Chapter 1: The Drunken Confession
The first thing Ashlee became aware of was the scent: clean cotton, expensive cologne, and underneath it, the warm, sleep-softened smell of skin. Her skin. His skin. Her mind fumbled for the script of a normal morning, but the sensory inputs were all wrong. The pillow was too firm, the sheets too smooth. The light filtering through her eyelids was the wrong color—a pale, pre-dawn grey instead of the cheap yellow of her blinds.
Then came the tactile map. Her right arm was pinned beneath her, asleep. Her left arm was flung across a solid, warm plane. Her bare chest was pressed against the heat of a muscular back, the contact unmistakable and complete. She was, she realized with a dawning, icy horror, not wearing a top.
Memory crashed in like a cold wave. The disastrous date. The tears she couldn’t stop in the Uber. Kevin’s patient voice on the phone telling her to come straight up. The humiliating sob-story poured over a glass of his insanely priced Scotch. Him handing her one of his t-shirts to sleep in. She must have taken it off in the night, a habit from her own bed.
And the back she was currently using as a mattress warmer belonged to Kevin. Kevin, who was basically her brother. Kevin, who had seen her puffy-faced and snotty and had just listened, like he always did.
He shifted slightly in his sleep, a low, murmuring sigh escaping him. The movement did two catastrophic things. First, it made her acutely aware of the hard, defined muscles of his back against her breasts. Second, as he settled, she felt the firm, unmistakable pressure of his morning erection against her thigh.
Her heart instantly launched into a frantic, percussive rhythm against her ribs, loud enough she was sure it would wake him. Every cell in her body froze. If she moved, he’d wake up and they’d have to Acknowledge This. If she didn’t move, she might spontaneously combust from the sheer, agonizing awkwardness. The cool, minimalist room with its breathtaking city view felt like a trap.
This was it. This was the moment her pathetic life combusted. She had to defuse it. Say something normal. Something platonic and joke-y that would reset the universe.
Her mouth, operating on pure panic, opened.
“I don’t think I know how to give a good blowjob.”
The words hung in the still, grey air of the bedroom, vulgar and immense. Ashlee mentally detached from her body, floating somewhere near the ceiling, looking down at the ridiculous scene of the red-haired woman spooning the human god and announcing her sexual insecurities.
Kevin went very, very still. He was awake.
He cleared his throat, a rough, sleep-scratched sound. “That,” he said slowly, his voice a low rumble in his chest, “is not the morning greeting I was expecting.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “I panicked. I felt… and you were… and I just…”
“Hey.” Carefully, he turned onto his back, forcing her to roll onto her own space. She yanked the white duvet up to her chin, a shield. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling, a gentleman even in catastrophic circumstances. His profile was sharp against the grey light. “Ash. Breathe. It’s me.”
That was the problem. It was him.
“I just blurted out my deepest sexual insecurity to my best friend while I was topless and cuddling his boner,” she stated flatly, the mortification now a solid, heavy weight in her stomach.
A choked sound escaped him. It might have been a laugh or a gasp of pain. He ran a hand over his face. “Okay. When you phrase it like that, it sounds… suboptimal.”
“Suboptimal.” She dared a glance at him. He was still staring at the ceiling, but a faint, reluctant smile was playing on his lips.
“I was going to say ‘a fucking minefield,’ but I’m trying to be classy.” He finally turned his head on the pillow to look at her. His blue eyes were calm, familiar, and utterly devoid of the horror she felt. “First of all, physiological morning response. No control. Not relevant. Second, the shirt…?”
“I got hot,” she mumbled into the duvet.
“Fair. And third… why is that a deep-seated insecurity? What idiot told you that?”
The gentle curiosity in his voice undid her a little. It wasn’t pity. It was Kevin, solving a problem. “No one had to tell me. It’s just… obvious. I’ve had two boyfriends, Kevin. Two. And both of them… the enthusiasm sort of faded after a while. In that department. Greg literally patted my head once and said, ‘It’s okay, sweetie, not everyone’s a natural.’” She mimicked the condescending tone perfectly.
Kevin’s jaw tightened. “Greg was a finance bro with the emotional intelligence of a sock. His opinion on anything doesn’t count.”
“It counts when it’s about my mouth on his…”
“Nope.” He pushed himself up on one elbow, looking down at her. The duvet barrier between them felt tragically thin. “Here’s the truth, Ash. Any guy who isn’t an appreciative, groaning mess when a woman like you decides to go down on him is either a liar, an idiot, or has a medical condition requiring immediate attention. It’s not about technique. It’s about the fact that you are doing it. Enthusiasm trumps everything.”
