by M Johnson
I’m feeling pretty damn pleased with myself as I make my way down to the lift. If this music thing doesn't work out, I'm pretty sure I have a career ahead of me in stealth operations. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and wince. It’s Sofie.
“Hey, baby,” I say. “How’s—”
“It’s gone,” she cries out, cutting me off.
“What?”
“My ring, Zave,” she shouts. “It's missing. The masseuse was worried the rub she was using would damage the gold, so I took everything off, but I think it was just a ruse so she could steal it,” she hisses. “She insisted I take it off and then it disappears? God, I’m such an idiot. I think I should call the police—”
“No,” I say a little too quickly.
“What do you mean no?” Sofie huffs. “She’s not getting away with it. She’s probably done it to heaps of other unsuspecting people. She’s got a nice little side hustle going on, ripping people off—"
“Let’s have a good search for it first,” I say, trying to calm her down. “Maybe it rolled off the coffee table and under the couch?”
“I already looked—” She pauses. “Hey, how did you know I put it on the coffee table?”
Fuck.
“It was an example,” I backtrack, rubbing my neck. “I just meant for you to look around wherever you put it.” God, this is backfiring faster than I expected. “I’ll come over, and we'll find it. Okay?"
“Okay, but when it doesn’t turn up, I’m calling the police.”
I wait a few minutes before heading back to Quinn’s room and knocking on the door. I’ve got no idea what my next move is when all the searching in the world isn’t going to find it.
Fuck, this is a mess.
Sofie’s on the verge of a meltdown when I enter the room, but I manage to calm her down. She’s so fucking upset and angry that I almost cave and give it back to her, but I keep telling myself it will be worth it when she sees what I have planned.
I search through the hotel room with her, systematically covering every little inch—even in the other room of the suite, where she didn’t even go. The whole time, I listen to her rant angrily about that poor masseuse. I feel like an asshole, because the damn ring is in my pocket, but not enough of one for me to come clean. She’s going to be pissed at me either way, so I might as well still go through with it.
“You’ve got balls,” Quinn whispers to me while Sofie searches the bathroom for the tenth time. “I thought for sure you’d have chickened out.”
"Okay, enough with the searching," Sofie announces, reappearing. “I think I should call the police—”
“How about I go down and speak with the front desk?” Quinn interrupts.
“Good idea,” I say, flashing Quinn a grateful look. “Give the masseuse a chance to come clean before you call the police. And in the meantime, we’re going to be late for the show if we don’t get going soon.”
“I’m not sure I’m in the mood for it now.” Sofie frowns.
“What are you going to do if you stay here?” I ask her, pulling her into my embrace. “Sit around and mope?”
“Sounds pretty good to me,” she replies. Then she sighs. “Fine. I’ll go, but I’m giving until after the show for the ring to magically appear, or I’ll call the police.”
“Fine. I’ll even call them for you,” I promise.
Sofie
Our eyes meet as Zave launches into his final song. A smile tugs at my lips, but as happy as I am to be here to support him, I feel like bursting into tears. I run a finger along the indentation mark my ring left, an empty feeling stirring in the pit of my stomach. I feel naked without it. That ring means so much to me. It's the last thing my father gave to me and the most significant connection I have to both him and my mother. I can't bear the thought of never seeing it again.
I only half focus on Zave as he sings his final song because I'm too busy replaying the afternoon over and over in my head. The churned up feeling in my stomach quickly turns into rage, because it’s so obvious it has been stolen. The ring going missing is one thing, but the watch I’d anchored it to as well?
No fucking way.
It’s my own fault for being stupid enough to listen to the masseuse in the first place. If she were that worried about her oils harming my jewellery, they had no business going anywhere near my skin. I’m sure she stole it, and the second this show is over, I’m going to the police. No matter how much Zave tries to talk me out of it.
I look up. Zave’s eyes are locked on mine. For a moment, I forget everything except the two of us, because it’s like he’s singing just for me. The song ends, and through the thunderous applause and whistles, he motions for me to join him up on the stage. My eyes widening, I viciously shake my head. There is no way in hell I’m going up there.
“Come on, Sofe,” he coaxes, a cheeky smirk on his lips. He gestures to the audience. “Help me out, guys?”
"Go up, Sofe! Go up, Sofe!" The audience begins to chant.
“Go on,” Quin laughs, giving me a little shove.
For fuck’s sake.
With an irritated sigh, I weave through the crowd and over to the steps that lead up to where he is. Zave knows I hate shit like this, and it’s not the first time he’s dragged me up on a stage to embarrass me. He’s waiting for me by the steps. I take his outstretched hand and fall into his arms, if only so I can whisper in his ear.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” I mutter through my teeth, a smile plastered on my face.
“I know,” he chuckles, kissing me on the cheek. “Which means I might as well give you a good reason to.”
“What…”
My confusion turns to surprise when Zave gets down on his knee. Blinking back tears, I clap my hand over my mouth. I’m in shock. I can’t believe this is happening. I’d given up hope of this moment ever happening since every hint I had dropped had gone right over his head. Hell, I even once told him his proposal needed to be impressive for me to say yes…
Oh.
