by S. M. Shade
Ugh, of course Gretchen is seated with us. She’s probably persona non grata after the bachelorette party too. If she hadn’t screwed up in the first place, we wouldn’t have had the chance to sabotage it.
Roman sits beside Kasha, looking at her like he’d like to throw her down on the table and maul her in front of everyone.
Davis acts as if nothing is out of the ordinary as we order and eat our meals, but every now and again, he shoots me a warning look. He knows it’s coming. I wonder if he knows he’ll be coming. He probably thinks I won’t get him off in public.
It’s like he doesn’t know me at all.
Kasha and Roman are deep in conversation, and Lydia is reluctantly chatting with Gretchen, when I slip my hand in my purse and turn the rear vibrator on low. Davis grabs my thigh, but his face remains impassive. After a few seconds, he shifts in his seat, and I smile at him. He can’t keep moving without calling attention to himself.
I bite back the laughter as I watch him try to ignore it, as Gretchen suddenly focuses on him. “So, Davis, Monica tells me you work in the medical field. Are you a doctor?”
I choose that moment to activate the vibrating bullet tucked between his cock and balls, and nearly lose it at how he sounds when he answers. “I’m a physical therapist.” The first two words come out in a high squeaky voice, and all attention at the table shifts to him.
He quickly reaches for his glass of water and takes a sip. “Sorry, frog in my throat.”
No, buzzing on your junk, I think, and a chuckle breaks free. His glare doesn’t escape Kasha’s notice, nor does the tight-lipped smile on Lydia’s face. She knows exactly what’s going on and is struggling not to laugh.
Kasha excuses herself to go to the restroom, and Lydia follows. Gretchen is flagged down by another guest and walks a few tables away to talk to her.
“Roman, there you are,” Monica says, approaching our table. “I need to speak with you about the rehearsal dinner.”
Davis turns to me as soon as they leave. “Turn it off,” he growls.
“Turn it up?” I ask, increasing the speed of the bullet.
His teeth grit and his hand clamps tight onto my thigh. “You’re going to make me come.”
“Probably more than once.”
Before he can respond, Lydia and Kasha return. One look at the gleeful expression on Kasha’s face and I know Lydia told her why this impeccably dressed man is squirming in his seat like a hyperactive toddler.
“So, Davis, you’ve been awfully quiet. Not up for any stimulating conversation?” Kasha goads.
“Actually, I think we’re going to go.” His voice jumps on the word go, maybe because I turn up the bullet another notch.
“Not yet,” I insist, running my hand over his crotch. Oh, he’s rock hard and his cheeks are starting to get red. “I want a piece of that chocolate cake for dessert.”
Monica and Gretchen return and Monica stands behind Davis, planting a hand on his shoulder. “Davis? Are you feeling okay? You’re awfully flushed.”
Sweat is beginning to run down his forehead. Monica rubs his shoulder as I switch the bullet to an intermittent setting. That does it. His eyes slam shut and his forehead crinkles. His lips press together so hard they nearly disappear as he climaxes in a restaurant full of people, all the eyes at our table on him.
Lydia snorts, trying to hold in the laughter, and quickly takes a drink, while Gretchen and Monica stare, completely confused. I give him a break, shutting all the vibration off and he gets to his feet. “Sorry, something must not have… erm… agreed with me. Thank you for lunch. I need to get some air.”
He flees the scene like his hair is on fire and his ass is catching, and Lydia, Kasha, and I break into laughter.
“Excuse me, I should go make sure he’s okay,” I announce, giggling.
“Well, I don’t see what’s so funny,” Monica huffs as I walk away, and I hear Kasha and Lydia dissolve into laughter again.
Davis stalks down to the shoreline, ignoring the fact he’s in a suit, his shoes getting full of sand. I don’t get a chance to say a word when I approach him, still giggling. His lips curl into a reluctant smile. “I underestimated you.”
“You did say you’d like to see the old crazy Henley.”
