“Stop it, Kyle. Be nice.” I don’t tell him no often, but I will not allow him to hurt that precious little girl’s feelings.
“What tolor did you get, Gigi?” the three-year-old asks, referring to my nails.
I hold my hand out in her direction. “Aqua, like the waves. What color did you decide on?”
Willow holds her hand in front of her face, wiggling her fingers. “Me and my daddy both dot pink ones!”
Jeff’s head hangs, and Kyle’s eyes bug out. “What kind of man are you?”
“The kind who’ll do anything to make his little princess smile.”
Kyle bursts out laughing. “Sucker!”
“Tyle,” Willow drawls. “You didn’t even tompliment my new hairdo.” She must have gotten her hair blown out after her pedicure.
“Oh, brudder.” I try to contain my laughter as Savage’s eyes roll dramatically. “I not your husband, Willow. That is not my job.”
“It’s neber too soon to start praticing, Tyle.”
“You two sure sound like an old married couple,” I tease, addressing the two little ones, who are presently glaring at each other across the table.
“Good.” Willow’s smile splits her face. Gosh, her dimples are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Where are you guys headed after lunch?” I ask. Jeffrey is staring down into his plate like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. It’s just fried chicken and potatoes. It ain’t all that special.
“Why?” he asks, looking up at me with a frown after checking to be sure the kids aren’t paying us any mind. “You planning on ruining the rest of my day as well?”
What the fuck? “You’re the one who turned up at the nail salon, and you came over to join us for lunch...I figured maybe you wanted to let the kids hang out.” I cross my arms on my chest and harrumph. “You don’t have to be an ass to me, Jeffrey,” I hiss. “I already told you, I don’t catch feelings. If this is how you treat other women to keep them from falling for you, feel free to tone it down. There is absolutely zero danger of that happening.”
“I was getting my nails done first.” He looks and sounds so ridiculous, defending his trip to the salon, that I can’t help but laugh.
“The point is...I didn’t go there looking for you.” I glance down to his flip-flop clad foot, sticking out into the aisle. “I don’t even know why I suggested the black. Pink is definitely your color.”
“If you’re trying to get a rise out of me, Tink, it isn’t going to work.”
“I’m fairly certain you and I both know that I would have no problem getting a rise out of you if that’s what I wanted.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
JEFFREY
IT SEEMS LIKE everywhere I turn, Tinkerbell and those boys are there. I decided I’d take Vangie and Willow out to the main deck after nap time to see what was going on. Well, our cruise director just happened to be recruiting eight men to compete in a lip sync battle. Of course, Evangeline insisted I volunteer. No biggie. I’m not a shy guy in any sense of the word.
What I wasn’t banking on was them dressing us in women’s clothing. Or that, as I find myself about to take my turn down the runway in three-inch heels, wearing a red robe and hot pink feathered boa, Tink would be sitting front and center, sipping on another frozen drink. Vangie and Willow must’ve spotted them while I was being made into a drag queen, because they’re sitting at the foot of Savage’s lounge chair, staring right at me.
“Ladies and gents have we got a treat for you. Up next is Mr. Jeff Ryannnn bringing you his rendition of “Supermodel (You Better Work)” by none other than RuPaul!”
As the music starts up, I block them out, concentrating on my moves, the lyrics, and not falling on my face. How the hell do women walk in these things?
“Woooo! That’s right, Mr. Ryan. Work it, girl! Just like that,” Stan, the cruise director encourages.
When I reach the front of the catwalk, he comes over the mic again. “Now, give ’em a good twirl.”
At this point, all I can hear are the faint cheers of the crowd and my own heartbeats pounding in my ears. It’s almost over. Time for my big finish.
Gripping the ends of the boa in each of my hands, I play to the crowd, giving them a little shimmy while spinning in my stilettos. The tip of one of my heels catches in between the slats of wood on the deck, and my life flashes before my eyes. I fall forward, in what feels like slow motion, landing with my face right in the lap of an older gentleman sporting a bright blue Speedo.
To make matters worse—you mean it actually gets worse than a face full of wrinkled, hairy balls? Yes. Yes, it does, because I can’t get up. Blinding pain shoots up my leg from my rolled ankle.
The man who I’ve just inadvertently assaulted helps me out of his crotch with the assistance of the intrusive blonde who I’ve been trying so hard to avoid.
I’m unreasonably pissed that she’s taking it upon herself to make sure that I’m okay, giving up her chair, fawning all over me. I don’t want to be taken care of by a woman, especially not one I’m fucking. That was my Jessica’s job. It’s too intimate, and it’s messing with me bad.
“You otay, Daddy?” Willow asks, patting my cheeks with her chubby little hands as she climbs over the arm of the chair and into my lap. Instantly some of my ire cools as I breathe in the scent of her watermelon shampoo, taking in the look of concern in her eyes.
“That was amazing, Dad!” Evangeline gushes while Tink fusses over my hurt ankle, and I fight the urge to yank it away. “Landon got the whole thing on video. He’s gonna email it to me from his phone.” Brilliant.
