Whipped (Hitched #2)

Whipped (Hitched #2)

Karpov Kinrade




ABOUT WHIPPED


I love sex. I used to be a professional Dominatrix by day and a recreational Dom by night. Now I co-own a sex shop by day. I still do the Dom thing by night, when I can.

So, yeah, I love sex. But I'm not a sub. That's never been me. I like to maintain control in the bedroom. That gets me off.

But when the guy I've been chatting up online as a potential roommate shows up at my condo dripping sex and temptation... let's just say I might be open to trying new things... if his playboy ways don't drive me insane, and if I can do the one thing I've never done for anyone.

Surrender.

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. But when you live here full time... that's not much comfort, is it?

Whipped (Vi's story) is a sexy, full-length, stand-alone romance in the Hitched series. These books can be read in any order, but you might also enjoy Hitched, the first book in this series. Content Warning: This book contains sex, swearing... and did we mention sex? Lots of sex. And abs. And Australian accents.





CHAPTER 1





VI


I pull a black 14" dildo from the box at my feet and place it front and center on the table, moving tubes of lube, a set of handcuffs and an assortment of butt plugs to the side. "I've got a feeling we're going to sell this bad boy today," I say to Zoe, who's checking our front window display.

When she laughs it's like perfectly pitched bells ringing. Like what Tinker Bell might sound like in a mostly full-grown adult body. I say 'mostly' because my business partner and friend struggles to hit 5' even in heels.

She practically skips over, her vibrant purple lips matching her pixie hair, smiling widely. "Looks great. I will be very impressed with the woman—or man—who goes home with that."

"You and me both!" I check the clock, a red retro thing we found at an estate sale. "Time to open."

Whipped is our baby. After some minor ennui on my part with my job as a full-time Dominatrix, I realized I was ready for a new challenge, and the timing was perfect for Zoe and me to create an intimate, fun, trendy and educational adult toy store in a town that can never have too much adult fun.

If you can't sell a dildo in Vegas, you're doing it wrong.

Our instincts proved true and six months in, business is booming. Unfortunately, stocking a store with the best products isn't cheap. We both emptied our savings into Whipped, and while we know we'll eventually break out of the red, we have to eke by until then.

As if reading my mind, Zoe hands me a stack of mail. I shuffle through it, frowning. "More bills. Must our vendors always insist on getting paid? It's uncharitable," I say in a mock southern accent, dramatically sweeping my red hair off my shoulder and channeling my best Scarlett O'Hara.

Zoe taps her metallic purple nails on the counter. "It truly is. You'd think having the privilege of selling to sexy, adorable, brilliant women such as ourselves would be enough. What has the world come to?"

I grin and wink at her as I drop the demanding envelopes into a file behind our register. "We'll figure it out."

She nods. "I know. In the meantime, how's the hunt for a roommate coming?"

At the reminder I check my phone and see another email from "Inferno12." I laugh at a lame joke involving clowns he sent and confirm our meeting for tonight. "I might have found someone," I say. "I haven't met him yet, but he seems nice and we get along online. I'll know by tomorrow, though at this point I'd likely rent to the evil clown from American Horror Story to get Mr. Harris off my back."

She pats my hand sympathetically. "Another person who insists on being paid what they're owed?"

I laugh. "It's outrageous."

The bell above our door rings and Zoe disappears into the back to finish inventory while I smile warmly at the grandmotherly woman shyly looking around. I give her space and take a moment to gauge what she thinks she's here for, and what she's actually here for. There's usually a difference, even if the customer doesn't yet know it.

She's in her 70s, I'd guess, with short, halo-like, white permed hair and a pastel pantsuit paired with a floral blouse. She clutches her beige purse against her stomach like she's not sure why she came in, but I see her eyes light up as she looks around. I'm guessing she's either recently widowed and ready to explore her own sexuality, or she's in a new relationship. She's mostly looking at our books, but I see her eyes flicker to the center display I just set up.

I walk over to her, my body language relaxed, warm, open. "Hello. I'm Vi, co-owner here. Is there anything I can help you find?"

"Thank you, young lady. I… well, I guess I have some things I want to try while I'm still around and kickin'. And I heard lovely things about your store."

I send a heartfelt thank you to whoever talked us up as I smile at her. "Are you looking for something for yourself or for you and a partner?" I gently guide her around the store as we talk, gauging how she responds to the different toys, creams, lotions and lingerie on display.

"Just for me. My husband died about a year ago, and I've been feeling this… itch? Does that make sense?"

I rest a hand on her arm. "Of course it does. It's completely natural and healthy to want to express your sexuality and enjoy it."