“You made me come in my pants like a teenager. In public.”
“Didn’t it feel good?” I ask innocently.
“With Monica rubbing my shoulders at the same time? No.”
Oh, my God. I hadn’t even thought of that. Gross! The glint in his eye makes me pause. His expression is full of bad intentions. Hmm… maybe I pushed him too far.
“No, you don’t,” he exclaims, grabbing me before I can retreat. I’m scooped up in his arms and—holy shit, he’s not really going to wade into the ocean fully dressed.
Yeah. He is. “Don’t you dare! You have to do what I tell you today!”
“Guess I lose, sweetheart.” I probably look like a cat afraid of water the way I’m climbing his body. Despite my attempt to hold onto him, I’m tossed in the air, plunging into the waves.
Fuck me. I’m glad I wore a bra, but my dress still clings to my body, showcasing more than I’m comfortable with, especially since we’re being watched by everyone on the restaurant’s patio.
“You son of a bitch!” I shriek, but Davis has problems of his own. He has waded in just far enough for the waves to wet him to the waist, and he’s learning the hard way that a crotch full of electronics and water don’t mix.
“Ah! Fuck!” he shouts as the vibrators turn into mini tasers in his pants. He darts out of the water, grabbing his crotch and pulling the wet material away from his body, which only presses the rear one against him for another shock.
“No! Fuck! My ass!”
“Did he just ask to get his ass fucked?” Kasha says, standing beside me to watch the show. When did she get out here?
Tears roll down her face from laughing so hard. More guests from the restaurant are starting to filter onto the beach to see why a man in a dripping suit is screaming and grabbing his crotch.
Finally, he reaches his breaking point and shoves his pants and the underwear down. It’s about the time he’s standing on the beach with his cock bobbing in the breeze that I realize I may have taken this too far.
He’s going to kill me.
Completely oblivious to the gasps and hoots from his audience, and one cry of “damn, he’s hung”—thank you, Kasha—he strips off the underwear and tosses them in the sand.
His dark eyes meet mine as he’s pulling his wet pants back on. I step back, holding up my palms when he stalks toward me. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know it’d do that!”
Without a word, he grabs my thighs and I’m over his shoulder again, being carried to the car.
I might be in trouble.
Chapter Twelve
Kasha
“What I’d like to know is why all the villains usually have some handicap? Like Hook! He’s missing a hand, and surprise, surprise, he’s a villain. One-eyed Willie. Of course all the other bad pirates have a peg leg. It’s like America is teaching people to automatically think that if you’re missing a body part, then obviously you’re a dark force just waiting to attack.”
Roman grins, only amused by my random ramble.
“I guess Davis will be revered as a villain too if that shock took a testicle away. Oh! He’d be one-nut Davy!” I say too enthusiastically.
The laughter slips out of the man who has been trying not to laugh at the accidental electric shock therapy that took place back on the beach. What guy wants to laugh about crispy balls?
Roman’s hand is holding mine, and his other is driving the rental car as we head toward the house. A smile curves my lips when I think about the shocking-penis device. The purpose of its design is actually intriguing, if you discount the minor electrocution glitch, of course.
“So, do you think you’d ever wear one of—”
“No,” Roman says, cutting me off while giving a sha
ke of his head, adamant on that stance. He’s gotten to know me too well too soon if he knew what I was going to ask.
“But our last night is coming and—”
“No.”
“It only shocked him because of the water, and if—”
“No.”
“But—”
“No,” he says firmly, eyeing me with no humor in his eyes, even though he’s fighting to not laugh.
He returns his gaze to the road and shudders dramatically.
I mean, we just saw a penis getting shocked half to death, so I understand his reservations, but…
“What if—”
“No!”
“Fine,” I grumble, still half laughing.
As we drive through the town, Jill rests under my right hand that is holding Roman’s, still behaving like a good little smart arm. I’m turned in my seat because Roman won’t hold Jill’s hand, which had me stretching my right arm across my body for the sweet contact. For some reason he doesn’t trust my robo hand.
