Favor: A BWWM Billionaire Romance

1

Alyssa

Oh, god. Here we go again.

As usual, I’m annoyed yet riveted by one of my neighbors as her sexy time approaches.

I sometimes hear sounds of sex coming from the apartment unit right next door, but I can actually see into a unit of the building next to mine.

The woman who lives there never closes her curtains all the way, so if I wanted to, I can watch her go at it whenever she gets it.

I try not to, especially since I suspect me watching her is exactly what she wants, but it’s too tempting sometimes, and right now is one of those times.

I pretend to close my blinds as she pulls a man into her bedroom, but I leave it open enough to peek through a little, in a way I hope can’t be detected, but probably is; if I can see out, they can probably tell I’m peeking, right? But the horny couple will be too busy getting busy to notice me.

My eyes widen and I lick my lips in anticipation of the show.

The young blonde has already stripped her top off and is standing around in her hot pink panties, watching the dark-haired guy take off his clothes. His eyes are trapped on her perky tits as he does so, and my own eyes end up going straight to his erect cock as he pulls his pants down.

The blonde wriggles out of her panties and the two come together in an embrace, their naked bodies pressed against each other while their mouths meet.

They kiss for a few moments, his large hands sliding over her back then gliding down her ass cheeks. He cups and squeezes them while they kiss, the contrast of his tanned, masculine hands on her smooth, pale butt striking.

When they break away to head to the bed, it’s as if they’ve done this dance before and are working through the choreography: the blonde flops onto the middle of the bed and gets on her back, spreading her legs open for him, her shaved pussy welcoming him.

The guy positions himself at the foot of the bed, bent over it enough so that his head’s above her smooth nether lips.

His tongue darts out to lick her flesh, and she lets out a moan and leans back a little. He keeps licking her while she writhes beneath him, moaning and gasping as he kisses and tickles her core.

The whole thing has my body going insane. I’m horny and helpless to a degree—I have no boyfriend or friend with benefits who can help me out.

All I’ve got are my fingers, so I play with myself while watching the lucky couple’s prelude.

Fuck my pussy, the girl begs, but the guy seems to latch onto her cunt with more determination, driving her nuts. She thrashes and twists, her generous boobs jiggling. Then she gets wilder, her hands going to his head and holding onto it as she thrusts hard, fucking his face.

Then guy suddenly pulls his mouth away from her center, only to climb over her and line up their parts.

I want you to come on my dick, he says before pushing his cock inside her, his ass cheeks squeezing hard with the motion.

She cries out, and I try to turn away again but I can’t—I can’t stop looking at his thick cock plugged into her slit, his ass bobbing up and down as he thrusts and thrusts into her, his long cock moving in and out of her pussy.

The girl fondles her big breasts as she takes his dick, and I finger myself frantically, feeling sort of guilty but too horny to feel terrible about my actions.

I time the thrusts of my finger in my virgin pussy with the guy’s thrusts, and before the couple is done, I come hard, my inner walls pulsing against my finger.

A few moments later, the blonde comes loudly, then the guy follows her shortly after that, grunting his orgasm as he pushes against her a few more times.

Deep shame finally hits me, and I pull my finger out of my warm, slick entrance and head to the bathroom to clean myself up.

I sigh, deeply disappointed in myself and frustrated with all of my circumstances.

I can’t keep doing this.

Between the tumbleweeds of my love life, my exhibitionist neighbor, the annoying rotating guests of the BNB nearby, and the sense of stagnancy my current job gives me, something has to change.

I finally quit my job yesterday, and I’m not sure what I’ll do exactly, but something tells me to move to New York.

I begin researching places to live and quickly realize my options are limited for the standard of living I’m used to.

One of my best options is to live with someone temporarily, something I’m not keen on, but I’ll do whatever’s necessary to help me get to the next stage in my life. Push come to shove, I’ll live with a stranger, but I’d much rather live with someone I know.

I try to think if there’s anyone I know planning to move to New York or already living there and possibly open to a temporary roommate.

I’m not even sure how long I’ll need, but I have to take the first step, and from there, one step at a time.

I check social media for East Coast clues. My Facebook friend list yields no promising possibilities, but Instagram does.

Excitement surges through me.

Lucky me—my old friend Naya is currently living there! I’m not sure why she didn’t spring to mind in the first place.

She and I used to be close in junior high and high school, but she ended up dropping out in eleventh grade and I stopped hearing from her shortly after that.

She’d gotten scouted and whisked away to begin a career in high-fashion modeling, and I wasn’t surprised at all when she told me about the whole thing. Not only was she 5’9", but she was striking, thin and proportionate, with tons of dark hair.

Plus, she had what some would call an ‘ethnically ambiguous’ look which makes her a chameleon—she can be slotted in anywhere. With her dark eyes, wavy, dark hair, and olive complexion, she could easily pass for Italian, Middle-Eastern, Hispanic, and more.

I know the truth—her mom’s Afro-Brazilian and her dad’s white—but she lets people think whatever they want, and since she’d fit right in among Eva Longoria and Mendes types, most usually figure she’s ‘Latina.’ It was kind of hilarious because she sucked at Spanish, and she only knows a bit of Portuguese from her mom, yet people would approach her speaking Spanish often, thinking she was one of them. She once told me she’d work on improving her Spanish so she could go along with that lie. Besides, it could help me book roles when I eventually transition to acting.

Back then, she’d only wanted to be an actress, but so far, life has decided otherwise so she struts her stuff on runways and poses for various brands.

I flip through Naya’s Instagram feed, getting distracted by her hypnotizing pics. She really is insanely beautiful, and so are her friends—or whoever she takes her group pics with. Other models, obviously, since they’re all skinny and seem to know just how to pose to highlight their best angles.

I reconsider messaging her. Has it been too long? Are we no longer friends since we haven’t spoken in years?

We stayed close when she first started her modeling journey, but at some point—by the time we were eighteen—no more communication between us. Not because of a falling out or anything—our paths just naturally diverged. I was getting ready for the next part of my own journey by then with high school graduation on the horizon and college plans.

And now, after getting my bachelor’s in advertising and marketing internships under my belt, I’m now jobless after quitting my entry-level position.

I stare at Naya’s smiling profile photo.

It’s been over four years since we last talked, and sending her a DM will definitely be a shot in the dark—her number changed years ago, so I don’t have a direct contact for her. She’s got a million followers and probably gets messages all the time—from strangers, friends, family, and acquaintances alike.

Does she take time to sift through? Does someone else do it for her?

Guess if this doesn’t work, I might try to get her new number from her mom.

It takes several tries, but I finally figure out a message I feel good about sending her.

Naya, Naya, Pants on Fire—how are you? It’s been a while, but I’m glad all seems well with you. I don’t want to bother you. I just have a question about New York—looks like you still live there. Love, Lyssa.

I feel kind of silly now, referencing something from our childhood like that but it’s too late.