by Misha Bell
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Still drunk?”
This again? I glare up at him. “I wasn’t drunk before. Even less so now.”
He pulls out the breathalyzer. “If you’re below point-zero-four, I’ll clear you for testing.”
Testing. Crap. I totally forgot about that. Do I want my alcohol to be low or high?
I blow into the gizmo.
“Good enough,” he says. “We can test—if you’re still up for it, that is.”
My cheeks turn redder than the Soviet flag. Can I back out of the testing now, after dragging us from the party under this pretext?
He might’ve been right earlier. I was drunk. How else to explain that bold invite?
I take a step back, frantically trying to think of ways to minimize the insanity of what’s about to happen. “We keep things professional.”
He steps toward me. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I’ll use the Kegel balls. This way, I keep my clothes on.” I feel like I just might fall through the floor as I say it.
He loosens his tie. “Is there a guy equivalent to those balls?”
“No. I mean, there’s the cock ring, but I imagine Dracula won’t fit inside your pants if—”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Dracula?”
I didn’t think I could redden more, but here we go.
Oh, well. Might as well fess up.
“I often nickname things.” I glance down at my chest. “I dubbed the girls Pinky and the Brain, if that makes your ego feel any better.”
He stares at Pinky and the Brain for a second too long, then raises his gaze back to my face. “You don’t look at Dracula, and I don’t look at you when you’re using the balls.” He takes off his glasses and puts them on a nearby table. “This way, I can’t see much anyway.”
I suppress a semi-hysterical giggle brought on by the phrase “using the balls.” “Where do we do this?” I ask.
“Follow me.” He leads me into his giant living room. “There.” He points at a twin of my suitcase. “Get what we need.”
I fish out the toys in question and hand him the cock ring, my face burning the entire time.
Must. Not. Think what Dracula would look like with that bling on.
As he takes the ring, our fingers brush, sending shivers down my body.
Perfect. Now I won’t need any lube for the Kegel balls.
“Where’s your bathroom?” Did that sound husky?
He points at a nearby door.
I lock myself in, take off my panties, and wash my hands and balls. The Kegel balls, that is. Thus far, no matter how ballsy I feel, I’ve never sprouted a pair, thank uterus.
Just in case, I lube up the balls and gently slide the first of the pair in, then the string that holds them together.
Feels pretty neutral so far.
Making sure to leave the removal loop out, I let the second ball join the first, and push them in as far as I’m comfortable with.
Hmm. This way, they feel tingly, and it’s not a big effort to keep them in.
I could probably walk around like this all day—which, of course, would be a bad idea. Vlad could then activate the vibration at any time, even if I’m at the DMV or the fish market, or at a meeting with Sandra.
I pace from sink to tub.
Yep.
Thanks to my pelvic floor muscles, the balls stay put.
Still, walking like this is a little scary. This must be what it’s like for guys to walk around worrying about their balls all the time.
I come back to the living room and find that he’s dimmed the lights.
Is this to lower visibility or to set a sexy mood?
He darts a glance at my skirt, then quickly drags his gaze to my face. “All good?”
Is that hunger in his eyes? I squeeze my muscles around the balls for reassurance. “Peachy.”
He runs his tongue over his lower lip. “Ladies first?”
I gulp in a breath. “How about together? You turn around and—”
“Sure.” He spins on his heel, and I hear the loudest zipper opening in the history of sound.
Do cock rings require erections? If so, Dracula was clearly ready for action, because almost instantly, Vlad says, “I’m all set.”
His phone lights up.
“No video.” I pull out my own phone and launch the app.
He grunts his agreement and clicks something on his end.
Oh my. The balls begin vibrating inside me, and I nearly drop Precious.
Holy A-spot, this feels good.
Too good. Moaning in the same room with Vlad kind of good.
Must distract him.
Frantically, I activate the vibration on his toy.
Did the phone just shake in his hands?
The ball vibration increases.
I up his also.
He ups mine again.
Why didn’t we sit? Or lie down?
My eyes begin to roll back, but I still manage to up his vibration one more notch.
When the orgasm smashes into me, I can’t suppress a moan.
His back tenses.
My pelvic muscles spasm a few more times, then relax.
Oh, no. The Kegel balls slip out of me onto the living room floor and begin rolling.
Fuck. If he sees my slickness on those balls, I’ll die.
“Close your eyes!” I shout. “And please don’t ask why.”
“Done.” The word sounds like a grunt.
Good.
Without turning off his vibration, I stash Precious into my purse and sprint over to where the balls stopped—four feet in front of Vlad.
Giving him his privacy, I resist the strong urge to peek at Dracula as I bend to pick up the balls.
The darn things slip through my fingers and roll away.
Since it’s hard to not look at his junk and chase them this way, I drop on all fours and chase after the toy like a predator hunting her prey.
Finally.
I grab the balls.
Nope.
They slip out of my grasp once more.
Did I have to lube them up so well?
Knees beginning to hurt, I crawl to where they stopped.
Yes! I snatch them and manage to keep a grip.
Then I see the legs in front of me.
I look up.
Yep.