She searched his face for any sign of placation. He was utterly serious. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m really not.” He fell back onto his pillow with a sigh. “But we are now having this conversation at seven in the morning in my bed, which is a new circle of hell for our friendship. Points for originality.”
A weak laugh bubbled out of her. The tension in the room shifted, thinning from a solid wall into something they could maybe navigate around. “So this doesn’t make you want to eject me from your penthouse via the balcony?”
“The thought crossed my mind,” he deadpanned. Then he smiled, a real one. “But then I’d have to make my own coffee. Up. We’re normalizing this. You get the first shower. I’ll start the coffee. We will have a completely normal, non-sex-talk breakfast like the mature, well-adjusted adults we are.”
He swung his legs out of bed, wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. Ashlee averted her eyes, but not before getting a full view of his tall, lean frame silhouetted against the huge windows, the early city lights twinkling behind him like a stolen constellation. He was effortlessly beautiful, and she was a mess of insecurities and bedhead wrapped in a duvet.
As he walked toward the door, he paused, not looking back. “And for the record, Ashlee? Any guy worth a damn would feel like he won the lottery just to have you in his bed. Topless or otherwise. Now hurry up, I’m hungry.”
The shower did little to wash away the feeling of his skin against hers, or the echo of her own stupid words in the quiet bathroom. She stood under the scalding spray, her forehead pressed to the cool tile, repeating it’s fine, it’s normal, it’s Kevin like a mantra. It didn’t stick.
Wrapped in one of his plush robes, she padded into the kitchen. The smell of coffee and frying bacon was a slice of normalcy. Kevin, now in grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, was at the stove. He looked infuriatingly at ease.
“See? Normal,” he said, flipping a pancake with a flick of his wrist.
She took a mug from him, their fingers brushing. A static spark jumped. They both ignored it. She sat on a stool at the massive island, watching the city wake up below. The silence was heavy, loaded with everything they weren’t saying.
She took a breath. Then another. The words she’d practiced in the shower died in her throat. This was insane. It was a line they could never uncross. But the humiliation of Greg’s patronizing pat, the gnawing doubt that sat in her gut every time she’d been with a man… it was louder than reason
“Come here. Big bro, this is serious.”
He turned the burner off. A slight hesitation, then he walked back to the island, leaning against it opposite her. His blue eyes were cautious. “What’s up, sis?”
She looked down into her black coffee, then up at him through her lashes. She patted the stool beside her. He sat.
Her heart was a frantic bird in a cage. “I need to ask you a one-time favor.”
“Name it.”
“Can you…” She swallowed, the words tasting like danger and desperation. “Can you show me what I’m doing wrong?”
He stared. The silence stretched, taut enough to snap. Then a slow, disbelieving smile spread across his face. He injected a note of pure, theatrical whimsey into his voice. “About a blowjob lesson?”
The blunt, silly phrase shattered the tension. A snort of hysterical laughter escaped her. He grinned. They both cracked, the absurdity of the situation hitting them at once. They laughed until tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, a release of every ounce of the morning’s unbearable weirdness.
But as the laughter faded, the question remained, hanging in the air between them, now stripped of its panic, laid bare.
Kevin’s smile softened, turned considering. He studied her face—the genuine plea in her eyes, the set of her shoulders. This wasn’t a prank. This was Ashlee, trusting him with a broken piece of herself.
“Okay,” he said, his voice quiet now, all whimsy gone.
“Okay?” she whispered.
“One-time favor. No strings. No judgement.” He stood up, took her hand. His was warm, solid. He led her not to the bedroom, but to the large, upholstered lounge chair by the window. He sat down. The dawn light painted him in shades of gold and grey.
He looked up at her, his expression unreadable. “It’s not a technical manual, Ash. It’s about connection. Even here, even like this.” He guided her to kneel on the soft rug between his spread legs. The position was intensely intimate, submissive. Her breath hitched.
“First, forget performance.” His hand came to rest lightly on the side of her head, not pushing, just present. “Your hands, use them.” He took her right hand and placed it on the inside of his thigh, high up. The heat of him seeped through the sweatpants. “Here. And here.” He moved her left hand to his hip. “Claim your space. You’re not a spectator.”
He was hard. The thick line of his erection was unmistakable beneath the soft grey fabric. Seeing it, feeling it under her palms, sent a shocking, wet pulse between her own legs.
“Now look at me.”
She dragged her gaze from his lap to his eyes. They were dark, focused, but still… Kevin.
