Spiked Lemonade: A Bad Boy Sailor and a Good Girl Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Ryan, Shari J.

  I hear a thud against the wall as a pile of toilet paper lands in my lap. “Sorry, I tried to give you enough warning.”

  “It’s okay,” I reply quickly. “I’m the one who didn’t move.”

  “Here,” he says, “I’ll turn around so you can pull your pants up and stuff.”

  I close my eyes, knowing I will regret this deeply in the morning, but right now I don’t think I want to consider my feelings six hours from now.

  Standing up from the toilet, I pull my pajama pants up and pivot so I’m facing him. Leave, Sasha. Don’t do anything else you’re going to regret. I don’t know whether or not he knows I’m standing here because it’s so incredibly dark, but I give it a second. I shouldn’t be giving it any seconds. He only clears his throat, though. I think I might be making him uncomfortable so I place my hand on his side letting him know I’m still standing here. His body jerks in response. “I’m sorry for everything I said out there, sort of. I don’t exactly think highly of a man who sleeps around so much, but you shouldn’t think that’s your only option.” His hands find my hips in response, and he pulls me into him as he wraps his arms around me. Okay, I’ve apologized. Time to go!

  “Thank you for relieving my blue balls,” he says softly, seriously. “I owe you one.”

  “You owe me one of what?” I question, wondering what he might say in return. I know what he’s going to say in return. I should stop encouraging him.

  “Something that makes you feel better, I guess.” Yup, I knew he’d say that. And that is exactly what my body wants right now, but I know better. I should know better.

  “It’s been six months since someone touched me.” Whoa! Hey now, why would I say that?

  “What?” he chuckles questioningly. “You were with that dickwad up until recently.”

  “I know,” I sigh. Mine and Landon’s lack of a life between the sheets should have been a clue to tip me off, but it wasn’t. I was just plain old dumb. I’m plain old dumb right now, too.

  “Well, what can I do to fix that?” he asks, his voice holds a lot of hesitation, more than I’d expect with this open-door invitation.

  I pause, thinking for a long minute. Do I stay or do I go? My mind is out the door…my mind has been out the door, which means it’s not here to stop me from saying, “What do you do if a girl has the equivalent of blue…you know.”

  “You can’t even say balls?” he says against my ear.

  I close my eyes and rest my forehead over his left pec, which is much harder than I thought it would be. “No, I can’t.” Nor should I have touched them. They’re kind of nice, though.

  “What would I do to fix blue balls in a woman?” he purrs in my ear. His words make my skin crawl, but not in a bad way. Or actually, in a really bad way, like an “I shouldn’t be doing this” kind of way.

  His hands both slip down a bit until they’re resting on my butt. He squeezes gently, and this only makes the ache between my legs more apparent. “You’re making the pain worse,” I say through my breath. I give up. I need this. I want this. And I don’t care what he thinks of me after.

  Now his hands are slipping beneath the waistband of my pajama bottoms and his skin is touching my skin. “Pain creates pleasure,” he says. His words vibrate against my ear, intensifying everything.

  With his fingertips digging into the fleshy part of my butt, the pain does make a sharp turn into something much different. A dull throb pulsates within me, and my body arches forward, now pressing against his very hard part. He must be taking the hint that things aren’t slowing down for me but rather getting more intense because one hand wraps completely around my thigh as his finger presses against the spot that might make noises come from my throat. My entire lower body clenches and tightens against his touch while his gentle ways become lost as one of his fingers swims into me like it’s being sucked into a vortex. My knees don’t want to remain strong, and I’m not sure they can, but if they give out, his finger will also move. I lock my legs tightly, allowing this pleasure to reach every nerve ending within my body. He’s clearly skilled, knowing exactly what angle to press into and where the target for pleasure is hidden. Is it the same in every woman? He found it with such ease. Wetness coats his hand as it continues to glide smoothly between my legs, allowing him to pump his finger harder and higher. I realize my hands are clutched tightly against his biceps, and I’m now propped up on his knee as he holds me still. Never have I done anything like this while standing, never mind being perched on a man’s knee as he pleasures me. His knee is pressing against the crevice of my butt cheeks, and it makes this all feel even more wrong than it did a minute ago.

  His other hand braces my back so I can lean back into the position allowing him to maneuver me in a way that has me liquefied to the point of no strength. My body involuntarily bucks against his hip and cries pour from my throat. “This feels so incredible, please don’t let it stop. Oh, dear God, you’re amazing.”

  “Doll, I won’t ever let it stop if that’s what you need from me.” His voice is so guttural and strong even while in this situation. He’s very confident and sure of himself, so much so that he doesn’t seem awkward at all, which makes this easier, more enjoyable, actually.

  Another finger slips into me and it’s welcomed with ease. The twisting and pressing grows harder, and I’m pretty sure I might wake up the entire house in a minute if things do end shortly but I don’t want them to end shortly. I want this to go on for as long as possible.

