If You Stay (Beautifully Broken, #1)(82)

What is a guy who does gigolo-ry in his spare time hung like?

I remind myself that I have no intention of finding out. I’m just curious.

Really curious.

Would he be smaller than the vibrator? The same size? Bigger??

Just the thought of that makes a little gush of warmth rocket through me, which really surprises me. I thought I’d lost this particular type of adrenaline long ago. Suddenly, I’m very excited by my new toy and the image of my soon-to-be escort. I’ve got visions of his sugar plums dancing through my head.

Oh god, you’re so twisted! That’s a Christmas reference!

But maybe something new, something naughty and forbidden, is just what I need to shake nearly two decades with a traitor. Fifteen wasted Christmases with a pathetic, lying husband. It’s time for a new and shiny Christmas, so maybe it’s just what the doctor (or Santa) ordered. The doctor, in this case, being Sara of course.

I rinse the new vibrator in hot water, deciding to name it Geronimo since I’m jumping into all sorts of new things. As it warms in my hands, I picture the super-hot Shade again. I think of having my own personal boy-toy, a sex slave with no other goal than to please me, to make all my fantasies come true.

To my complete surprise, within seconds of this wanton fantasy, my panties are damp. Holy crap. But this shouldn’t surprise me. I’ve spent almost two decades with someone who came in two minutes flat and then rolled over snoring within the next two minutes following. Obviously the thought of someone who is paid to dote on every sexual desire that I might have is…stimulating. Impulsively, I strip my panties off and walk half naked to the bed. In broad daylight.

I’m nervous.

Very nervous.

What if I get it stuck and Sophie comes home and finds me with a buzzing vibrator lodged in my vag and then she has to drive me to the hospital where I have to have it surgically removed?? And of course the scalpel would damage the nerves down there and I’d never be able to climax ever again.

I’m an idiot.

I know this.

I’m a sexually repressed idiot.

With a deep breath, I lie down on my back with my knees bent and I close my eyes again, picturing Shade. I flip the switch on the vibrator.

The beaver’s nose trembles against my leg and I laugh at the thought that a beaver is going to stimulate my beaver. Ha. I spin Geronimo until he is positioned right where he should be. It feels like ants crawling on me for just a second and I grit my teeth. But the very next second, I have gotten used to the feeling.

And holy-f*cking-pygmy-goats!

I have to suck in a breath to keep from gasping.

Sweet Mary Mother of God. A million shards of light are exploding in my crotch. All I need now is a Baptist choir to sing Hallelujah and jump around waving their hands in the air.

I suck in another breath and dare to move it a teench.

Dear God, if only it was Shade’s tongue!

I’m a dirty, dirty woman.

I’m fantasizing about a boy whose tongue is surely only in college. And the rest of him, too, of course. But I can’t help it. As Geronimo pushes me closer and closer to a precipice that I haven’t even approached in years (make that EVER), the fantasy hits me head-on and I don’t let shame stop me from having it.

I imagine that Shade has a youthfully ripped body—all tan and fit and flexible. It’s more beautiful than Rick the Dick ever was. Ugh. I cringe. Note to self: I can’t think about Rick the Dick if I don’t want my vag to implode on itself.

I focus on Shade again. I imagine what he would look like poised above me as he guides his enormous, perfect young penis into me. I imagine him sucking my nipples and pulling my hair in ecstasy as he pounds me like a bass drum at a Kiss concert.

I move Geronimo just a bit more.

Then a bit more.

And just like that, I come.

Merry Christmas to me.

As I lay in stunned, breathless satisfaction, I seriously think of texting Sara with my eternal gratitude.

Holy shit, girl! I think I love you.

Actually, I’m in love with Geronimo.

It’s the perfect penis: Huge, hard and unattached to the rest of a man who would only bring problems like a beer gut, hellacious gas and infidelity. I gaze at it fondly as I wash it again, then tuck it into my bedside stand.

Yep, I’m definitely in love.

With a happy sigh, I realize that for the first time, I’m looking forward to my date on Saturday night.

[page]********

“You look marvelous!” Sara says when I round the corner into the bedroom.

“I feel ridiculous.”

“Why? We are simply two wealthy women with trophy boy toys out for a night on the town at one of Vegas’s most luxurious night spots. Nothing to feel ridiculous about.”

“I’m dressed like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, only without the body for it,” I say, indicating my short, tight dress. “How did I let you talk me into buying this?”

“Well, I thought it might help things with Rick the Dick many moons ago, but this is an even better use. Besides, you look mouthwatering. You do too have the body for it.”

Standing up, she walks to me. She trails the fingertips of one hand down my cheek before she rakes her long fingernails through my hair.

“Such great hair,” she murmurs. “It’s a perfect dark color and it’s so shiny and full. You could be on a shampoo commercial. Seriously.” I roll my eyes and smile, but she interrupts me before I can even speak. “And your teeth!” she observes. “You’ve got perfect teeth. Blindingly white. Your smile almost makes me hate you. What man can resist that?”