“Good.” A slight, encouraging nod. “Now, if this were real, you’d touch. You’d tease. You wouldn’t just dive for the main event like it’s a job to finish.” His thumb stroked her cheekbone. “It’s a fucking privilege, Ashlee. Any man should feel that. Make him feel it.”
He guided her hand to the waistband of his sweatpants. Her fingers trembled. She hooked her thumbs in, and at his slight nod, she pulled them down just enough to free him.
He was magnificent. Thick, fully erect, the head dark and flushed. A drop of moisture gleamed at the tip.
A drop of moisture gleamed at the tip.
Ashlee’s brain short-circuited. The clinical idea of a ‘lesson’ vaporized, replaced by a raw, staggering reality. He was so much bigger than she’d imagined. Thick veins snaked along the length, the shaft a heavy, hot weight in her uncertain hand. The clean, salty male scent of him filled her head.
Oh god, it’s real. He’s letting me. He’s hard for this, for me, or for the situation, but it’s him. Kevin. What does that mean? Nothing. It means nothing. He’s helping. Stop thinking. Just… look. Her thumb, moving on its own, smeared the bead of pre-cum across the swollen head. The smooth skin there was impossibly soft. A sharp, involuntary gasp left her. Her own body was throbbing, a frantic, answering pulse between her legs that she ignored, walled off. This wasn’t about her.
Kevin’s head fell back against the chair with a soft thud. The sight of her fiery hair against his stomach, her small hand pale against his cock, was the most blatantly erotic thing he’d ever voluntarily allowed into his life. His mind split. One part remained the instructor, clinically observant. The other part was a red haze of pure, primal feeling. Her touch was clumsy, awed. It was fucking devastating.
“Use your mouth before you use your throat,” he said, his voice already gravel. “Get used to the feel, the taste. No one likes a teethy amateur.”
His blunt words were a lifeline. A rule to follow. Ashlee leaned forward, her hair cascading around them. She opened her mouth, let her tongue dart out to taste where her thumb had been. Salty. Musky. Uniquely him. A shiver wracked her frame.
Tastes like power. Like a secret I was never supposed to know. He’s letting me do this.
He’s letting me do this.
The thought was a wildfire in her skull, burning away hesitation. Her tongue flattened, licking a broad, slow stripe from the base to the tip. She heard the sharp intake of his breath above her, felt the muscles in his thighs tense under her palms.
He tastes like clean sweat and something darker, metallic almost. Like coins. My heart is going to crack my ribs. This is wrong. This is so wrong it’s making my entire body clench with a need I can’t name. Do it. Just do it. Show him you can learn.
She took the head into her mouth, her lips stretching into a tight ‘O’. The silky-smooth skin gave way to the iron-hard core beneath. She swirled her tongue around the crown, exploring the sensitive ridge.
Kevin’s hand fisted in her hair, not pushing, just holding. Jesus Christ. Her mouth is so fucking soft. And warm. I can feel her pulse in her temples against my thigh. This is my best friend. My weird, wonderful, ridiculous best friend who brings me weird rocks she finds and cries at dog food commercials. And her lips are wrapped around my dick. The cognitive dissonance is going to give me a stroke. But god… the feel of it. The taboo of it. It’s electrifying.
“Good,” he managed, his voice strained. “Now, more. Slow. Let your throat open up for it.”
Ashlee obeyed, sinking down an inch, then two. The thick intrusion triggered her gag reflex instantly. She pulled back, coughing, a string of saliva connecting her lip to his glistening shaft.
“Sorry, sorry,” she gasped, mortification flooding back.
“Stop apologizing.” His thumb wiped the corner of her mouth. His eyes were dark pools, the blue almost gone. “It’s a physical response. Breathe through your nose. Try again. Own it.”
He’s not disgusted. He’s… focused. Like this is a project. A fucking hot, insane project. I can own this. I want to own this. I want to make him forget how to say words.
She leaned in again, taking him deeper, focusing on her breathing. In through the nose, out through the nose. The stretch in her jaw was aching, glorious. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked.
A guttural groan ripped from Kevin’s chest. “Fuck, Ash. Right there.”
Encouraged, she began to move, establishing a rhythm. Up and down, her hand working the base in tandem with her mouth. The world narrowed to this: the salt-bitter taste of him, the heavy weight on her tongue, the sounds he made, the feel of his hipbones under her hands.
I’m doing this. I’m actually doing it. And he’s not patting my head. He’s groaning. He’s tugging my hair. Oh my god, his fingers are trembling. I did that. Me.
