Keep This Promise

by Willow Winters

  Should I look away or watch? That’s the million-dollar question.

  “Can you turn around?” he barks at me.

  “I was just about to,” I mumble, turning away.

  And I swear to God I was going to.

  I hear him groan.

  “Christ, I’m fucking bleeding. What the hell kind of pin was that? And what the hell kind of seamstress are you?”

  I have to stop myself from correcting him that I’m actually a wardrobe assistant and not a seamstress, but something tells me that wouldn’t go down too well. So, all I say is, “Sorry,” for the hundredth time.

  A few seconds later, I hear movement and then feet shuffling.

  I risk a glance over my shoulder.

  I see him limping toward the changing room—in only his boxer shorts.

  Holy cow! He’s naked! Well, not completely naked, but…

  He has great legs. Really long and toned.

  And I just stabbed him in his ball sack.

  That thought quickly drenches my pervy libido right back down.

  “Can I do anything?” I ask quietly.

  “No.”

  Okay then.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him get his cell from his jeans pocket, which are hanging on the peg in there.

  He dials and puts the phone to his ear, his other hand cupping his junk over his boxer shorts.

  God, I can’t believe I stabbed him with a pin. All these years I’ve been doing this job, and I’ve never stabbed anyone—oh, fuck. He’s making a call. What if he’s calling to get me fired?

  “Vaughn…Mr. West.” I turn to face him, not bothering to care that he’s practically naked, and I press my hands together in front of me in a pleading manner. “I really am sorry. It was an accident and—”

  The look he hits me with slams my lips back shut.

  “Alex, I need a doctor,” he says into his phone. “What? No, I just got stabbed in one of my balls with a pin.”

  He glares at me again, and I shrink in on myself.

  “Yes, I’m being serious. The seamstress in wardrobe. It’s not funny, you prick. Yeah, I’m still in wardrobe. Bring the doctor here. And, Alex, it goes without saying…discreet. Yeah. See you soon.” He hangs up his cell.

  He was calling for a doctor, not having me fired. Thank you, God.

  “Thank you. I thought you were calling to have me fired.”

  Another glare. This one, a narrow-eyed glare. “The day is still young.”

  Shit.

  I watch as he walks over to a chair. He lets out a pained sound as he sits down.

  My natural instinct is to help him, but I know he doesn’t want me anywhere near him, so I stay put.

  And then I’m just standing there, like a spare part.

  “Do you want me to get you an ice pack while you wait for the doctor?”

  “Why? So you can freeze my balls off, seeing as though your first attempt at maiming me didn’t work?”

  I bite my tongue.

  Asshole. I know I hurt him, but it’s not like I did it on purpose.

  “No.” My voice is tight. “To help numb the pain.”

  “Fine,” he grumbles, not looking at me.

  I head over to the small refrigerator that I spotted earlier, hoping it has a freezer compartment in it. And, thankfully, it does.

  I grab a clean dish towel, put some ice inside, and fold it up.

  I take it back to Vaughn. He’s quiet, his head tipped back, eyes closed.

  “Here,” I say softly.

  He opens his eyes, his angry stare back on me.

  Ignoring his anger, I hand the ice pack to him.

  He rests it over his injured part, a soft moan escaping his lips.

  I wonder if that’s what he sounds like when he’s—

  Jesus, Charly.

  “Better?” I ask, clearing my perverted thoughts away.

  “Better would be not being stabbed in the ball sack by some crazy twerking chick who clearly can’t do her job properly.”

  “Hey now! It wasn’t entirely my fault. You did jerk your hips forward—”

  “Because you groped my cock!”

  “I didn’t grope your cock!” I splutter indignantly. “I accidentally brushed it with my knuckles as I was taking in the fabric! And, anyway, if you hadn’t had a boner, then I probably wouldn’t have even touched it—by accident!”

  “I didn’t have a boner!” he scoffs. “You’re not my type, seamstress.”

  What. A. Dick.

