Big Package_A Dark Vixens Novella

by Vivien Vale

  “Fuck’s sake, Percy!” I grab a half-finished can of Red Bull off the bathroom counter and dump it on her. Percy sighs and relaxes in relief as the flames are extinguished. “And they call me a fire-crotch.”

  “That’s the last time I fall asleep smoking,” Percy says.

  I snort. Like I haven’t heard that one before.

  “Percy, what the fuck did we do last night?”

  “No idea.” Percy scratches her head with her free hand then sets about dislocating the fingers of her cuffed one. The cuff slides right off and brings back a wave of nostalgia with it. Last time I saw her do that, we were in the back of a police car during spring break. “But shit, I’m hungover this morning.”

  She lets out a roaring burp that reverberates within my own head like a thousand hammers on a kettle drum.

  “That makes two of us,” I wince, tossing her a towel.

  “Nice tiara, slut,” Percy says back, catching it.

  In the kitchen, Not Dan is still totally there, totally naked and, yeah—still totally gorgeous.

  And still totally off limits.

  “Fuck me,” Percy swears as she lays eyes on him. “That’s an open offer, by the way.”

  “Sorry, love,” Not Dan says, sliding her over a cup of coffee. “I’m a married man.”

  Oh god. A married man. That makes it, like, a billion times worse.

  “He says I slept with him last night,” I hiss at Percy when his back is turned.

  “Nice,” she hisses back, slapping me on my ass.

  “No, not nice! Bad, Percy! So bad!”

  “Oh. Does that mean I can fuck him then, or—”

  “Did I not tell you to leave?” I ask Not Dan, who is currently doing dishes while we gawk at his perfect ass.

  “Doubt it,” he says over his shoulder in that sexy British accent of his. “Women tend to prefer me coming rather than going.”

  “I’d prefer you gone,” I say, turning to Percy again. “What happened to Sammi? Mysti May?”

  “Present,” a slurred little Texan voice pipes up from behind the kitchen island. Mysti May emerges in all of her blue-eyed, blonde-haired glory, looking topless, sticky and well-fucked.

  “Coffee,” Not Dan says, wheeling around to her with a mug. I can’t help but notice that he doesn’t look at her tits—though he makes a point of admiring mine, even as I cross my arms over them in a huff.

  “Well, aren’t you just sweet as pie?” Mysti May gratefully accepts the coffee, then looks down at her bare chest. “So…just wondering…do y’all know why I’m so sticky?”

  Percy and I both eyeball Mysti May’s exposed torso, which is completely smeared with unidentifiable white stuff.

  “Could be cum,” Percy suggests.

  Mysti May pulls a face and lowers her mouth to lick her shoulder.

  “Whipped cream,” she verifies.

  “Well, you smell like pussy,” says Percy.

  “Perhaps something to do with the showgirls?” Not Dan suggests helpfully.

  “Leave,” I hiss at him, but he only chuckles and returns to dish duty.

  Because of course he does dishes. Dan doesn’t even know how to work the dishwasher.

  Percy and I peer over the kitchen island and spy three showgirls still passed out at Mysti May’s feet. They’re in various states of undress, and also covered in whipped cream.

  “Guess we know what you did last night,” Percy says, winking at Mysti May.

  “More like who you did,” I add, even though my own supposed shame-fuck is still walking around the apartment nude, so I can’t really talk.

  “I would never,” Mysti May swears. “For one thing, I’m happily married to Alfonso, as you’ll recall—”

  Percy and I both groan. Alfonso is Mysti May’s husband, and I don’t think she’s gone an hour without mentioning him yet this trip.

  “And for another, I’m simply not into women,” Mysti May adds. “That’s just not how we do things in Texas.”

  “But what happens in Vegas…” Percy smirks, pausing to take a huge gulp of her coffee. “Stays out of Texas. Bitchin’ coffee, by the way.”

  Not Dan turns and flashes her a billion dollar grin.