I’m head to head with Dracula.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wow.
I’m a tiny mouse in front of an anaconda.
This is how Mowgli must’ve felt when he first met Kaa.
Clutching onto my balls for dear life, I gulp down the gallon of saliva that my salivary glands suddenly spurt into my mouth.
Did I mention wow?
Dracula is beautiful in his engorged hugeness. Noticeably bigger than even Glurp, he might not fit in me, though it might be fun to try.
The ring squeezes and vibrates Dracula near the base, somehow accentuating the already-awesome sight.
Somewhere above me, Vlad grunts in pleasure.
Fuck. I forgot they’re attached.
I start to back away—just as a white, creamy liquid shoots out of Dracula and lands on my cheek.
I blink in disbelief.
Did that just happen?
More gushes out.
I instinctively squeeze my eyes shut as the warm liquid lands on my forehead, the other cheek, nose, and chin.
A warm droplet lands on Pinkie and two on the Brain.
Well, now I know what it’s like for the porn stars in those bukkake videos. When Bob wanted to do this exact thing with me a while back, I refused, thinking it degrading. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe if—
“What are you doing there?” Vlad sounds like he’s seen a ghost.
Crap. He must’ve finally opened his eyes.
Keeping my own blinkers shut lest my eyeballs get impregnated, I climb to my feet. My cheeks burn so hot I half expect the Dracula juices to sizzle, like egg whites on a skill
et.
“Don’t move.” I hear him rush away.
Is he escaping? Taking a picture? Ordering takeout?
I hear him come back, and a strong hand cradles my head.
Well, that’s nice.
“The water should be warm,” he murmurs.
I dare not peek.
A paper towel touches my forehead.
Oh. He’s cleaning me up. That’s sweet, or as sweet as this can be, given the substance in question.
Speaking of the substance, is it too late for me to sneak a taste?
No. He’d see, and though most guys would find that hot, I’m not sure what the protocol is for when the guy in question is your boss squared.
“I’m sorry,” he says when he’s done with the area around my eyes. Despite his words, his voice is more than a little husky. “I’m not sure how this happened, but—”
“It wasn’t your fault.” I open my eyes and watch as he finishes wiping my cheeks and chin, then looks uncertainly at my cleavage.
“It’s fine,” I say, flushing impossibly hotter. “Go for it.”
His pupils dilate as he dabs the few droplets from Pinkie and the Brain.
I glance down.
He’s zipped up Dracula, but there appears to be a new bulge there.
Useful, I guess, in case we decide to do more testing.
He balls up the dirty towel in his hand. “Just so you know, I’m clean. I got myself tested after the last relationship, and I haven’t been with anyone since then, so—”
“I’m clean too,” I blurt. “And on the pill.”
His eyes gleam. “That’s good to know, but the reason I told you about my medical history was so that you wouldn’t worry about a herpes outbreak on your face. It wasn’t quid pro quo.”
Of course, that’s what he meant. Stupid mouth. First it blurts TMI, now it wants to kiss him. Would he think it gross if I did kiss him? My mouth was spared the fountain of—
He dips his head and locks lips with me.
My heart goes supernova, and my knees threaten to buckle.
This is clearly a day of wows. His lips feel warm and soft and so good I nearly have another orgasm—and almost drop my balls. The room fades around me, and all my worries seem to evaporate. All my senses focus on the way his tongue gently strokes the inside of my mouth, the sweet, faintly minty warmth of his breath, the pounding of my pulse in my temples and—
He pulls away.
I’m breathing raggedly, and so is he.
“Why?” I ask breathlessly, staring up at him.
“We shouldn’t.” His voice is hoarse. “Still under the influence.”
I draw back sharply. My arousal evaporates, replaced by an irrational surge of anger.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Is he saying he only kissed me because he had beer—or vodka—goggles on? Or does he think I can’t make adult decisions with a mild buzz?
Before I can voice any of this, he has his phone out and is sending a text.
When the reply comes a millisecond later, he says, “Ivan will take you home. Come.”
He herds me into the elevator, walks me down to the lobby, and holds open the limo door.
The ride home happens in a haze. A million questions loop through my mind, but two most of all: Why did he stop? And if a mere kiss was that amazing, how would it feel if we did more?
When I get home, I drop the balls into my sink and stare at myself in the mirror.
Ugh. My lopsided expression is a mix of curiosity, suspicion, and skepticism again. The glue on my left eyebrow wig must’ve given out at some point. At least I assume that’s what happened. The thing is now missing, probably left in Vlad’s towel.
No wonder he didn’t want to do anything with me.
My first shower is scorching, the second one icy.
Jumping into my bed, I cover my head with a pillow and try to block out what happened.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The first thing I do in the morning is check Precious for messages from Vlad.
Nope. Radio silence.
I check my work email next and find a message from Sandra, requesting yet another update. I ask her if she’s okay doing it tomorrow. Until I hear from Vlad, I can’t honestly tell her everything is on track.
There’s also an email from Mike Ventura in my inbox—a.k.a. Butt-Head and maybe-Phantom:
Want to have that chat at 11:30 tomorrow?
