as I am to hear the news.

As fun as this whole thing is tonight, I really don’t want to be anywhere near either one of these women in the cold, sober light of day.

“Oh, that’s it!” Yoga Chick gasps as I start working my thumb over her swollen bud.

“What was that?” the woman on the phone asks.

I really need to get better with names.

“Nothing,” I answer. “When should I plan on moving in?”