Identical Disaster (The Sterling Shore Series Book 8)

by C. M. Owens

  Laughing lightly, I stand up and head inside. Uncle Mick throws his arms around me, and he hugs me to him for a few seconds before releasing me abruptly and grabbing Helen.

  She coughs like she can’t breathe, but it doesn’t look like he’s loosening his hold any time soon. “I’m so fucking glad you’re okay,” he tells her, kissing the top of her head.

  Smiling and deciding they need privacy, Dad and I step over Mrs. Marshall’s unconscious body, and he kisses my forehead before heading down the hall to his master bedroom.

  With a rueful sigh, I head up the stairs and toward my room. Just as I open the door, I turn into Mrs. Marshall and scream. Well, it’s more of a hoarse squeal than a scream. And I don’t pass out.

  At least I have a good penis—er, I mean reason.

  Penis. Big penis. Big naked penis.

  Holy penis. Holy massive hard penis. Why is it hard? Surely he doesn’t just walk around at attention for no real reason.

  “You okay, babe?” Jax asks, looking at me from beside the bed as he pulls the covers back.

  He’s naked. Did I mention that? I mean fully naked. Like I’m getting full frontal right now.

  “Your penis,” I babble, then shake my head. “I mean, you’re naked.”

  Long lines of muscle taunt me, while the random lines of ink keep my eyes roaming over his body. And his penis. Did I mention his penis is in the room? Of course it’s in the room, because it’s attached to him, and he’s in the room… But… Penis.

  “Yes,” he says, tilting his head like he’s studying me. “Usually I sleep naked, you know? It’s rare I wear clothes.”

  “Fire. There was a fire. You don’t want to risk being naked with a fire,” I ramble on.

  “Fires aren’t quite so common. I doubt such a thing happens two consecutive nights. Care to join me?”

  “Period,” I remind him. “Still bleeding. Pouring out like a waterfall.”

  Holy shit. I want a muzzle. Why can’t I have laryngitis instead of verbal diarrhea?

  His lips twitch, but he merely slides in between the covers. However, he does not cover up that damn penis.

  “Does your period keep you from getting in the bed?” he asks, amused. “Pretty sure sharks can’t climb the beach and come after you up here.”

  He’s mocking me. Great. Now I’m the weirdo girl who is obsessed with talking about her period. And Jax Marshall is Mr. Cool who is laughing at me. I think his penis is even laughing.

  “Relax, Bo,” he says as humor dances in his eyes. “It’s just a bed. We’ve slept together countless times, right? Slept together just last night.”

  Yeah… But there wasn’t a penis staring at me last night.

  Wait. No. Bora hasn’t spent the night with him. I know her rules.

  My thoughts trail off as he adjusts on the bed. Holy shit. I’m gawking at that massive beast once again.

  Life sucks.

  He continues lying naked on my sheets, and I continue staring at his—Did that thing just jump?

  “Bo?” he prompts, patting the bed beside him.

  It’s just anatomy. It’s not like I’ve never seen one before.

  Albeit, I’ve never seen one like that before. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intimidated, but lying seems to be the new normal for me.

  I’ve committed to the lie, and now… Now I’d look pathetic and extremely weird if I told him the truth.

  I don’t know why, but I don’t want to seem pathetic. Pretty sure he’s already figured out the weird part, thanks to my stupid mouth and constant word vomit.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, I grab my pajamas, go into the bathroom, spend much longer than necessary changing, and maybe I even pray he’s already asleep before I go back out.

  But he’s not.

  He’s watching me with a small smirk, and his fully erect appendage is still waving like a flag. How is it still hard?

  Then… Then I’m pretty sure my knees buckle when he reaches down and strokes it right in front of me.

  Strokes it.

  From base to tip.

  With his hand.

  While he’s watching me.

  That’s right, I can’t even put together proper sentences right now.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” I stutter, barely stopping myself from falling to the floor.

  “Enjoying my sexy view,” he tells me, biting his lip as he starts stroking himself a little harder, faster… Holy shit.

