by Shandi Boyes
My lips quirk when Willow suddenly jackknifes into a half-seated position. “I almost forgot.” She digs a familiar golden envelope out of her pocket, divides up the impressive bundle of cash into two equal parts, then hands one half to me. “The event was crazy this year.”
I accept the almost thousand dollars from her with my mouth gaped open. “You participated in Magic Mile?”
“Ha! The only event I attended naked last night was the dungeon E threw me into when he discovered the reason you can’t be within five miles of campus during Magic Mile weekend. He wasn’t a fan of our idea of fundraising.”
My brow cocks. Maybe soccer and football players are more alike than I realized?
“Then how do you know it was a success?”
Willow nudges her head to the bundle of cash in my hand. “That’s just a portion of the organizer’s fee E donated to the event.”
My eyes bug out of my head. “E donated?”
She rolls her eyes in a totally adorable way. “Yes, but only on the agreement I wouldn’t participate again. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’m a senior, so there’s no chance of that happening.”
“Or the fact you never participated to begin with? You just helped organize it.” She’s the main reason I wouldn’t rat out my co-conspirators. If she received a criminal record, she most likely would have been booted out of the country.
Jail time or not, I was never going to let that happen.
Willow’s tongue peeks between her teeth when she smiles. “And that… can you blame a girl? I’m keeping things interesting. Last night… Jesus.”
I give her a knowing look. Lorenzo’s jealousy was unexpected but highly craved, and the sole reason I don’t want to worry about the semantics of our contract months sooner than needed.
Proof she can read my mind occurs when Willow mutters, “All right. I get it. I’ll keep my schnoz out of your business.”
“Not all the way out. I like threatening to kill him with the made-up-animals part, just stop panicking I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. I do, I just don’t want to sweat over the small stuff yet. We’re having fun. As long as it isn’t hurting anyone, I’m happy for it to continue on the path it is.”
“Okay. I’ll only threaten him every fortnight instead of weekly as I have been.”
My giggle can’t hide my confusion. “Fortnight?”
“Sorry. I forgot about Americans’ inability to decipher true English.” She rolls her shoulders, all pompous like. “I’ll only threaten him every two weeks instead of weekly as I have been.” Her brow arches into her hairline. “Better?”
“Much.”
Giggling, she pulls two hundred-dollar bills from her envelope, then hands them to me. “What’s this for?”
She screws up her nose like a rabbit. “Tickets.”
“To…”
She glares at me as if I’m slow. “The flights to your cousin’s wedding. I know I’m not a famous quarterback or anything, but I’ll have your back while you watch a skank marry an adulterer.”
She looks as prepared now to kill Lincoln as she was when I came home from summer break heartbroken and miserable. That was the only summer break we spent apart, and it was by far the worst summer break I’ve ever experienced.
“If it’s more than two hundred dollars for an economy ticket, visit a travel agent in person with those puppies hanging out…” She nudges her head to my cleavage that’s dangerously close to spilling out of my shirt. “If he’s single, we might get bumped up to premium economy.”
I laugh, but since it’s mangled by the worry clutching my throat, it sounds more like a groan, and it has Willow’s suspicions rising. “You’re still going, right? You wouldn’t catch me dead there, but I get you want to show how their betrayal didn’t affect you.”
I swish my tongue around my mouth to loosen up my words. “I’m still going… I just organized for someone to go with me.”
Willow jackknifes back, her mouth hanging. “You organized someone?” When I nod, she says in quick concession, “Who? Only last night, you said you were going stag.” The truth smacks into her before my mouth can follow the prompts of my brain. “You invited Lorenzo?”
“No,” I deny with a shake of my head. “He offered to come with me.”
Her mouth droops lower. “Skylar, that’s not something a fuck buddy would do.”
“Yes, it is!” Imagine someone stomping down their foot while sitting on the floor, then you’ll have an idea about how ridiculous I look right now. “He wanted me to attend his stupid friendly match, so we negotiated.”