  “I’m not a seamstress!” I yell. “I’m a wardrobe assistant.” Who’s currently yelling at the man who can have her fired with a snap of his fingers.

  God, this is so not how I expected my first meeting with Vaughn West to go.

  For starters, I have to stop yelling. I need to be the bigger person here. After all, I did just hurt him in the worst place possible for a man.

  “Look, Mr. West”—I take a step toward him, softening my tone—“I really am sorry. For stabbing you…there. It honestly was an accident. I would never do that intentionally. And I’m sorry for yelling just now. I was out of line.”

  “Yeah, you were,” he grunts.

  Then, nothing. He doesn’t apologize for yelling at me.

  Jerkface.

  “Are you just gonna stand there, staring at me all day?” he rasps out.

  “I’m sorry.” I step back, surprised.

  “Look, do me a favor, wardrobe assistant, and leave me in fucking peace while I wait for the doctor to arrive.”

  Wow. Okay then.

  Asshole.

  Without another word, I grab my bag and walk out of there.

  It’s not until I’m halfway across the studio lot that I realize he never said anything about not having me fired.

  Shit.

  Chapter 5

  Vaughn

  I’m resting up on the sofa in the hotel, watching sports on TV, when there’s a knock at the door.

  On a sigh, I get up, and cupping my balls with my hand, I amble over to the door.

  I’m still taking it steady. This is precious cargo we’re talking about here.

  Not long after Ball-Sack-Stabbing Chick left, Alex turned up with the doctor.

  The doctor checked me over and told me there was no serious damage, just a small puncture wound. It didn’t penetrate the sack, meaning my boys are still intact. Thank fuck. I had feared at one point that I was going to be leaking cum out of the wrong hole.

  The doctor just said to take it easy for the rest of the day, so Alex drove me back to the hotel. Then, he left to run some errands.

  God, that seamstress—wardrobe assistant, whatever the hell she is, I can’t believe she stabbed me in the balls.

  When I first walked in on her twerking her ass off, I thought she was funny. Cute.

  Okay, she’s hot.

  And, when she was on her knees at my feet…yeah, there was a lot going through my mind at that moment—right before she stabbed me in the balls, that is.

  She might be hot, but she’s a danger to cocks everywhere.

  Reaching the door, I check the peephole. Never can be too careful. I might go under a pseudo name in hotels, but the fans always seem to have a way of finding me.

  Nope, not a stalker fan. Her. Ball-Sack-Stabbing Chick.

  I swing the door open. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “Oh. Hi. I spoke to your PA, Alex. He told me where to find you.”

  Alex is so fired.

  “What do you want?” I frown.

  “To…um…” She shifts nervously, biting her lip. Her lips are glossy and painted red. She’s dressed in a different outfit from earlier as well.

  It’s surprising that I remember what she was wearing earlier. But I do. I remember because I liked the way her tits looked in the top she was wearing.

  Now, she’s got on one of those jumpsuits that women seem to like wearing nowadays. It’s short, showing off a gorgeous pair of long legs. She has heel
ed sandals on her feet. I notice her toenails are painted red, like her lips. Lifting my eyes, I see the necklace she’s wearing has fallen into her cleavage.

  I instantly have dirty thoughts about putting something else between her cleavage.

  My dick pokes his head up.

  Whoa. Down, boy. Crazy lady who tried to take one of your boys out, remember?

  “Well? I haven’t got all day.” I’m being an ass, which isn’t like me. But then again, I’ve never been stabbed in the junk by a chick before.

  Anger flashes in her eyes, but it’s quickly gone, and I’m oddly disappointed.

  I kind of liked arguing with her earlier even if I was in pain. Arguing with her felt like foreplay.

  “Can I come in?” she asks, her voice a little more pronounced than before.

  I sigh and then stand aside, letting her in.

  As she passes me, I get a whiff of raspberries and vanilla. It makes my head spin.

  I shut the door and follow her into the living area.

  “Nice place,” she says, her eyes taking in the space.