I guess I only have myself to blame for this.
“I kind of need your hand for this,” Zave’s voice jolts me back to the moment.
I give him my shaking hand, tears welling in my eyes.
“Where do I even start?” he begins. “You’re the best part of me, Sofe. My other half. Without you, I’d cease to exist. You know how much I love you, so how about we make it official? Will you marry me?”
I don’t even need to think about it. A sappy grin takes over my lips as he slips his hand into his pocket. My heart stops when I see the ring because it's my ring, my beautiful, sparkling ring that holds so many memories.
“You asshole,” I hiss, slapping him on the arm. “You let me go all afternoon thinking it was gone.”
“Sorry about that,” he says with a grimace. “I feel even more sorry for that poor masseuse you almost had fired.”
“Because of you,” I retort, my cheeks heating.
“I wanted my proposal to be special, for it to mean something.” He takes my hand and slides the ring onto my finger, his expression serious. “This ring symbolises so many things for you, Sofe. Proposing with anything else just didn’t feel right.”
He gets to his feet. I slide my arms around his neck, kissing him. The crowd erupts into cheers. I smile because I'd forgotten they were even there.
“So?” he prompts. “Is that a yes?”
“It's a yes," I confirm with a laugh. “But don’t think this gets you out of buying me a ring.”
“I’ll buy you a thousand rings if it makes you happy,” he whispers.
“You make me happy.”
He kisses me softly on the lips. “Not as happy as you've just made me, future Mrs. Williams.”
THE END
It’s Just a Little Crush
Age & Innocence #3
She's eighteen.
Beautiful.
Obsessed.
She's also my student.
I thought it was a harmless
schoolgirl crush.
Until I woke up naked on a bed, with her straddling me.
Turns out Chloe has a plan.
One that just might ruin my life.
A student/teacher, age gap standalone.
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Other books by M Johnson
Age & Innocence Series
He Saw Me First
Everything I Can Never Have
It’s Just a Little Crush
M Johnson writing as Missy Johnson:
Awkward Love Series
A series of sexy, fun novels that can be read in ANY order. Each book is COMPLETELY seperate from the next, so you can read one, or you can read them all
Too Much Information
(see excerpt over page)
Comfort Zone
Payback’s a Bitch
Don’t Go There
It's Complicated
I Can Explain
A Sticky Situation
Excerpt
Too Much Information
“Hope there’s nothing breakable in there,” he says leaning down to pick it up. “Underneath all that brown paper. I always try to guess what little treats people have bought themselves.” He winks at me and my heart stops beating. “And you know what they say about brown paper.”
God, the delivery guy knows I bought myself a sex toy.
He hands it to me again, along with a form that I quickly sign and thrust back to him. I send him on his way and slam the door closed, leaning up against the door. I slide down it until I’m sitting on the floor, where I carefully examine the box. All I want to do is throw it out, but it’s here now, so I might as well take a look.
I carefully peel away the brown packaging and examine the box. With shaking hands, I open it and then reach inside. The size of the box is deceiving because the actual product is small enough to fit on the end of my finger. Which is the whole idea, I guess. I carefully pull it out. I’m both curious and suspicious that this is going to do anything for me. Even so, I am starting to wonder if I’m missing out on something—like Becca seems to think I am. Enough that I’m considering taking it for a test drive right now.
I wander into my room and sit down on my bed, carefully inserting the battery. I press the button, giggling like a twelve-year-old when it comes to life in my hands. I shake my head, because Becca would die if she knew what I was about to do. I’m sure she got the gift card, fully expecting me to never use it, but what else am I going to do with my Sunday afternoon? I take a deep breath and turn it on, then I slide it onto my finger and dive under the covers.
It’s not like I’m going to be broadcasting this on YouTube or anything.
Here goes nothing… Oh my.
I groan as it vibrates against me, surprised at how good it actually feels. I bring my knees up and spread my legs a little farther apart, massaging my clit with my new buzzy friend. I clamp down on my lip, stifling a moan as I tease my entrance, pushing my finger just a little farther inside. I gasp, clutching onto the sheet with my other hand as my body begins to react. This is happening faster than I thought it would. I’m ten seconds in and already close to coming. Maybe I have been missing out.
“Oh, holy fuck…”
I groan, my head snapping back as I thrust it back and forth inside me. I gasp as my hips buck forward and push my finger deeper inside me until I…
My eyes fly open in shock.
Oh no, no, no. Please not this.
I frantically shove my hands out in front of me, like I need confirmation that this is really happening. Because the hands-free buzzing in my vagina isn’t a dead giveaway.
Frantically, I try and dig it out, but it’s no use. If anything, I think I’ve made it worse. I groan and grab a handful of sheet as the toy rubs against my clit, driving me crazy.
“Oh lord, fuck, fuck fuck,” I hiss.
I bite down on my arm to muffle my cries as my heart pounds out of control in my chest. The last thing I need is for Iris to hobble in here to check that I’m okay. Damn me for giving her that key to water my plants while I was away last weekend for my cousin’s wedding.