She taps her plump lips with her index finger. “A fake soccer match for a weekend home with the family. Hmm… that sounds fairly even.”
I peg a packet of cleansing wipes at her head. “Shut up. It’s too late to change my plans now. I already bought our tickets.” I’m also looking forward to next month, not that I’ll ever tell Willow that. “Tell me I’m not being stupid?”
Willow looks torn. “Is pretending you’re not in a relationship when you are stupid?” When I nod, she grimaces. “Then I’m just gonna say it’s my turn to buy pizza. Pepperoni or triple cheese?”
Her grimace switches to a smile when I throw my arm over my eyes and flop onto the carpet. “This is why I should never make decisions after multiple climaxes. Sex has made me stupid.”
Willow laughs like a hyena but doesn’t attempt to refute my highly accurate statement.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Skylar
I stop groaning into my pillow when the creak of my door sounds through my ears. I swear I’m on the verge of dying. Tiny ninjas are fighting in my womb, the pain more than tripled since the stupid morning-after pill fucked my cycle. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful it worked, but I wish I had paid attention when the pharmacist said to read the pamphlet that came with the pill. I spent the last two weeks freaked out of my mind about my period being late, and now I’m freaked out of my mind my cervix is in the process of turning itself inside out.
This shit hurts.
It hurts so bad.
“Did you get maxi tampons? I’m reasonably sure my vagina is no longer capable of holding in the virginal ones they sell in all the stalls around here. Monster dick fucking loses you the ability to act saintly…” My words trail off when my visit isn’t who I’m expecting. Willow isn’t returning from a trip to the drugstore to stack up on supplies. Lorenzo is.
“I’m not exactly sure what tampons are, but Willow said everything you need is in this bag.” He jingles a plastic bag with our local drugstore logo on the front, not the least bit confronted about saying the word ‘tampons’ out loud. I guess he has no reason to be grossed out since he has no clue what they are.
Even though he’s brought all the essentials to stop ninjas karate chopping my uterus into tiny pieces, I don’t want him to see me like this. “Go away, Shortie J. I’m not fit for visitors.”
I groan into my pillow even more heartedly than I have the past six hours, hating my clipped tone. He didn’t just bring me tampons, he brought me chocolate, so how can I be mean to him?
Undeterred by my snipe, Lorenzo steps deeper into my room. “I thought witching days were a part of our agreement? I’ve got loads of chocolates, I didn’t work my core during training so my body will be a better pillow, and I have compliments at the ready.” I swoon like crazy when he murmurs, “How can I not? Even with devil horns sticking out of your forehead, you’re too bello not to flatter.” He has me halfway over the fence, but his next set of words has me leaping over it like Tom Hardy is standing on the other side butt-naked. “Did I mention I have a hot water bottle?”
“You do?” Think of those chubby-faced grandmas who have a list worth of chores for you to do for a nickel. That’s how desperate I sound. “Then get on over here, young man. Grammie has some sugar to give you.”
My statement is lost on Lorenzo, but he arrives at my bedside faster than I can click my fingers. Then, even qu
icker than that, he commences stripping.
“Woah, hold up, Shortie J. You do understand what witching days mean, don’t you? The shop is closed for business. No taco sampling today.”
His smile—ugh! I’m dying all over again. “I’m well aware of what it means, but I’ve never seen a pillow with studs.”
“Clearly, you haven’t watched porn. People pay good money to have anything studded.”
Once again, my analogy is lost on him, but since he’s removed his shirt, I’m no longer capable of arguing. I’ve been ogling his rock-hard abs and yummy pecs for almost six weeks now, yet I still can’t get enough. His body is glorious and more than deserving of the dribble dripping off my chin.
I mop up the mess before asking, “How did you know I’m on my period? Do you have the inner workings of my vagina hardwired to your cock?”
While tugging his trousers down his thick thighs, he laughs. “No. Jonah synced our calendars, remember? That included the calendar in your iPeriod app.”