  “Maybe I can’t fuck you, but I can watch you. And there are other ways to get each other off, you know?”

  Mouth dry—desert dry. Brain freezing and short circuiting.

  “I’m… tired,” I tell him, still watching his hand move up and down in a mesmerizing motion.

  “Oh?” he muses, not sounding surprised at all.

  He drops his hold on himself, and he reclines back, putting both hands behind his head.

  “Then let’s get some sleep. There’s always tomorrow, right?”

  Tomorrow officially sucks.

  “Yeah,” I squeak, forcing a smile.

  Very quickly, I slide into bed, and almost instantly, he’s right up against me the second I flip off my lamp. His arms come around my waist, and he pulls me back against him until I feel every inch of my back covered by his warm, tempting skin.

  Then there’s that penis again. It’s poking me in the back, demanding I pay it some attention.

  “Night, Bo,” he says with a smile in his voice.

  “Good night,” I say through clenched teeth. No way am I getting any sleep now.

  I’m worried my dreams will include Jax stroking that monster he calls a penis.

  Chapter 17

  BO

  Fake Period Day 2

  Everyone else is laughing it up and enjoying the beach. I’m sitting in my room, pretending that I’m slowly bleeding to death while avoiding sharks. My life is one disastrous lie after another. It’s getting out of hand.

  To distract myself, I pick up the bag of Pretty Posh tester samples Jane brought in this morning. There’s a note from Shanna inside, even though it’s not her handwriting. Considering how quickly it got here, I’m assuming she sent it from the island warehouse and had someone else write this note.

  I hate her. This note is too personal to be sending via someone else. A text would have been just as good.

  Bo, check this shit out. Rub the tingly stuff on your clit, and it will definitely have you jumping Mr. Hottie and squashing all those pesky inner thoughts I’m sure you’re warring with right now. By the way…

  I quit reading because my cheeks are on fire. Stupid letter. Someone else wrote that and read it. Read about me rubbing some tingly stuff on my… lady bits.

  Cursing her silently, I remove the unmarked lid and look in at the simple gel inside. None of the testers have been named yet. We’re branching out into cosmetics and now some bedroom romance items. Such as the lady bit tingly gel that smells like cinnamon.

  Shrugging, I dip my finger in, testing the feel. It’s a lot like hair gel, which is not what I was expecting. Most of them have a much different consistency.

  Not that I’ve used them a lot… With my vibrator… When I was alone…

  Getting a decent size amount on my fingertip, I glance over at the door, seeing it’s locked, and bite my lip while debating my options. Ah hell. This will help me get there faster, and I might stop thinking about sex with Jax if I just handle matters myself.

  Wish I had my vibrator.

  Shoving my shorts down with my other hand, I spread my legs and rub the gel right where it’s supposed to go. Nothing happens.

  I dip my finger in again, then resume the process of applying it once more, using a more generous amount this time. The subtle heat finally begins, and I start feeling a dull throb where it’s doing its tingly work.

  It’s like zero to sixty in point five seconds, because I’m full blown needy in less than a breath. But before I can start taking care of those needs, the subtle heat t
urns into an inferno, and the throb starts feeling like a sledgehammer against my little lady bud.

  “Shit!” I hiss, cursing as the pain licks down, traveling with the flow of the gel that has run lower than it should of because of how much I tried to use.

  My vagina starts feeling like it’s chewing a piece of cool peppermint and a nuclear-hot chicken wing at the same time, contracting around nothing as the fire-and-ice sensation strikes with a vengeance. My lady bits feel under siege, and I cry out in pain when I shut my legs, because it makes it that much worse.

  Shower! This shit has to come off immediately!

  I jerk my shorts up, and start to rush to the bathroom, when someone starts knocking.

  “Bo? It’s Viv. Your father asked me to bring something up for you.”

  Shit! Not now. Of all the damn times in the world.