  “Okay,” I say, putting a hand to my throbbing head and thinking fast. “We need to figure out what happened last night before I like, lose my fucking shit. You two—” I look at my two blonde, half-naked bridesmaids and sigh. Where the fuck is Sammi? She’s the level-headed one of us. She’ll know what to do. “Find Sammi. Figure out what the hell happened last night. I’ll take care of…”

  Our eyes collectively slide back over to the mighty fine ass of Not Dan at the sink.

  “Yeah,” Percy says, smacking my ass again. “I bet you will.”

  We break. Percy and Mysti May disappear to hunt down Sammi, and I step over the three showgirls to try and convince Not Dan to get the fuck out of my suite before, well—

  Before I either break down crying out of shame or whatever drugs I must have done last night kick back in, and I throw myself at him again.

  He turns away from the sink as I come to his side. He’s still got a massive hard-on—and there’s not a woman alive who wouldn’t be happy to watch a man like him doing chores for her.

  But if he’s after a tip, I can’t oblige.

  “So, love.” He’s smiling at me, and for a moment, I let myself drown in those blue eyes. “Have you changed your mind about that quickie, then?”

  I roll my eyes, which unleashes giant waves of pain in my fucking head. Note to self: keep body movements this morning to a minimum.

  “I think you should put on some clothes on leave.” I try to sound polite, firm, and in charge of the situation.

  Truth is, I’m fucking none of those things. Any second I’ll dissolve into tears, and then I’ll just be a blubbering mess.

  Dan once said something about his belief in my ability to make good choices.

  This guy, though? He’s got bad choice written all over him.

  “I heard you the first time, love,” he says, drying his hands on a dish towel. “It’s just not a message I want to hear.”

  “And what is it that you think you’re going to hear from me?”

  He shrugs. “Something about how you’ll have mad, passionate sex with me, I suppose.”

  I almost chuckle. Almost. I have to admit, the man is fucking good.

  Just my type, in fact.

  Except, I’m getting married in two days.

  And he’s married already.

  I’ve fucked up. Holy shit, I’ve fucked up hard.

  “You’ll be waiting a while,” I retort, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him toward the door.

  “Hallway sex?” He chuckles, falling into step at my lead. “Kinky little tart, aren’t you?”

  “What you do in that hallway is your own business,” I say, pushing him and his sexy, naked ass out the door. “I just won’t be joining you.”

  “Shame,” he pouts. The places on his chest and shoulders where my hands touch feel like they stain my skin with sex and shame. “And here I was, thinking we could—”

  What exactly he was thinking we could do, I’ll never know, because at that point, I make the only good decision I’ve made all day:

  I shut the door in his face.

  When he’s gone, I find myself staring at my hands, remembering the way his body felt against my palms. Hard and warm and like I’d kill just to touch him again—which is bad.

  But as I’m looking at my hands, I realize something even worse.

  My million dollar engagement ring is gone.

  That’s it. I’m finally ready to break down and cry at how fucking bad I’ve fucked my fucking life up.

  My bridal suite is trashed. I’ve cheated on my fiancé with a big-dicked British dude—and with no recollection of it. There are three whipped-cream covered showgirls passed out in my kitchen. Percy has burned off half her pubic hair, Mysti May is in denial of her own sexuality and Sammi—my o
nly level-headed friend—is nowhere to be found.

  And now my wedding ring is missing. Great. Fucking Great.

  So yeah, I nearly cry then and there. I’m about to turn on the waterworks and let the tears fall.

  But that’s when I hear it again:

  Bzzzzzzzzzzzzt!

  “RUN!” Percy bellows, and I watch as she and Mysti May flee across the suite, pursued by the biggest, sparkliest vibrator I’ve ever seen.Yeah, shit’s pretty much fucked.

  We need to find Sammi, and I need to call Dan. Like, now.

  Becky

  5:27 PM WEDNESDAY

  My fiancé might not be the most interesting man in the world, or the most laid back, but I’ve gotta hand it to him: the red private jet to Las Vegas is a good touch.

  I smile sadly. It would be nice to fucking share it with someone. It’s a pity my bridesmaids are all coming from different cities. I stayed in California after I graduated from UCLA, but Mysti May, Percy, and Sammi scattered all fucking over.

  Thank god for video chat.

  The in-flight phone buzzes, and I press answer.