“Eww.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I see agreement in his eyes.
Once his shoes, shirt, trousers, and belt are dumped on the floor next to my bed, Lorenzo rummages through his bag of goodies. I can’t help but giggle when he pushes aside the maxi tampons and pads like they’re coated with cooties, then I aww from him tapping two pain relief tablets into his palm.
“Open up.” He places the tablets onto my tongue before handing me a bottle of water. “More,” he grumbles when I swallow the pills with barely a mouthful. “Google said the better hydrated you are, the less crampy you’ll be.”
“You said crampy,” I mumble like a drunk, high off the energy teeming between us. I’m not going to lie, I’m stoked he’s keeping his side of our agreement. I thought he’d only hang around for the good parts, so I’m beyond pleased he’s manning up.
I may also be dosed up on painkillers since that was the third batch I’ve taken so far this morning. What can I say? I’m a wuss when it comes to pain.
Lorenzo places the cap onto the bottle of water before jerking up his chin. “Scoot.”
With my heart rate as high as my woozy head, I wiggle to the other side of my single bed. The situation goes from a hazy six to a fucked-up ten when Lorenzo slips between my sticky sheets. They’re sticky because the devil is carving up my insides. The lady who ran Sunday school at my childhood church warned me this would happen if I had sex before marriage. Silly me, I never believed her.
After melding his body as close to mine as possible, Lorenzo presses the hot water bottle to my stomach. “Does that feel better?”
“Uh-huh. It feels so good.” I grind against him, ensuring he knows what I’m referencing. Womb-raiding ninjas will never have me close enough to death I’d ignore the girth nestled between my butt cheeks. “I like this, Shortie J. Your compact size is perfect for spooning. We match here…” I grind against him again to showcase how our private parts are perfectly aligned. “Here…” I wiggle my chest to amplify how his arm cocoons me to perfection. “And here.” I slant my head back so the prickles on his chin graze my cheek.
He takes advantage of my slanted head to tug on my lower lip with his teeth. After releasing it with a pop, he says, “Once you’re no longer hunched in two, I’ll show you a trick on how you can use pain for benefit.”
When I peer at him, muted, confused, and one hundred percent horny, he snickers, “Would you rather I show you now?”
I nod without restraint, more than eager to see what caused the gleam in his eyes. It’s all types of wicked, and it has me climbing out of the trench I dug for myself.
With a smile that has the throb in my stomach lowering to my clit, Lorenzo encourages me to snuggle into the hot water bottle before he slides his hand between my legs.
I freeze, panicked. He doesn’t want to go down there. It’s all types of fucked-up.
“Trust me, amore mio.”
“I do. It’s just… messy.”
This is more awkward than when my dad gave me the birds-and-the-bees talk. It went along the lines of, if anyone touches you here, here, or here, I’ll bury them. He pointed to the front of my groin, the back, then the top half of my body that didn’t realize I had started puberty two years earlier. Thank God my mom had the sense to talk to me once he went to bed, or I’d still be a virgin.
“I ran out of… supplies. That’s why Willow went to the drugstore.”
My blood heats when he assures, “It’s okay. I’m only going to touch you through your clothes.”
Either high on drugs or because this man has more of a spell on me than I care to admit, I loosen the clench of my thighs.
“Good girl, amore mio. Now your trust will be rewarded.”
I nearly vault out of my bed when he thrums my clit with his thumb. “What the hell was that?” The electricity courses through my body juts up my reply. “Did you zap me with something?”
His lips raise against my neck before ruffling sounds through my ears. He must be shaking his head. “The clit is extra sensitive during womanly days. With your hormones rampant, and your blood focused on other matters, the little bud full of nerves is more perceptive to touch. Add that to the fine line between pleasure and pain, and you’ve got an interesting way to reduce cramping.”