  “It’s okay, I guess. So, what can I do for you?” I ask, folding my arms, leaning my ass against the back of the sofa.

  She presses her hands together in front of her. “I came to apologize again, Mr. West. And, also, to thank you for not having me fired. I want you to know I appreciate it. Really, I do. And I shouldn’t have yelled at you; I was totally out of line. And what happened earlier”—she nods south, at my junk—“has never happened before. I swear, I’m a total professional, and I really am good at my job.”

  “Opinions vary.”

  She sucks in a breath, anger flashing through her eyes. Then, she blows out a calming breath.

  A sick part of me is enjoying this. Watching her squirm.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like someone stabbed me in one of my balls with a pin.”

  She grimaces. “I honestly don’t know what happened.”

  “I do. You weren’t paying attention to what you were doing.”

  Her mouth opens, but no words come out. Very slowly, she closes her mouth.

  “I brought you something.” She reaches into her oversized bag and pulls out a parcel wrapped in brown paper along with an envelope.

  She hands the envelope over.

  I open it and pull out what appears to be a homemade card.

  It is a homemade card. A little old-style film camera, a clapper board, and the Hollywood sign—all made out of different fabrics—are glued to the front, and written in glittery gold pen at the top…

  “Get West Soon.” I lift my eyes and brows at her.

  “It was a play on well and your name, West. I thought it sounded cute at the time, but…yeah, it’s pretty lame…” She trails off, looking at her feet.

  It’s not lame. It is actually kind of cute.

  I’m being a dick.

  “You made this?” I ask.

  Her cheeks turn pink, and she smiles. She has a great smile. It lights up her whole face.

  “Yeah. I like to make things. Clothes mainly. But I like to make cards; it’s more personal than buying one, you know.”

  I wouldn’t know. I haven’t bought a card in years. It’s not like I can pop out to the shops to get one. Not without a bodyguard at the very least. Alex always buys them for me.

  “Is that for me as well?” I gesture to the package she’s still holding in her hands.

  “Oh, yeah. It’s…well, it’s just something I made. I thought it might help, but you don’t have to use it. And I’m sorry about the paper. It was all I could get.” She hands it over.

  I put the card and envelope down on the sofa and unwrap the package.

  Staring down at the unidentifiable black object in my hand, I toss the wrapping paper onto the sofa behind me. “Um…what is it?”

  “It’s a sling for groin injuries. I got the design off the Internet. See”—she steps closer and takes it from me—“this part goes around your hips.” She demonstrates against herself. “And, well…this is a little bit different than the usual straps used for groin injuries, but I made a, um…well, a part for your…” She points in the direction of my dick. “And a pouch for your…balls…to support the injured one. And I also put in an inner pouch that has a cooling gel pack in it, which, of course, you can change out.”

  I’m staring at her, mouth open.

  She made me a cock warmer.

  I’m in shock. And kind of turned on right now.

  I know. I’m a sick bastard.

  “And I made it extra large, you know, just in case,” she says, handing it back to me.

  Taking it, I blink a few times and stare down at it.

  The waistband part is made of soft elastic, and the cock part is made of a soft, stretchy material, kind of like Lycra.

  This woman, whom I’ve known for less than a day, who stabbed me in the ball sack, has made me a cock warmer.

  I actually don’t know what to say. For once in my life, I’m speechless.

  It’s got to be a joke. Surely.

  I blink and press my lips together. “Is this a joke?” I finally ask.

  When I see the hurt flicker through her eyes, I know it’s not, and I feel like a gigantic asshole.

  “Um, no, it’s not,” she says slowly and carefully. “You know what? Forget it,” she says, making a grab for it.

  But I quickly move it out of her reach, suddenly wanting to play.

  “No. It was really thoughtful of you.” I’m fighting a smile. Then, laughter snorts out of me.

  “God, you’re a jerk.” She frowns.

  “I’m sorry, but you made me a cock warmer. What do you expect me to say?”

