“Magic button?” I ask, almost absently. “Blowie?”
“You know, the spot behind your balls? Makes the cock erupt like Mount St. Helens in a matter of moments,” she tells me bluntly.
“Jesus, Freedom,” I whisper, shoving my shirt back into my pants, and spending several long seconds making sure my shirt buttons and the fly of my trousers line up perfectly.
“What? Did it not work?”
I open my mouth to argue but can’t seem to find the words. Did it work? Does the sun rise in the east and set in the west?
You know it.
“We should get back out there,” I tell her, adjusting my tie in the mirror. It has a slight wrinkle where she grabbed it, which is funny, but I don’t recall her pulling on my tie at all. But I know she has this thing for it, and always has her hands on it, straightening or smoothing the soft material.
“We should,” she says, a broad smile on her face. She looks beautiful. Happy. Carefree. I’m not sure what comes over me, but I wrap my arms around her and press my lips against hers. The kiss is tender, almost sweet, but causes a stir in my pants just the same. I never would have thought I could get hard so quickly, but here I am, starting to feel the tightness in my groin once more.
“Freedom,” I start, trailing open-mouthed kisses across her jaw. “We shouldn’t…”
She grabs me by the crotch and squeezes, making me jump. “We definitely should,” she sasses, biting my jaw. “Tonight. I’ll let you return the favor.”
My cock jumps at the thought.
“Come on, Sammy. Let’s get back out there.” Freedom takes me by the hand, throws the curtain back, and steps out. I’m right behind her and slam into her back when she stops. Glancing up, I see the reason for the sudden halt.
“Samuel?”
I stare back at my sister and brother-in-law. They’re both wearing a surprised look that’s quickly replaced with humor. “Dude,” Latham mumbles, nodding down to my pants.
When I glance that way, I find my zipper down. “Shit,” I murmur, rapidly zipping my fly.
“Do I even want to know what you two were doing in my dressing room that would result in your zipper being down?” my sister asks, unable to meet my eyes.
She glances at her best friend, who just shrugs. “A blowie.”
Harper’s jaw drops to the floor as Latham bursts into laughter.
“Freedom!” I chastise.
“What?” she asks, glancing my way. “We were talking the other day about the magic button behind the balls, and I’m happy to report, it works just as well as you said it would.” Freedom looks at Harper and nods happily.
“Oh, yeah, the magic button,” Latham coos, smiling from ear to ear.
“Totally works!” Freedom replies to him, excitedly.
“Don’t I know it.” To my sister, he says, “Maybe we should slip into the dressing room and you can press the magic button.”
I clear my throat and straighten my necktie. “I really don’t need to hear that.”
“And I don’t really need to see you coming out of my dressing room with your fly down and that just got a blowie look on your face,” Harper retorts with a smirk.
Quickly turning to Freedom, I tell her, “I should get back to work. I’ll, uh, see you tonight?”
“Definitely,” she sings, smiling widely as she walks my way. “I’ll make dinner tonight, and then you can have me for dessert.” With a wink, she heads off to get back to work, leaving me standing in the middle of the boutique with a smile and a hard-on.
“Gross,” Harper says before kissing her husband and heading off to work.
Latham smiles, watching her go. Before he makes his way back to his own business, he leans in and whispers, “So, the magic button. No shame in barely lasting when that’s pushed. Happens to the best of us.” He slaps me on the back and heads back to the hardware store.
I can feel the burn of mortification on my cheeks, but after one last glance at Freedom before I slip out the door, I’m surprised that’s not what accompanies me back to work.
It’s the thought of dessert.
***
It’s been a long day. Two families arrived almost simultaneously to plan funerals, and each one took time. Elma was there and helped, but all I kept thinking about was how great Freedom and I work together. Elma’s well past retirement age, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if Freedom were there all the time. Well, it’d be chaotic, I’m sure, in true Freedom fashion. But it would also be enjoyable and soothing having her close day in, and day out.
I pull into my driveway and park my car beside her beat-up old POS. She really needs a new car. Something more reliable. However, if I know her as well as I think I do, she won’t accept one as a gift, nor will she openly talk about it, unless it’s her idea first.
When I reach the door, I go to slide my key into the lock when I find it slightly ajar. Worry steals my breath as I gently push the door open. “Freedom?”
“Hey!” she bounces down the hallway, a load of laundry in her arms.
“Why was the door open?” I ask, stepping inside and closing it securely behind me. Then, I throw the lock.
“It was?”
“Yes,” I tell her, a hint of annoyance in my tone. “You can’t leave the front door standing wide open, Freedom. Did you know more than 325,000 houses are still broken into a year? Even with security systems and those fancy doorbells that take video. That’s every thirteen seconds, Free.”
She’s staring at me across the room, her eyes wide. She doesn’t say anything for several seconds, not an argument or even a roll of her beautiful eyes. She just stands there, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s okay. “Free?”
Suddenly, she drops the dirty clothes she was