  It’s not like I can tell her I have to wash my fiery vagina, so I hobble spread-legged to the door, fighting back the tears as my downstairs lady goes to war.

  I’m almost worried it’s going to eat a hole in my shorts as I open the door. A painful image of a dragon breathing fire or acid from my crotch distracts me from whatever Viv is saying, as I bite back the whimper of pain that is trying to turn into a scream of agony.

  It isn’t until she thrusts something at me that I remember I’m holding the door open and standing in front of her like I’m trying to dump a baby out from between my legs.

  All the ice feeling has subsided, giving me no relief from the unrestrained burning as I try to focus on Viv. And the box of tampons she’s trying to hand me.

  “Are you okay?” she asks as I snatch the tampons away—stupid asshole father—and toss them to the ground.

  “Fine,” I wheeze, barely holding in that scream.

  Think of the Arctic, Bo. Think of all the penguins sliding around the ice and snow… My crotch would melt the Arctic if I went there right now. Then the sweet and innocent penguins would be homeless and easy prey to all those killer whales. Poor little penguins.

  “Bo?” Viv prompts, retracting me from my twisted thoughts.

  “I have to go save the penguins,” I tell her, and then realize what I just said. Stupid, mean, cruel mind. “I mean my vagina,” I tell her, wincing when I realize my mouth is still leaking stupidity.

  “I mean… I have to take a shower,” I bite out, barely reining in the desire to claw my shorts off and start shoving ice into the fire pit.

  “Okay…”

  I shut the door in her face, and hobble to the bathroom. I whimper when I have to close my legs in order to peel my shorts off, because those flames seem to shoot inward, trying to reach my chest. Holy mother of pearl, that stuff is insane. How did it make it to the tester phase?

  I leap into the shower, blasting myself with cold water. It doesn’t seem to be working fast enough, so I lie down in the tub, arch my back, and let the spray hit me right in the pit. Yep.

  My life is officially spiraling out of control.

  Relief slowly starts to fill me when the fire either fades or my crotch goes numb from the consistent cold spray. I stay that way for so long that my skin starts to turn blue from the incredible, blessed cold water.

  My teeth start to chatter, which forces me to pray for the best and hope the fire doesn’t return when I’m not under the water. My hair is wet and now a little messy since there was no shampooing or conditioning going on, but I’m not risking a hot water shower just to remedy my hair.

  After wrapping up in a towel, I walk toward my phone, glaring at the stupid gel on the bed. But then I see the note, and decide to finish reading it.

  When I pick up where I left off, I realize it would have been best to finish reading the embarrassing letter before dealing with the vagina assassin.

  By the way, the tubes are the best. You rub them on like chap stick. Even tastes good. Wink. Wink. The gel is incredible, but only use a tiny amount. Give it a few minutes to start working. If you use too much, it could get too intense. I suggest ice if you attempt too much.

  Damn it!

  I type out a quick text to her.

  ME: No to the gel.

  Immediately there’s a response.

  SHANNA: You used it! Yay!! Oh, and the gel is a definite go. It’s everyone’s favorite. What’s your deal with it?

  ME: It’s dangerous if you use too much.

  SHANNA: That’s why they make warning labels.

  I want to call and scream at her because my poor little lady was just annihilated by that damn gel. What if someone else skips the warning? No one should have to go through that. The penguins may depend on the sinking of this product.

  But arguing with her is pointless. So I concede.

  ME: Fine. Then I name it.

  SHANNA: By all means…

  ME: Fire Crotch

  SHANNA: Terrible name. Try again.

  ME: Dragon’s Breath

  SHANNA: FFS go with erotic. Not scary.

  ME: Acid Flames

  SHANNA: You’re missing the point of this...

  ME: Vagina Slayer

  SHANNA: What is your defect today? Do you want this product to die?

  Yes, yes I do. I want this product to burn in hell. Like my vagina. I’ll hold it responsible for global warming if it hits the market and sells well.

  SHANNA: Come up with a better name.

  ME: Penguin Killer

  SHANNA: Now you’re just getting weird.