“Rehearsal dinner is in a few hours. I thought we could just chill until then,” Roman says.
“Chill is code for sex, right?” I muse.
He shakes his head. “I just saw another guy’s dick and balls. I’ll pass on the sex for a while.”
For a while? The wedding is tomorrow. There’s no more time. It’d be too weird to expect this to go anywhere further, since we both live so far away and it’s not like we really know each other.
Great. Back on inner ramble mode.
“I need to head to my Dad’s hotel room. He’s leaving today, and he wanted to check Jill one last time to make sure all was good before his flight back out.”
He cuts the wheel, and I frown.
“Where to?” he asks, heading back toward town.
“You don’t have to go,” I say quickly, realizing it did come across as me asking him to go.
“I want to.”
My dad is three tiers of crazy past the normal tenth tier of crazy. I mean, guys don’t usually know how to react around him. He’s usually geeking out over some new invention. He’s also surly and short, or too invasive and chatty.
And… that just seems a little too personal to do with a guy I only have today and tomorrow left to enjoy.
“But my dad is—”
“You really haven’t figured out that I don’t lose arguments, have you?” he asks, sounding really amused right now as he arches an eyebrow at me.
Has he been winning all the arguments? That cheeky bastard. He has!
“Where to?” he asks when I open my mouth to call him a few names.
I start to argue, then decide this will probably be the best way to ditch him. Obviously I have to ditch him by tomorrow anyway. Meeting my father usually ends a relationship quicker than anything else.
So, I tell him the hotel, and I sit back as he drives. He smiles like he’s earned another merit badge or something. That smile won’t last for long.
We park at the hotel, and Roman follows me as I head straight for my father’s room. He gave me his spare key, and I use it without thinking.
Big mistake.
Huge mistake.
Mistake of epic proportions.
The sound of plastic squeaking and my father’s ass pumping into the plastic really drills home just how terrible of a mistake I’ve made. The horror freezes me in place as my eyes try to catch up to what I’m actually seeing, forever searing this traumatizing scene into my memory.
I scream.
Dad screams.
Roman chokes on air.
Dad scrambles to jerk the covers over him, and in the process, knocks the doll off the bed. Yes. I said doll. As in a plastic blowup doll. As in a life-sized, plastic blowup doll. There’s also a big tube of lube on the nightstand to notch up the level of grossness too.
I’m going to be sick.
“Kasha!” Dad gasps, his eyes wide and horrified.
I’m still frozen in place, and the door is still wide open. My eyes flit to the doll that has red lips forming an “O” mouth, as though this needs to be more disgusting. Fairly sure she’s wearing a real skirt and it’s pushed up around her plastic waist.
“Are you kidding me?!” I snap.
“I… uh… I’ll wait outside,” Roman says uncomfortably, darting out the door and closing it behind him.
Bye, Roman. It was nice knowing you. Take care of your penis, and have him sing to remember me.
I glare at my father, who has apparently finally lost his mind. “A blowup doll?” I yell, then shudder in disgust.
Dad wipes the perspiration off his brow, which has me gagging again. I guess he worked up a sweat with Dolly Dearest.
“Why wouldn’t you knock?” he demands, flushed.
“Why are you banging plastic?”
“Why are you here?”
“Does my new stepmother have a name, or do I just keep calling her Dolly Dearest?”
“Kasha! For heaven’s sake, why did you just barge into my room with some guy? Who was he? What will he say about this?”
“I don’t think you should bring heaven into this right now. I mean, are you that lonely? I can totally set you up on some websites if that’s the case.”
“Kasha!”
“And really, couldn’t you have at least gotten one of those silicone dolls that doesn’t squeak like a balloon when it’s getting twisted into a giraffe or something?”
“Kasha,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose while thankfully remaining covered.