As I think about it, Sandra replies that she’s fine with my suggestion.
I set up a meeting with her for eleven and tell Mike I’m game for eleven-thirty. This way, I’ll kill two birds/coworkers with one commute stone.
Precious dings with a text.
My heart leaps.
It’s from Vlad.
Are you up yet?
Hand shaking, I reply with: Yes. And no hangover. You?
He calls me instead of replying via text.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi yourself.”
I clear my throat. “Look, about yesterday—”
“Can we do the pig playdate today?” he asks at almost the same time. “Oracle looks lonely this morning.”
I hesitate for only a second. “Of course. What time did—”
“We’re on our way,” he says. “Have you had breakfast?”
“Not yet.”
“What would you like?”
Feeling a little surreal, I tell him I won’t say no to some blueberry muffins.
“Have a snack for now,” he says. “We’ll be there soon.”
“Sure,” I say, but he’s already hung up.
Crap.
I have to make myself presentable, pronto. At least my place is still clean from his last visit.
Attacking my makeup kit, I recall the eyebrow debacle from last night. Was it why he stopped kissing me or not? Either way, I use the temporary eyebrow tattoos as the second-best solution, then order another pair of eyebrow wigs for later, in case my own eyebrows don’t make a reappearance soon enough.
Just as I’m wriggling into a clean pair of jeans, I get a call on Precious. I nearly trip as I dash to pick it up.
It could be Vlad.
Nope.
It’s Ava. She demands an update, so I give it to her.
“Unbelievable,” she says when I’m done. “How could two people give each other that many orgasms yet only get to first base?”
I roll my eyes. “Aren’t sex toys third base? And aren’t facials some kind of a base too?”
She chuckles. “All I’m saying is that you should’ve gone all the way.”
I sigh. “I don’t think he wanted me. He might find me repugnant.”
Ava scoffs. “Repugnant? You? Are you—”
The doorbell rings.
“Got to go,” I shout into the phone and hang up.
“Who is it?” I ask pointedly, approaching the door.
“Vlad,” he says, a note of approval in his tone.
I open up.
Damn. Why do I always feel surprised by his looks?
Breathlessly, I take in his shaggy black locks—including the unruly one that makes my fingers itch to touch it—and the beautifully shaped lines of his lips. His eyes are the deepest shade of blue behind his horn-rimmed glasses, and he’s wearing his Matrix-inspired getup. In one hand, he’s holding Oracle in a carrier, and in the other, a brown bag.
I swallow my drool. “Please come in.” I gesture toward my living room.
He takes his shoes off again, hangs up the trench coat by the door, and brings the carrier over to Monkey’s house.
“Here.” He hands me a muffin. “Mind if I put them into the play area?”
“Please.” I attack the muffin with fervor.
Yum. He either stopped by the best bakery in NYC, or I’m very hungry.
As I eat, I watch Oracle and Monkey rub noses together.
“I brought them snacks too.” Vlad takes out a green vegetable I’ve never seen before. “You mind?”
“Not at all. What is that?”
“Hop shoots.” He bites a piece of his. “They’re washed. You want to try?”
With a shrug, I taste the veg. It reminds me of kale, with a faintly nutty aftertaste. “This is good. Why have I never seen these in the supermarket? Or restaurants? Is it a special guinea pig crop?”
And if so, why did we just eat it?
He places a long shoot into the aquarium. “The process to harvest this stuff is elaborate, so they’re a little pricey for most people.”
Seeing the shoot, Oracle grabs it and starts nibbling.
Monkey tastes it from the other side, and must love it because she begins pulling on the green stem pretty vigorously.
Almost violently.
In return, Oracle pulls on her end.
Monkey keeps pulling on hers.
It becomes a hilarious tug of war—at least hilarious for me.
Vlad actually frowns. “I forgot how much Oracle likes those things. I might’ve inadvertently created friction.”
He’s right.
After they rip the plant in half and finish eating it, Oracle begins to chase Monkey around—with squealing throughout.
When she finally corners Monkey, she mounts her and begins to hump.
Huh, okay. When Vlad mentioned friction a second ago, I didn’t think it would be of the sexual kind. But why humping? They’re both female, so wouldn’t it make more sense if one went down on the other, or—and I’m not sure if their bodies are built for it—they could try something like scissoring.
“You said Oracle was a she,” I say, suppressing a laugh as the humping intensifies. “Doesn’t this require boy parts?”
“It’s about dominance.” He tosses two pieces of the veg in two different corners of the aquarium.
As if to confirm his words, Monkey sprints out from under Oracle, makes a loop, and begins trying to make her friend her bitch.
“Guinea pigs must be sexist,” I say, grinning. “Why is the one who gets humped the less dominant one? And shouldn’t that only apply in the bedroom anyway, not to who gets more snacks?”
He returns my grin. “And yet, how funny would it be if people tried this in boardrooms?”
We watch as the two guinea pigs eventually tire of trying to hump each other and just eat a hop shoot each.
“I think it’s a truce,” Vlad says. “Neither is trying to steal from the other.”