  My body weakens after a minute but the pressure builds within me and the throbs turn into clenches and tremors. Warmth fills every inch of my body, and a numbness that brings along a sensation I don’t think I’ve ever felt in my entire life moves through me like a rumble of thunder. I shriek as my body jerks forward, feeling his hand slowly slip away while also gliding along the back side of my butt and up my back, which creates another round of waves, forcing me to buck against him once more.

  And now I’m mortified. It’s instant. I let this man do something to me I would never let a man do unless I were in a monogamous relationship with him. He didn’t try to kiss me, and he didn’t try more. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but this cannot happen again. I might need it to happen again.

  “Are you okay?” he whispers into my ear.

  Sound doesn’t escape my throat, so instead I nod my head against his shoulder.

  “Was it the whisky? Are you going to hate me in the morning?” he asks.

  “Maybe,” I whimper. “I might feel the opposite, though, too.”

  “I won’t say a word about this until you’re sure about your feelings. I know bodies can speak louder than the mind, causing decisions that shouldn’t always be made,” he says, offering an explanation I could possibly run with.

  “Is that how you feel about this?” I ask curiously, wondering if I was only a side-effect of his body speaking louder than his mind.

  “Are you kidding me? From the second I met you and heard how proper you are, it’s all I’ve been thinking about. You’re more like the thing I wanted that I would most definitely never get. Guess I kind of got lucky tonight.”

  “Why would you make that assumption?” I ask him while gracelessly sliding off of his knee and pulling my pants up.

  “You’re way too beautiful to ever truly be interested in someone like me,” he says. It’s a similar statement to what he said earlier tonight, and I’m still not sure I understand it.

  “I don’t know why you talk about yourself that way. You’re a pretty incredible looking man. Despite the number of tattoos and your overgrown beard, all I see is a hot man with a very big heart and a really dirty mouth.” Jags laughs at my comment.

  “You don’t like my beard?”

  “It’s okay,” I say honestly. “It could use a trim, though.”

  “Hmm,” he says. “Women are really digging the beard thing right now, though.”

  “Well, why?” I ask.
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  A deep rumbling laugh erupts from his throat. “I don’t want to be presumptuous and tell you I’ll show you, but, it’s the only way to prove my theory.”

  What? “I don’t understand.”

  “Let me know if you want to understand.”

  “Oh, okay, well, I’ll think about it, I guess…” Not sure what I’m thinking about.

  “Look, can we call this a truce?” he asks. “I don’t want to fight with you all of the time. You’re too damn pretty to be scowling at me like you do. I’d rather see you smile.”

  “Maybe you could try being a little politer,” I tell him, assuming that might not happen.

  “I’ll try,” he agrees.

  “And I’ll try not to get so angry at your filthy words.”

  As my eyes peel apart in response to the burning sun, memories and tingles run through me like a freight train. Embarrassment, discomfort, regret—it’s all there. I didn’t drink enough to even have a hangover, and yet it’s like I drank so much, I was out of my mind last night. I was out of my mind last night. I don’t know what to say to him this morning, or how to look at him. Maybe it was easier that I didn’t see any look on his face last night, or the fact that his dimples were probably so deep surrounding his crooked smile that I would have agreed to, or even asked for more at that moment.

  Whatever the case, I cannot tell Cali. I won’t live it down, and she would definitely not let it go. My main focus this morning needs to be on finding a new job, and quitting my old job, for that matter. I can do this.

  I totally came onto him. This is my fault.

  Twisting my heavy head to the side, I see the blinking numbers on the alarm clock. I almost forgot the power had gone out last night. Thankfully, it’s back on now at least. I snatch my phone from the corner of the nightstand and wait for my eyes to adjust until I see it’s seven. Cali must already be up and rushing around to get Tyler to school, but hopefully, the bathroom is clear, and I can sneak in without any uncomfortable glances.

  I grab a clean towel from the top of my bureau and tip-toe out into the hall. I open the door to the bathroom and poke my head in, feeling the vent blow over me. Someone must have just gotten out of the shower. That hopefully means no one will bother me at least. I take my clothes off, refusing to look at myself in the mirror, which actually isn’t much of a choice anyway since the mirror is still fogged up.

  I’d be disappointed in myself if I did see the look on my face right now, or the pink hue that’s probably permanently burned into my cheeks. I can’t believe I let that all happen. I definitely can’t believe I initiated it.

  I peel my clothes off the ground and fold them nicely into a pile on the corner of the sink, and hang my towel on the rack outside of the shower.

  Carefully, I step inside and turn the knob all the way to the highest temperature, needing to burn off some of my thoughts. Letting the water shower over me, I take a step back, needing to fall against the wall and let my mind melt into the drain, but as my back falls into the wall, I realize my back didn’t fall into a wall. My shrieks probably go unheard over the cascading water but I whip around, facing the very pure fact that I’m not alone in this shower, and I punch Jags right in the gut, instinctively of course. I cover my hands over as much of my lady parts as I can, all while he leans up against the wall I wanted to fall against.

  “Have you ever considered knocking on a bathroom door when three adults are sharing one common bathroom in a house. What if I had been Cali?” His eyes roll and his gaze locks onto the ceiling. “On second thought, damn, don’t answer that.”