“Does she have a family? Maybe the balloon animals are missing her while you’re desecrating her body.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” he says, exasperated.
“You’re fucking Barbie’s slutty, twice-removed, distant cousin, but I’m the ridiculous one?”
He glares at me, and I arch an eyebrow. This is just too much. Obviously it’s time to move on to someone with a heartbeat if he’s reached this level of desperation.
“Why are you here?” he asks calmly, still clutching the blanket. His glasses are warped on his face, but he doesn’t attempt to straighten them.
“You said you wanted to see Jill again before you left.” I hold up my arm. “But I think she’s fine, and after what I just witnessed, I’d rather your hands weren’t on an appendage of mine.”
He mutters something under his breath and finally adjusts his glasses.
“I’ll wash my hands first,” he offers, as though that makes the past fifteen minutes suddenly okay.
He moves like he’s about to vacate the bed.
“No thanks. I’ll just take Jill with me. I’ll be home in a few days anyway.”
He tries to argue, but I walk out, casting one last evil glare to the inanimate stepmother I don’t want, and head outside. Definitely not how I wanted to spend my day. Some things a daughter should never see, to be honest.
Why give me a key if you plan on sticking your dick inside a fake vagina?
Shuddering, I walk out, already dreading the awkward silence that will be thickly placed between Roman and me. I mean, I knew we were going to end, but like this? My father is hella geeky and rudely invasive with his questions. Sure that ends a lot of my relationships, because he’s weird and people don’t know how to take him.
Never realized quite how far off the reservation he’d wandered until this moment.
Now Roman will see me as the one-armed chick he screwed at Anderson’s wedding, and it ended after witnessing my father piston into a squeaky bedtime toy.
My life should be a how-to disaster manual—1001 ways to become a social leper.
Roman is in the car when I finally reach the parking lot, but the sun is glinting against the glass just enough to obscure my view of the disgusted expression he’s probably donning. I really don’t even want to be in the car with him.
It’s just going to be weird, awkward, and terrible to end things this way.
I can spend the quiet car ride planning out dating w
ebsites to put my father on before he buys Dolly Dearest a ring.
Breathe through the humiliation, Kasha. That’s the only pep talk I give myself before swinging open the door and dropping to the seat, never once daring to cast a glance in Roman’s direction.
He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. That projected silence is suffocating as he backs away from the hotel and begins driving back toward the house.
At least he waited for me instead of leaving me here to call a cab.
Searching for the right words seems impossible. How do you apologize to a guy for making him an accidental voyeur to your father’s squeaky kink?
Just as I open my mouth to utter the most bizarre apology of all apologies, he bursts out laughing. My eyes swing to him to see the tears falling from his eyes as he loses it, laughing so hard he has to pull over to the shoulder to keep from wrecking.
I watch in fascinated confusion as he doubles over, pressing his head against the steering wheel as his body shakes with the riot. I’m not sure what to say now.
“The hell?” I ask, feeling the infectious laughter creeping into my system, causing me to giggle against my will.
“That’s… I saw his ass… before his face… Never happened before,” he heaves out through his relentless guffaws.
“Seriously?” I ask, now laughing as hard as he is because it’s impossible to not laugh when you hear someone else laughing that maniacally.
“Your face, though,” he goes on, wiping tears out of his eyes, unable to form a word properly. “Just your face.”
Totally not how I saw this going down. There was no laughter in my earlier projection.
Now my sides are in pain, and I try to catch my breath as his laughter slowly tapers off, allowing mine to also ebb.
We sit here, chuckling softer, staring at each other. He flashes me a grin before shaking his head.
“Your life is far more interesting than mine,” he finally says, sighing wistfully while cranking the car back up.
“You find that interesting?”
“You just told your father off for fucking a blowup doll after barging in for him to check your arm, just to make sure it doesn’t try to molest you again. The last conversation I had with my parents was something random about the weather. That’s about as deep as we go. So yes, I call it interesting.”