“Oh God, make it stop.”
Struggling to catch my breath, I clench my thighs together, and groan, squeezing my eyes closed. I climax again, number five in as little as ten minutes. The worst thing is, they don’t seem to be letting up. If anything, they’re becoming more intense. Oh, my fucking lord.
I lower myself onto the floor and reach for the box, which has half rolled itself under the bed. My body aches, begging for relief, or at the very least, five minutes where I’m not climaxing. I fumble for the box, dropping it twice, before I get a firm enough grip on it to hold it up to my face. My hands shake as I struggle to read. Then I see those four little words that make me feel like I’m going to pass out.
For external use only.
Who the hell designs a vibrator for external use only? Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose? Am I the only one who thought letting my finger do a little traveling wasn’t going to do any harm? Or am I just the only one unlucky enough to have their vagina decide to inhale it? Maybe I should’ve gone with the forearm sized one, because this tiny little thing is well and truly stuck inside me.
I should call an ambulance.
I laugh, dismissing that as an option. And say what? That’s out of the question anyway because of which hospital they would take me to. I’d rather die a slow and painful orgasmic death than be wheeled into the ER of the hospital I’m supposed to be starting work at next week.
Groaning, I fall forward against the bed, fumbling for my phone as another orgasm rips through my body. Sweat covers my forehead as I close my eyes and clench my thighs, my vagina throbbing as I struggle to breathe. Panting, I resume my search for my phone, finally finding it hiding between the pillows. I somehow manage to get Becca’s name up on the screen. I sigh, relieved, because this is not the time to be calling the wrong number.
“Hello?”
“Get over here,” I sputter. “Now.”
“What? Where are you? What’s going on?” she asks.
“Becca,” I cry, barely able to focus on what I need to say to her. “Get. Over. Here. Now.”
“Okay, I’m coming.”
Apparently, so am I.
I wheeze and drop the phone, crying out as the toy plays me like a violin.
I crawl across the floor in the direction of the living room. She’s got to be at least ten minutes away, but that’s probably how long it’ll take me to get over there. I can barely manage a few slithers at a time because it’s at the point where it just hurts. The orgasms themselves feel incredible, but those few minutes in between are just pure torture. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. On top of everything else, I’m completely exhausted. This has to be the most intense workout I’ve ever had.
Becca pounds on the door just as orgasm number six tapers off. I can barely move by this point, but I made it to the door to unlock it before number six and that’s the main thing. Now all I need is for her to get this thing out of me.
“It’s me,” she calls out. “Are you going to let me in?”
“It’s open,” I manage to get out.
She walks in, her eyes widening at the sight of me hunched over the couch, thighs clenched, rocking back and forth on the floor. At least I’m not naked. I managed to half squirm my way into a dress that I found lying on the floor in my room—though I must look a mess—with only one arm through the hole and the skirt bunched up around my waist. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure why I even bothered. She sprints over to me, crouching down beside me.
“Jesus, are you okay?” She glares at me as I let out a strangled sob. “Tell me what’s wrong?” she says. She looks me over, her eyes wide with concern. “Were you attacked? Did someone break in and rape you? Talk to me, Laura. Should I be calling an ambulance? The police?” Her dark eyes study mine as I struggle to form words to answer any of her questions. “For God
’s sake, Laura. Say something.”
“No ambulance,” I mutter.
I groan and clamp my legs together, gasping as my body begs for relief. This is a nightmare. I point to the bedroom, where the box is still lying on the bed. Becca stalks through to my room, returning a few seconds later with the box in her hands. Her eyes widen, to the point where they’re nearly ready to fall out of her head.
“No fucking way,” she hisses.
I nod, sweat pouring out of places I didn’t know sweat could form. She clasps her hands over her mouth and stifles her laughter, before quickly kneeling down next to me.
“What do you want me to do? Dig it out? I’ll do that for you,” she says as I glare at her. “Wait… I should’ve asked before offering. Front or back?”
“Becca,” I growl, my voice high noting at the end.
“What? I’m sorry, it was a legitimate question,” she cries, holding her hands up in defense. “You know I don’t handle poop. How on earth did you manage to get it stuck in there in the first place?” she asks, shaking her head.
“Can we discuss this later, after it’s been removed from my vagina?” I beg her.
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. Okay, let’s get you down to my car.”
“Car?” I say, alarmed. “What happened to you offering to help me—”
“You seriously want me digging around in there like I’m looking for loose change down the back of the couch?” she asks seriously. Then she giggles, but she stops when she sees my expression. “Sorry. Disturbing mental image. You understand this is pushing the friendship boundaries, right?”
I nod weakly. Oh, I understand it, all right.
She sighs and helps me climb up properly onto the couch while I try to steady myself as my body begins to convulse. God, not again. I wipe a layer of sweat off my forehead and rock back and forth, riding out the orgasm as I whimper into the cushion. Then I gasp, clenching my thighs again, until it passes.