The more Gina touches, the worse it hurts. It’s getting hard to maintain a straight face. “Stop that,” I hiss, shooing her off me. “It’s fine. Just get me some ice.”
Gina’s eyes narrow at the bite in my tone, and she sends me a sideways glance. “You could say please, asshole.”
“Ooooh,” Willow howls. “Gigi just saided a bad word...” A few more days around this woman, and my girls will go home speaking like pirates.
“Please, Gina, could you get me some ice?” I grit through a pained smile.
“Certainly.” She rises to her feet and begins walking toward the entrance to the buffet when I call her back.
“Tink!”
“Yeah?” she calls, looking back at me over her shoulder.
“Please watch your language around my children.”
Her head spins back around, and she raises her arm into the air with the middle finger extended.
“What’s dat mean, Daddy?” Willow asks, mimicking her new idol.
I clamp her little hand in mine, pushing her finger down. “Ladies don’t do that, Willow. It means a very bad word.”
“He means the f-you word, Willow.”
“What’s f-you?”
“Fuck you,” Savage whisper-shouts with his hands cupped around his mouth, shocking me speechless. “Mommy says it’s a grown-up sentence hancer, and you can’t say dose ’til you’re big.”
Sentence enhancers. Dear Lord. Who are these people?
“Big people shouldn’t be using that language around children, Kyle.”
He shrugs his sun-kissed shoulders at me. “Dats what my dad says too. But, he gived up on Auntie Gigi. Her’s a lost cause.”
I watch the tiny blonde sashay her way back from the kitchens with the ice pack extended out in front of her—her imaginary dance partner. How can someone so small and so unhinged be so fucking sexy? I feel the need to bolt any time she’s near, but we’re stuck together for the duration of this cruise, and it doesn’t seem like the girls are going to allow me to avoid her.
After icing my ankle for half an hour, I try to stand, but it’s still too sore. Stan has the staff bring a wheelchair for me to get around in for the time being. Gina insists on rolling me over to the kids’ camps to sign Willow in for the afternoon. At first, I refuse, but the girls start pouting, and I don’t want to ruin their day just because I’m hurt, so I c
oncede.
“You can put my name down so I can sign her in and out with Savage, if you want, then you won’t have to come up before dinner and bring her back afterward.”
“No offense, Tink, but I can handle things just fine on my own.”
She nods, digging a prescription pad from her purse. I strain to see what she’s writing on the counter above my head, but it’s no use. I can’t see without standing, and I won’t make it obvious that I care. Because I don’t...
“Where’d you get a prescription pad?” The thought of this loon doling out medications is frightening.
Without looking my way, she continues scribbling as she answers. “I’m a psychiatrist, Jeffrey.” Gina caps the pen, dropping it back into her purse, turns my way, and winks. “Sex is just my specialty.”
My dick strains against my zipper as she leans in close, handing me the folded script. Her tits are right under my nose. I want to cup them in my hands and lick the exposed skin.
“Thanks for the orgasm,” she whispers, before relinquishing her hold on the slip of paper. Gina backs a few steps away, lifting her fingers to her plump lips. With her eyes fixed on mine, she presses a long, slow kiss to the tips and blows. “See ya ’round, Jeff.”
Her ass moves from side to side in those little hot pink booty shorts as she walks away with purpose.
Ask and you shall receive.
I’m equal parts pissed at her for leaving me to fend for myself, even if it is exactly what I told her to do, and turned on at her nerve.
When she’s disappeared from sight, I unfold the sheet clasped in my hand.
Orgasms, take for pain as needed. Room 436.
CHAPTER NINE
GINA
I ABANDONED JEFF at the Little Fish camp over an hour ago with an invitation to the party that’s about to go down in my vag. He’s still not here. The man infuriates me with his holier-than-thou attitude, but dear Lord, that dick is huge. His cock alone is almost enough to make me forgive him for being a total asshole. I’m just about to give up and pull out my bullet when there’s a knock at the door. Finally. Butterflies run rampant in my tummy at the anticipation.
Jumping up from the couch, I rush over to the mirror and plump up the girls in my suit top. I pull my mesh cover up over to one side, exposing one shoulder and a fair amount of cleavage before pulling the door open to find Mr. CEO smirking up at me from his chair. There’s a light sheen of sweat across his forehead, no doubt from the exertion it took to wheel himself all over the damn ship. Serves him right. His hair is mussed, a few strands sticking to the skin along his hairline. His white V-neck fits his lean muscled chest to perfection, and judging by the bulge in his khaki cargo shorts, he’s just as eager for round two as I am.
A deep throaty laugh draws me from my visual assault. “You gonna invite me in, Tink? Or did you really invite me over here so you could eye fuck me in the hall?” He peers around my body, appraising his surroundings. “I’m told this is the place for medically prescribed orgasms?” He quirks his left brow, pulling his lower lip between a set of perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth.
Why’s he have to be so fucking gorgeous?
“Didn’t think you’d come,” I admit, moving into the doorway of the small bathroom, allowing enough space for him to enter the room. His chair just barely fits between the set of bunk beds on the left and the closet on the right.
“Doctor’s orders.” Jeff shrugs his shoulders as he stands from the wheelchair, bracing most of his weight on his good leg.