The dynamic shifted imperceptibly. The lesson dissolved into pure sensation. Kevin’s hips began to meet her movements with tiny, involuntary thrusts.
“Stand up,” he rasped suddenly.
Confused, she released him with a wet pop. He stood, a tower of tense muscle, his erection jutting out fiercely. Before she could process it, he had guided her onto her back on the plush rug. He straddled her chest, his knees on either side of her ribs, his naked body looming over her. The cityscape sprawled behind him, indifferent. His nine-inch cock was now positioned directly over her face, the head hovering just above her lips.
He’s so big from this angle. A mountain of flesh and vein. I’m pinned. He’s in complete control. A shiver of pure, unadulterated lust shoots through me, so sharp it aches.
Kevin looked down at her, her red hair fanned out, her lips swollen, her eyes wide. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. It was a Kevin she’d never seen—playful, dominant, utterly sure of himself.
“Okay, change of lesson plan,” he said, his tone dripping with faux-solemnity. “Pop quiz. What’s the capital of Nebraska?”
Ashlee blinked. “What? Lincoln. Kevin, what are you—”
“Correct!” he declared. He gave his hips a slight jerk, letting the heavy length of his cock slap against her cheek. It wasn’t hard, but it was a shock—intimate, degrading, bizarrely playful. “First prize.”
She burst out laughing, the sound strained through her surprise. “You’re insane!”
“Insane and winning,” he said, slapping her other cheek gently with his shaft. The absurdity of it was cosmic. Her best friend was spanking her face with his dick. “Say uncle, Rochards.”
He’s being whimsical. He’s turning this world-endingly weird thing into a game. Our game. My heart is so full of him it hurts. And I want to win. Instead of saying a word, she lifted her head from the rug, captured the tip of him with her mouth, and sucked him back in deeply.
“Cheater!” he laughed, the sound rich and full. But his laughter melted into a deep, resonant moan as she took him deeper, her nose now brushing the coarse hair at his base. Her throat. I’m inside my best friend’s throat. This is the most depraved, perfect thing I have ever felt. The trust of it. The sheer, audacious trust. She’s letting me.
He looked down, watching himself disappear into the wet, red heat of her mouth. His voice dropped, the whimsy tempered by a thick, emotional rawness. “Look at you. Jesus, Ashlee. You’re my best friend. I can’t believe I’m inside my best friend’s mouth.”
She hummed in response, the vibration wracking his body. Her hands came up to grip his taut ass, holding him there, urging him on.
He called me his best friend. With his dick in my mouth. It should feel wrong. It feels more right than anything ever has. This is Kevin. All of him.
“This changes nothing, you know that, right?” he murmured, his hands cradling her head now, thumbs stroking her temples. “We’re still us after this. Always friends.”
It was a plea, a promise, a incantation against the chaos they were conjuring. She nodded as best she could, her mouth too full to speak, her eyes locked on his.
Nothing changes. Everything changes. I’m falling in love with him right now. I’m choking on it.
The pace became urgent, desperate. Kevin’s control began to fracture. “I’m gonna come, Ash. Right down your fucking throat. Take it. Take all of it for me.”
His words were a trigger. Her body burned. He guided her head firmly, setting a brutal, final rhythm. Then, with a shattered groan that sounded like her name, he pushed down, hilting himself completely. She felt the thick head lodge deep in her throat, her lips pressed flush against his body. She couldn’t breathe.
She’s fully impaled. On me. I’m going to die. This is where I die.
He pinched her nose shut with his fingers.
The world went silent and dark for Ashlee. Her senses were obliterated by him—his taste, his smell, the fullness, the burning in her lungs. Then she felt the first powerful, volcanic pulse at the back of her throat.
It’s happening. Oh god.
Kevin came with a roar that seemed to shake the windows. Seven thick, hot spurts erupted from him, painting the deepest part of her throat, flooding her mouth with the bitter, alien taste of his release. She swallowed convulsively, instinctively, each gulp a submission, an acceptance.
When the last tremor passed, he released her nose and slowly, carefully, pulled himself out. She gasped, dragging in huge, ragged breaths, coughing slightly.
He collapsed onto the rug beside her, spent. They lay there in silence, the only sound their heaving breaths. After a moment, he propped himself up on an elbow. His eyes were soft, regretful, awed. He saw a glistening white trickle of his cum had escaped the corner of her lips and was sliding down her chin.
Gently, he wiped it with his finger. He held her gaze, a silent question in his own. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
He brought his finger to her lips. She opened her mouth, and he fed the taste of himself back to her.