The Dirty Book Club(42)

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DAN ENJOYED A finger in the ass while he was getting a blow job, particularly right as he was about to come. But unlike M.J.’s past lovers, Dan was a quiet climaxer, so the moment often came and went before she could capitalize on it. Sure, the sudden hitch of his breath was a reliable indicator—a call to action for the dutiful girlfriend who aimed to please—but aiming anything in there seemed more sinister than sexy. It was so fleshy and damp. A sea anemone’s suction with a toothless hooker’s grip. And so M.J. blamed all those unfortunate missed opportunities on Dan’s muted orgasms and managed to look herself in the mirror just fine.

But thanks to Addie, Fat & Natural could do the dirty work for her.

So M.J. burrowed under the covers and took Dan in her mouth. She played with his balls, worked his shaft, and flicked her tongue expertly against the head of his cock. She did everything and all at once while listening for that sudden hitch. When she heard it, M.J. powered up Fat & Natural, introduced its vibrating tip to Dan’s clenched asshole, and—

At the Riley residence . . .



* * *



BRITT SLAMMED HER head against her daughter’s Hello Kitty pillowcase, as if the jolt could summon the return of happier times: Paul home from work smelling like soil and sweat . . . family dinners in the tree house . . . sex in the garage while the kids were asleep . . . At the very least, maybe the jolt would shatter her eardrums so she couldn’t hear Paul snoring in their bedroom.

How many times did she beg him to wear those Breathe Right nasal strips? See a sleep specialist? Widen the airways in his throat with uvulopalatopharyngoplasty? But the more Britt lobbied for change, the more Paul stayed the same.

She gazed up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on Margot’s ceiling and thought of the Brazilian. Though they’d only slept together since Marrow and no one actually slept, she could tell his airwaves were unobstructed. And if they weren’t, he was the kind of guy who would do something about it. He didn’t get those shoulders from working a TV remote. Those were the shoulders of a man who thrived on heavy lifting. Lifting that included, but was not limited to, hoisting Britt onto the Kahangs’ washing machine twenty minutes before she showed their home to a potential buyer. God, it was hot.

Britt sighed with her entire body. She couldn’t believe she cheated on Paul with a nameless, hairless stranger. Her! At the same time, why hadn’t she done it sooner? Paul’s indifference was so much easier to tolerate when she was getting attention from someone else. Not to mention the amount of money she had wasted on antidepressants and shrink appointments. The Brazilian’s latest text alone was enough to flood Britt with serotonin, maybe even eliminate her need for caffeine.

She read it again:

Watching u tonight made my dick hard. Jerking off now. Thinking of ur ass in those tight white jeans.

Britt opened Addie’s gift bag.



* * *



M.J. CAME TO with an ice-filled Ziploc on her forehead. Her ears were buzzing. She assumed it was a concussion until she realized that Fat & Natural had been knocked off the bed and was now vibrating against the wood floor.

“What happened?”

“My knee slammed into your frontal lobe,” Dan said. “It was a reflex. I wasn’t prepared for something that big. I’m sorry.”

To prove it, he slid down her naked body and spread her legs, giving M.J. what she would refer to as “the best apology ever.”



* * *



TO JULES, THE female orgasm was like winning the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes; something that happened to a blessed few, not her. But what if that thing under her bed was the answer? What if it worked?

Jules banished the thought from her perverted mind. It’s not that she was opposed to sex toys, per se. She was a live-and-let-live kind of gal. It’s just that something about it felt like cheating, only worse, because poor Brandon was sick.

Maybe it would be easier if Fat & Natural didn’t look so realistic—not that Jules had much to compare it to. Brandon’s penis was her only penis, and it was more fit than fat. Actually, it was thin, but Brandon never liked being called thin. Trim, yes. Athletic, yes. But never thin. Also, his penis had a slight left curve as if it was peering around a corner to see what it was missing. Which, in this case would be his wife, making love to a rubber phallus that was not his. And Jules couldn’t betray him like that. She needed to keep her deranged curiosities at bay. She needed to pray for Brandon’s stomach. She needed rest so she could be alert for her meeting with Piper Goddard.

Even if Jules wanted to try it, and she wasn’t saying she did, she’d be lost. The back of the box mentioned an “easy to control interface” and “three stimulation modes” but where were the instructions? If she was going to try it, and she wasn’t saying she would, Jules needed the facts. Was it loud, how far “in” did it go, and was she at risk for electrocution?

“Hello, Siri,” Jules whispered into her iPhone. “How do you use a vibrator?”

“Okay, I found this on the Web for How do you use a vibr—”

Jules silenced her at once.



* * *



BRITT LOADED THE batteries into the base of the balls and conjured an image of the Brazilian in what she hoped was his current state: jeans around his sturdy ankles, stroking his shaft, bucking wildly as if she were on top of him . . . She exhaled the day and then lowered the vibrator past her Soul Cycle T-shirt, over the front of her boyshorts, and—