  After a series of several more back and forth texts, I throw my hands up in surrender. She thinks that name would kill the product—which is the point. And it’s useless to continue trying to convince her the product is a menace.

  Outnumbered, I am. Bora apparently loves it too. And it’s going to be named Orgasm Lover instead of Pussy Annihilator.

  Bullies united.

  Tossing my phone to the side, I lie back and stare at the ceiling. Five minutes later, I’m whimpering and running back to the shower, when the aftershocks kick in and my poor little girl starts trying to catch on fire once more.

  Stupid gel. It better be one hell of a warning label.

  Use only if you like your lady bits to die a painful death and if you hate penguins.

  ***

  Fake period day 3…

  Just as I walk out of the kitchen, someone grabs me and shoves me against a wall. Jax is smugly staring down at me as he cages me in and presses his body against mine. Holy mother of sexiness.

  “Hi,” he says simply.

  I wish he’d put a shirt on.

  “Hi,” I say all embarrassingly breathy.

  “I was thinking we could spend the day in bed, and you disappeared on me.”

  Shit.

  “Mother Nature hasn’t given up since yesterday,” I point out. Yeah, my voice is a little squeaky, but Jax is my Achilles heel, it seems. “She’s a relentless bitch, that one,” I add, once again losing control of my mouth.

  “Plenty of other things to do,” he reminds me as he bends and starts running a trail of warm, incredibly soft kisses down my neck.

  When I start to push him away, he grabs my wrists and pins my arms against the wall, never stopping his ministrations as he nips my neck. His hips do some swirling thing, letting me feel the hard ridge he’s packing. My legs shake and almost buckle, but I force myself to stay upright.

  “You’d love every second of it. So many things I can do to you,” he goes on.

  “Please do them in another room.” Dad’s voice is abrupt, and I squeal as Jax jerks back and hops away from me.

  Jax is battling a grin as Dad stares at him with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s not so intimidating in a neon green speedo, though.

  “For the love of Pete,” I groan. “Board shorts. Wear them.”

  Dad glances down, then he puts his hands on his hips before doing some weird hip roll daughters should not be subjected to seeing. I gag, and he looks back at me.

  “Nope. I like my speedos. Much more flattering.”

  He str
uts away, and I look over at Jax as he finally lets go of the laughter he’s been holding back.

  “I guess we’ll have a raincheck,” I tell him. “Mood is dead.”

  At least Dad gave me an excuse to get out of that.

  Jax’s eyes dance with humor as he flashes his smile at me. “Deal.”

  ***

  Still Fake Period Day 3

  The house is quiet as I make my way toward the bedroom, but then I hear a voice and my footsteps reflexively pause.

  “I haven’t been able to speak to him since right after we landed. He hasn’t answered my calls or even bothered to call me back,” Viv is saying to someone.

  Really shouldn’t eavesdrop…

  “No,” she says, apparently talking on the phone. “No texts or emails either. I even left a message telling him about the house fire, and still nothing. I can’t tell Mom or Dad. They’ll be sending someone to our house to make him call me. This is embarrassing enough.”

  I peek around the corner and find her in the dark den with nothing but the moonlight illuminating her. Even though she hasn’t been too nice to me, I can’t help but feel bad for her when she wipes a tear from her cheek.

  “I know marriage is hard. He said he needed some space, which is why he didn’t come—the real reason. The recent promotion—if that’s what you can call it—was just an excuse he gave me. I didn’t know space meant not answering calls from his wife.”

  Deciding I have no right to be hearing this, I head up the stairs and pretend I never heard a thing. Jax is breathing evenly in the bed when I finally have the nerve to join him.

  I had Dad play board games with me most of the night to keep Jax from dragging me upstairs after all his promises of debauchery.

  My period is obviously not the deterrent I thought it would be.

  The sheet is pooled at his waist, and I can tell he’s still naked. At least he’s asleep tonight. Like a total pervert, I stand beside the bed and admire the view for a minute.