“How do you know that—”
He silences my inquisitiveness by strumming my aching clit another two times. Although mad he most likely learned this knowledge from another woman, at this point, I don’t care. I’m heightened beyond possibility, equally terrified about how quickly the tsunami is building in my stomach and mesmerized.
“Again. Please.”
The heat of Lorenzo’s cock scorches my backside when he grows thick and heavy, hazing my mind even more. “Please, what, amore mio?”
“Touch me. I want you to touch me.” I don’t even care if I end up with bloody bedsheets. If he doesn’t hurry up and touch me, I’ll die. “I need you, Shortie J.”
“More. Beg more.” He pinches my clit between each word, sending my throaty moans bouncing off the whitewashed walls of my dorm. “Tell me how much you want me? How much you love the thought of my cock sliding in and out of you.”
“Please… oh, God. Please.”
My plea gains me a range of stimuli—pinches, grinds, naughty words whispered in my ear. He’s bringing me to climax while I’m fully clothed, and I’m not the least bit embarrassed. It’s too brilliant for a mortified response. I’ll never see witching days in the same light again.
My breathing stills when Lorenzo mutters in my ear, “You’re going to come when I tell you to. Once you’ve done that, we’ll sleep until the only thing hazing your mind is me, then you’ll suck me off to even the score. Do you understand?”
“Uh-huh. Yep. I understand.” I’d agree to mother his children at this rate. I’m hot all over, fevered by the control this man has harnessed over my body in an incredibly short period.
Any panic scorching my veins is doused when Lorenzo whispers, “Come now, amore mio,” before toying with my clit like there isn’t a pair of panties between it and his magic fingers.
With my head thrust back and his name screamed in a whispered roar, I come—loudly.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lorenzo
“What happened to cashing in the check I gave you to purchase our flights?”
I twist my torso at an odd angle before side shuffling down a set of seats like I’m doing a whacked hoedown. It kills my quads that were exhausted last night bringing Skylar to the ecstasy a promised four times.
She wasn’t just star-fishing once we were done. She was barely conscious.
“I know your home is in the middle of the boonies, but surely one hundred thousand dollars could have bought more than two economy tickets.”
Skylar snickers while tossing her bag into an overhead locker even someone as tall as Elvis would struggle to reach. Her gorgeous face constricts with pain when she does the pretzel-like maneuver required
to slot into her assigned seat, proving I’m not the only one feeling the aches of our two-month relationship.
Don’t misconstrue, I’m not complaining. The last two months have been some of the best weeks of my life, and I’ve had my life featured on Italy’s version of This Is Your Life more than once. Skylar brings out a side of me I didn’t know existed. I’m still dominant in the bedroom, but outside of those walls, I feel more carefree and happier like winning isn’t everything. We eat, we talk, and we fuck like we’ve known each other for months. The only thing I hate is how quickly the weeks are flying by.
My focus shifts back to the present when Skylar says, “I told you I had points to cash in.”
“Then you should have used my money to pay for an upgrade. I don’t think my knees will fit. They’re insured for ten million dollars each. My insurance broker won’t be happy when she discovers they flew cattle class.”
With a brutal tug on my jacket, Skylar yanks me into my seat. “Less whining, Shortie J. You can’t attend a Hicksville wedding after flying business class. It isn’t kosher.”
Shockingly, my legs fit behind the seat with a few inches to spare.
Shut up. I know what you’re thinking, and it isn’t true. My legs aren’t short—it’s just the top half of my body that’s below industry standards.
While Skylar nervously flicks through the safety brochure, I scan my eyes over the hundred other people riding coach with us. There are the standard mom and dad with three kids conglomerate, the stone heads who purchased twenty-nine-dollar tickets while high, and a handful of business travelers whose bosses are too cheap to fork over the coin needed for a business-class fare.
Then there are people like Skylar, everyday Americans who have no idea of their worth.
Since they’d never suspect a multimillionaire is amongst them, they don’t give my once-over a second thought. They go about their business, completely obvious to the fact I could gift them all a million dollars and still be a multimillionaire.