  “Hey darlin’!” The screen is filled with Misty May’s beautiful face in all of its high cheekboned, Miss America glory.

  “Hey Mist. You left Texas yet?”

  Her thick blonde waves bounce like she’s in a shampoo commercial as she nods.

  “Heading your way from Dallas right now. Alfonso let me use one of his private jets, too. Your hubby isn’t the only one who likes to spoil his little lady.”

  Pretending to gag would be rude, so I grimace.

  “He’s not my hubby yet,” I sigh.

  Mysti May hasn’t shut the fuck up about her fancy billionaire husband Alfonso since she met him just a few months ago. I have this nasty little feeling that she married him so quickly just so she could beat me to the altar…not that it matters or anything.

  “Great. You heard from Percy or Sammi yet?”

  Mysti May giggles. Her laugh sounds like the bubbles in a glass of strawberry champagne.

  “They’re on their way. Commercial flights, though.” Mysti May sounds way too happy about that. Like we’re part of some billionaire fuck club that affords us privileges that our other friends don’t have. Although…I guess that’s kind of the case. “Why don’t we toast to our trip, Becky? You’ve got champagne on board, right?”

  Now there’s a fucking brilliant suggestion if ever I heard one. There’s just one problem.

  “I’ve got sparkling grape juice,” I say, looking away from the screen.

  Rule #1: No drinking.

  “Ew,” Mysti May sneers. “Do I want to ask?”

  “Nope.”

  “Pregnant?”

  “No, thank god. I’ll tell you later,” I say.

  It takes me less than a minute to get a cool glass of non-alcoholic bubbles organized.

  “Cheers,” we say at the same time and lift our glasses.

  We chat for a bit longer until my captain announces we’re getting ready to land.

  “See you in a bit, darlin’!” says Mysti May before the screen goes black.

  In the arrivals terminal, I spot Percy and Sammi right away.

  “Besties!” I squeal, knowing damn well that I’m being too loud and overexcited. I dance on the spot, and we hug and kiss and shriek some more.

  “Fucking missed you,” Sammi says, kissing me on both cheeks. “It’s been so boring out on the research boat—let’s be sluts and go play the slots, yeah? I’m dying to let my hair down.”

  “Um, about that,” I say, eyeballing Sammi’s sleek, tight, elegant ponytail.

  Rule #2: No gambling.

  I hope she brought extra ponytail holders.

  “Becks!” Percy bellows, throwing her arms around me and squeezing me so tight I can feel my kidneys start to bruise. “Please tell me we’ve booked some fuckable strippers. Momma needs man meat!”

  “Uh,” I say.

  Because then there’s Rule #3: No hooking up.

  I look down at my engagement ring, thankful that I’ve remembered to put it on. Maybe thinking about the million dollars that Dan the Man blew on it will help me break it to my bridesmaids that we won’t be hitting anything harder than the spa this week.

  “Angels!” Mysti May interrupts, trotting over to us in a pair of rhinestone heels with her long, beauty queen legs. “Our limo is waiting, let’s go already!”

  It feels good to be back with my girls again. We haven’t all seen each other since graduation from UCLA, and now we feel a bit like the three amigos again—except for the fact that there are four of us, I guess.

  When we get outside to the limo, my jaw fucking drops. I’m not sure who organized it, but I don’t fucking care.

  When I see it I turn to my girls. They grin.

  “Red!” I squeal in delight.

  “Do you like it?” Mysti May asks. “I told Alfonso it was your favorite, and he booked it without even batting an eye. It’s not as big as the one he bought me for our vacation house, of course, but…” Mysti sighs dreamily. “Latin lovers. Soooo romantic.”

  Percy, Sammi, and I make eye contact. I stick my finger in my throat in a pretend gag, and we all giggle while Mysti May’s back is turned.

  “You okay, darlin’?” she asks, turning her head.

  “Oh, totally,” I assure her and head to the limo. It’s the same color of red as my Louboutins. “I fucking love it.” And I really do.

  The inside is a mix of red and black. A bottle of champagne on ice is waiting for us, and I settle back on the soft leather.

  “So…elephant in the limousine,” Sammi says tentatively. “Dan the Man can’t make it?”

