Whipped (Hitched #2)(11)

"No. I'm not wondering." Not even a little. But his hands are big.

God.

He winks at me, grabs his keys and kisses my cheek. "Thanks for the hangover cure. I owe you. Have a great night. I won't be back ‘til morning."

He leaves me standing there, his kiss still burning my cheek and sending warmth through my body as I consider what I will do the rest of the evening.

I wander to the kitchen table and piece together a few bits of the puzzle. There are times I can get lost in this, in the intricate shapes and the way only certain pieces fit together. You can't force a piece to fit. Some come close, and might look good initially, but if it isn't a perfect match the bigger picture will be ruined.

Tonight, however, the puzzle isn't holding my attention.

I consider cleaning the apartment. It's already a mess again. I pick up a few dishes and put them in the sink, but that's as far as I get. Cleaning isn't really my favorite thing in the world.

I could read, but I'm in between books and don't have the energy to dive into something new.

Damn Lachlan. He's distracting me, and I don't like being distracted.

In a moment of inspiration, I remember my impromptu purchase of that new dildo that's still in my purse, and I reach for it, pull it out of the packaging and stare at it. It vibrates, has a clit stimulator and is purple. It should do the job just fine.

I kick off my boots, unzip my leather skirt and slip out of it, pull off my blouse and sink into the shabby chic living room chair, spreading my legs as I imagine…

Lachlan.

Fuck.

Whatever. This is my private fantasy, privy to no one else. I let myself have it. The fantasy of those long fingers, those soft lips, and all the other parts I imagine are quite effective. I'm wet and swollen, ready to be filled as I slip the dildo inside of me. The vibration rubs against my clit, and I squeeze a nipple as I surrender to the fantasy that Lachlan is inside of me. His hands on my tits. His lips on my neck. I climax, moaning and—

The door to the condo swings open. Lachlan stands there, his eyes wide, a bulge appearing quite suddenly in his pants. "Holy f*ck!" he says, still staring.

Oh my f*cking God. "Get out! What the f*ck! Get out! Close your eyes!" I'm scrambling to find something to cover me, but there's nothing but a throw pillow.

It takes him a moment but he closes his eyes finally.

"Now get out."

"I can't f*cking see," he says, still standing there.

"Too bad. What are you even doing here? I thought you wouldn't be back until morning!"

"I forgot some of my bag," he says. He stumbles around the room and manages to grab his backpack by the door. Before I can get my clothes back on he turns around, his eyes open now. "You know, if you ever want the real thing—"

Motherf*cker. I throw my dildo at him and he catches it in one hand and glances at it. "Huh. You might want to go bigger next time." Smirking, he drops the purple cock on the counter and walks out.





CHAPTER 6





LACH


I'm in a meeting with an elderly woman who might invest in my youth center. We're sitting at her high-end kitchen table in her old money mansion. And I'm as hard as a f*cking rock.

I blame Vi.

Miss Wallace and I were discussing renovating the Spacey Mall, when she suggested red for the furniture. Then I thought of Vi's hair.

Then I thought of her legs spread on the arm chair and… Anyway, I need to think of something else. I have an iron rod for a cock now, and it needs to go. When we conclude the meeting, Miss Wallace will want to shake my hand. Maybe even hug. You see the problem.

And if you don't, if you're thinking it can't possibly be that big, then I feel sorry for you. Men like me are out there. Trust me.

"Is everything okay, Mr. Pierce?"

I shuffle in my chair, trying to keep my knees from hitting the table and knocking my delicate tea cup over, saucer and all. "Yes. I was just thinking red is the perfect color."

A young Hispanic woman comes in from the kitchen and pours us more coffee. When her eyes catch my lap, she blushes and walks quickly out of the room.

Great.

Miss Wallace doesn't notice. She gives me a big smile. "So in conclusion…"

Fuck. I'm running out of time. I call to mind everything I know about losing an erection, tricks I learned in middle school.

Math.

2 + 2 = Vi.

Fuck.

Distraction. Nature. Trees.

A stick.

Vi and a dildo.

Fuck.

Imagining my best friend's grandmother.

Fuck no.

I discreetly pull out my phone, keeping it in my lap, and Google "how to get rid of boner."

Miss Wallace leans forward over her paperwork. "An important text message?"

I grin. "An emergency." The Google search provides an answer. Squeeze your thighs, and the blood will leave your erection. I give it a go. Huh. It actually works.

I stuff the phone back in my pocket. "It's handled."

"Great." She closes her folder. "Well, I think we're about done."

"So you're interested?"

"Very." She smiles. I smile back. With her support, I won't have to go on tour.