  Her eyes narrow on me. “It’s not a cock warmer. And a thank-you would’ve been nice. I put a lot of thought into that.”

  “Yeah, I can tell,” I say drolly. “And, hang on, you stabbed me in the ball sack, and then you made me a cock warmer. What am I supposed to be thankful for? That I still have two balls?”

  “It’s not a cock warmer! It’s a sling for groin injuries!” Her hands slam onto her hips.

  Hips that I wouldn’t mind grabbing on to while thrusting in and out of her.

  I really am a sick fuck.

  It terrifies me what actually turns me on.

  Turns out, women who make cock warmers do it for me.

  “I don’t have a groin injury. I have a hole in my ball sack, thanks to you. And this”—I hold it up—“is a cock warmer. God, you are something else.” I chuckle.

  “And you’re an asshole!”

  My eyes swing to her just as she claps a hand over her mouth.

  “Quite a mouth you have on you there,” I say, feeling suddenly pissed off. I’ve never known someone who could push my buttons as quickly as this chick can. “Maybe you should put something in it to stop you from cursing out like that.” I hold out the cock warmer to her. “Here, put this in there. That should help keep you quiet.”

  “Ugh! Stuff you, you jerk! I can’t believe I even bothered! And have me fired because I’d rather dress a smelly tramp than you! At least he’d be more appreciative!”

  She storms off, heading for the door. And I have to hold back laughter.

  She’s a real pistol, this one, and I just can’t stop myself from stoking the fire one last time.

  “Hey, Pins,” I call to her back.

  She swings around. Her eyes are wide and blazing.

  “Pins?” she says like she can’t believe I had the audacity to call her that. “God…you are…you’re just mean! I can’t believe I ever thought you were hot!”

  The realization of what she just said flickers through her eyes, and her face goes bright red.

  And, in this moment, with her standing here, all angry and flustered, it is the sexiest thing I have ever seen. She is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot of sexy.

  “I am hot. And, FYI, this won’t fit, sweetheart. It’s too small.” I toss the co
ck warmer in her direction. It lands at her feet with a soft thud.

  Her eyes flash with something that sets my pulse racing. “You know what? You want somewhere to stuff that cock warmer? Then, you can stuff it up your ass!”

  “So, you admit, it’s a cock warmer?” I’m fighting back a smile, and I’m fighting hard.

  I never knew arguing could be this fun. But she somehow makes it fun.

  A cute growly sound escapes her. Her nostrils flare, her little hands ball into fists at her sides, and her chest heaves up and down, showing off those magnificent tits of hers. I have never wanted to fuck a woman more.

  Then, without another word, she flips me off and swings open the door, and then she is gone.

  And I burst into laughter. I can’t help it.

  She’s a spitfire.

  I like her.

  No way am I having her fired. I have a feeling that keeping Pins around will be very interesting. Very interesting indeed.

  And, no, I’m not going to fuck her. I’d have to be insane to let her near my dick. I might love sex, but I do have some sense of self-preservation.

  No, I’m going to fuck with her.

  Payback is a bastard…and he goes by the name of Vaughn West.

  Chapter 6

  Charly

  Well, it seems, I’m not fired, as Ava hasn’t said anything.

  We had dinner last night with Logan, and she never said a word. Actually, she asked how it went with Vaughn.

  I couldn’t tell her what had happened. I was too embarrassed.

  More like mortified.

  I totally fibbed and said that he hadn’t turned up. I know; I lied. It was crappy. But I didn’t know what else to say. Telling her the truth just wasn’t an option. I don’t think Ava is a gossip, but I couldn’t chance her telling anyone. I knew Vaughn wouldn’t want news of what I had done to him traveling. With any normal person, something like that might end up on someone’s Facebook status for a good chuckle. But, for Vaughn, it would end up on the nightly news. The guy can’t take a crap without it being reported, and he’s had enough shit lately. He deserves a break.

  I might think he’s a rude, obnoxious jerk, but I’m not out to hurt him.

  Well, not any more than I have already done.