  I’d punch him again, but my instincts are keeping my hands locked into shielding place over my body parts. I should have jumped out of the shower by now. I should apologize for not knocking and for dropping my naked body into his. He just saw me naked. Can I cry now? “I—I ah…”

  “I’ve seen a woman naked before, doll-face. Nothing to be ashamed of.” The focus from his eyes slowly drips from the top of my head down to my toes. “Yep. Absolutely nothing to be ashamed about.” His words make the hair follicles on my arms hurt.

  I almost find it funny that I’m doing my best to cover myself up, and his arms are folded behind his head, showcasing everything he has. I’m trying to keep my focus on his face since I know I shouldn’t be looking anywhere else—not like he is. The ink covering his chest is intricate enough that I can almost make out the images without directly looking at them, and it makes me wonder if he likes art, and if that’s the reason for displaying it across his body. Why am I still standing here thinking about his darn tattoos? “I should go,” I say, still not making much effort to move.

  “You have more restraint than anyone I’ve ever met,” he tells me.

  “What do you mean?” I ask him.

  One hand releases from the back of his head, and he slowly lowers it out of my focal radius, down to where I’m avoiding to look. His eyes close and I don’t know what he’s doing. I take that back. I have a great idea of what he’s doing. He must be thinking we’re going for the second act after last night. Part of me does want to take a quick look before I step out of the shower but that would be giving him the wrong idea. Though his eyes are closed, and he wouldn’t know. Quickly, my gaze drops down to—Oh. My. Goodness. He wasn’t exaggerating, and it looks bigger than it felt in my hand. How does one man have all of that? That’s just not natural. Not that I have much to compare it to, considering how small Landon was.

  “I knew you couldn’t resist looking,” he says.

  I hadn’t realized my eyes had been stuck on that for so long, but now he knows I was looking, and that just gave him another playing piece to add to his side.

  That was the last piece of motivation I needed, to leave. I step out and reach for the towel I hung up on the rack. As I grab it, my foot catches on the little bump out of the shower, and I fall to the floor. My butt is in the air, my ladies are pressed against the cold tile, and my knees instantly ache. How could I have been so stupid not to look where I was going. I’m lying on the bathroom floor butt naked, exposed, and now in a bit of pain too. Why? I really want to cry.

  “Oh shit,” he snaps. “Are you okay, Sasha?” Jags jumps out of the shower, careful not to miss the little bump I just tripped on. He’s hovering over me and oh…oh no, I think his man-part is touching the top of my back. “Sasha.” His hands wrap around my elbows and he begins to peel me from the ground. As soon as I make it to my feet, my knee gives out, and I almost fall back over, forcing Jags to struggle and grab me again, which doesn’t end up being my arm this time. His hand is cupped over one of my ladies, and he needs to move his hand right now. Although I’m not sure what to focus on because his man-part is definitely pressing up against my butt now too.

  For two people who haven’t kissed or even admitted to being truly attracted to each other, I feel like we’ve gone a little too far. This is too much. It’s almost a joke now. “I’m so embarrassed,” I say quietly, struggling out of his grip.

  “Are you okay? What happened?”

  “I tripped.” Obviously.

  He pulls away, looking down toward my feet. “You must have caught your knee on the grout. You’re bleeding a little.” Jags grabs the towel from the ground and wraps it around me before taking my hand and pulling me over toward the toilet where we became a little too intimate last night. Who becomes intimate on a friggin’ toilet? He drops the toilet lid down over the seat and urges me to sit. At least I’m covered up now, but he doesn’t seem to care that he’s still completely exposed, hanging out all over the place.

  He squats down in front of me, takes my foot and places it over his bent knee. “Geez, doll, that’s a good one.”

  Jags reaches over to the sink and opens the bottom cabinet, searching around through a bunch of stuff until he retrieves a first aid kit. The first thing he does is pour peroxide over the blood. It stings a little, but he grabs my hand and smiles. “Look at me, not at the blood.” His smi
le is endearing and kind of cute when I know he’s not thinking of his next dirty word. “I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he chuckles. So funny. Not.

  “I think it’s clear I don’t know what foot to even use,” I laugh.

  “That’s for sure.” He takes some of the gauze and lightly presses it up against my knee. “The bruise will probably hurt more than the wound will,” he says, gently. With the blood cleaned up, he blows lightly over the sore spot and reaches down for a Band-Aid. My focus follows his hands, finding a quick reminder that he’s still buck naked. How is this comfortable for him? I’m mortified, and I have a towel on. “Okay, you’re as good as new now.” He smooths the Band-Aid over my knee and presses it gently on each side to secure it. His hands are still cupped around my leg, and he gently sweeps them both down the sides in an attempt to separate his grip. “Sasha.”

  “Yeah,” I say, sounding way more breathless than intended.

  “I’m really, really attracted to you. I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve had the privilege of having jerk me off in a pitch black bathroom in the middle of the night.”

  I wind up to slap him, but his hand grips around my wrist before I have the chance. “You’re a jerk.” A jerk who just bandaged my knee up, and who I have walked in on twice now.

  “I’m just messing with you, but you really are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JAGS