  I nod.

  For a little while, I was so caught up in reuniting with my BFFs, I’d forgotten my future husband isn’t even going to show up until the day of the wedding.

  “Blessing in disguise,” Sammi reassures me, popping the cork of the champagne. She fills up our glasses, passing them out as she announces a toast: “To one last hurrah!”

  “Hurrah!” echo the others, but I say nothing.

  Sammi holds my glass out to me, and I hesitate to take it.

  I’m biting my bottom lip.

  “Darlin’?” Mysti May’s voice seems a long way away.

  “Becks,” Percy echoes. “You okay?”

  I shake my head.

  Time to break the news, I guess.

  “We can’t drink.” I confess, hanging my head.

  “You’re pregnant?!” Percy and Sammi gasp.

  “No,” I reassure them. “It’s just…Dan the Man left us with some ground rules.”

  My BFFs are staring at me like I just stole Christmas.

  “And they are?” asks Sammi, narrowing her eyes like a hawk.

  Out of the three of them, she’s always disliked Dan most. It’s always bothered me a little—since she’s also easily the smartest of our little bestie group, and with that hawk-eyed gaze of hers, she usually sees things that I don’t.

  “No drinking, no gambling, no hooking up.” I rattle them off as quickly as possible and stare at my heels like they’ve got a naked Channing Tatum printed on them.

  “WHAT?!” Percy roars. “In Vegas? What’s he even sending you here for?!”

  “He might as well have sent you to the morgue.” Sammi blurts out, and I look at her with a furrowed brow. “If you can’t drink, gamble or hook up in Vegas, you may as well be dead.”

  I shake my head.

  “Alfonso wouldn’t put such restrictions on me. He trusts me,” adds Mysti May, which makes me feel, like, so much fucking better—not.

  “Okay,” Percy sighs. “So what can we do?”

  I smile weakly at Percy.

  “The Royale has a spa,” I say, trying to sound chipper.

  Everyone perks up a little bit at that. I’m not sure if they mean it or not, but it helps.

  “And…Dan’s left me his black card.”

  They all gasp.

  “No
credit limit?” Mysti May says, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

  “And he’s given it…to you,” Sammi says, obviously recalling my shopaholic days.

  “Bitchin’,” swears Percy. She points to her top, which is admittedly barely keeping her ample tits restrained. “These titties of mine aren’t getting any smaller. Size sixteen, see you later; hello, size eighteen. Shopping’s on the to-do list.”

  Now I have to laugh.

  It’s true Percy is nothing like your fucking stick figure models. She’s the complete opposite, but she looks good. Actually, I think she looks fucking hot. And I’ve never met a guy who doesn’t like large tits and something to grab on to.

  “And we have Celine Dion tickets for tonight,” I add. “It won’t be as fun as if we were a little shitfaced, but...”

  “It’s Celine Dion,” Sammi says, nodding her head. “Good even when you’re sober.”

  “And we can have a visit to a day spa and the hairdresser,” adds Mysti May.

  “And we’ll shop ‘til we drop,” Percy adds.

  Slowly, the gloomy feeling lifts. We can have fucking fun in Vegas. As long as we’re together. Even with the stupid fucking rules set by Dan the Man.

  “And best of all…we’ll remember this week. Do you remember some of our wild parties at UCLA?” Percy asks, and we nod.

  “The hangovers,” groans Sammi. “I don’t miss those.”

  Mysti May shakes her head and giggles. “I think most mornings, I woke up with a set of genitals dangling over my face and no idea who they belonged to.”

  I laugh. “There may have even be a few nights I have no fucking idea what happened at all.”

  Our limo stops and we get out.

  It takes no time at all for us to check in, and then we finally walk into the bridal suite of the Royale.

  “Oh my fucking god,” mutters Sammi as she surveys the room. “Compared to the research boat…this is a fucking castle.”

  She’s not wrong.

  There’s yet another bottle of champagne on ice sitting on the table. Expensive champagne. Royale-level luxury champagne. There are four tall crystal glasses around the ice bucket.

  I’ve never wanted to drink anything more in my entire life.