The front of my body brushes his as I scoot past him to stand in front of the queen-sized bed in the center of the room. The contact has my already eager body going haywire. “Thought you weren’t the kind of man to take orders.”
Another half-smile. “Only those that suit me.”
The ship jerks, and my tummy does a little flip. “Are you saying that I suit you, Jeffrey?”
He hobbles over to stand before me. “I think we established last night that your pussy—” he cups my sex, leaning in so close that I can feel his warm breath on my neck—“suits my dick just fine.” Heat floods my core as he grips two handfuls of my long blonde locks, turning my face up to meet his. “Am I mistaken?”
I clear my throat and straighten my stance, evening out my breathing to the best of my ability. The last thing I need is this cocky man thinking he’s got the upper hand. Which he may very well have...he just doesn’t need to know it. “I think you should thank God every night that he gave you one redeeming quality.” Smiling sweetly at the man who I am just barely not ravishing, I trail my finger along the impressive bulge in his pants.
Jeff laughs, loudly. His whole face lights up, and I feel the sound rumble deep in my belly. “Are you saying my dick is my only redeeming quality?”
“That...and these little lines right here.” Lifting up to my toes, I touch a finger to the tiny creases that appear in the corners of his eyes when he smiles. My breath hitches when he melts into my touch. “These are kind of nice too,” I admit, my voice hoarse.
Jeffrey wraps a hand around my waist, pulling me flush against his hard chest. “You like my wrinkles, Tink?”
“Ju—just those three.” Who am I right now, and did I really just admit to being attracted to wrinkles of all things? Ew.
He nods. “Got it. I’ll make sure to tell them to leave just the three when I venture into the world of Botox.”
That comment causes me to giggle. After having met up with him getting his nails done, I can easily visualize it: Jeffrey sitting in the dermatologist’s chair, getting injections. “Don’t,” I finally manage to wheeze out.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t let anyone mess with your face.”
He gives me a knowing look. “You like my face too, then...seems like I have a whole lot more than one redeeming quality to be grateful for.”
“Don’t get carried away, Casanova. Your looks are the only thing you have going for you.”
“Is that right?” he asks.
“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, Jeffrey, but your personality leaves a lot to be desired.”
“Does it?” he clips, running his hands up my bare back along the inside of my coverup.
A chill ripples through me at the intimate touch. “You’re a bit of an asshole.”
“That’s still two.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t tell me you forgot about king dong.” He pushes his hips forward, digging the steel rod in his shorts into my belly button.
How could I forget? “Right,” I groan, reaching between us to unfasten his button and zipper. “Mustn’t forget that.” Dropping to my knees, I slide his shorts down, past his hips, freeing what has to be nearly nine inches of man meat. Now, I’ve seen a lot of dick in my day and am not too easily impressed, but this has to be a near-perfect specimen. Long and thick. Neatly trimmed. My mouth actually salivates at the thought of wrapping my lips around his girth.
“Fuck, yes,” he groans as I run my tongue from base to tip. He braces himself with one hand on the vanity top behind him and fists the other into my hair, slowly guiding my movements.
“Mmmm,” I moan, getting turned on by the little noises coming from the back of his throat, by the feel of him growing impossibly harder beneath my skilled moves, knowing that I am the cause of his weak knees and grunts.
I’m really getting into it, sucking him hard, while taking him all the way down my throat, when the boat shifts. My usual nonexistent gag reflex cannot compete with the weak stomach I’ve been fighting all day and it happens: bright pink, rancid strawberry puke all over his beautiful cock.
“Holy shit!” Jeff shouts, backing out of my mouth.
“I’m so sorry,” I choke out as I reach for the shirt I slept in last night that’s lying on the floor by the side of the bed to wipe my mouth and nose. The alcohol burns so bad, and I can’t stop gagging. “It’s not you.”
Before Jeffrey has the chance to react, the intercom s
ystem beeps. “Medical response team please report to room #628.”
“Goddamn it! That’s my room.” He starts scrambling to pull up his vomit covered clothes without wasting a single second for clean-up. “The kids...”
And then it dawns on me. The older kids can check themselves out of camp. What if something happened to them? “Get in your chair, Jeffrey.”
Like a madwoman I sprint down the halls as fast as I can pushing a man twice my size in a wheelchair, probably bowling over a few unassuming passengers in the process. They should have put a horn on that thing. “What if something happened to Vangie?”
The sick look on his face brings tears to my eyes. For such a surly man, he is an amazing father. I don’t know what to say, so I just rub his shoulders as we wait for the elevator to stop at his floor.
When we reach his room, there are already medical personnel inside. We can’t even see past the doorway to figure out what the hell is happening. “Excuse me,” Jeffrey barks. “This is my room. What’s going on?”
“Are you okay, Daddy?” Evangeline and Landon come running from the direction of the elevators, with Lake on their heels. “I heard them page the medics to our room.”
The staff members come pouring out of the room with looks of confusion. “Is this your cabin, sir?” one confirms with Jeffrey.
“Yes. What the hell’s going on?” Patience is obviously not one of his virtues.
“We were paged for a medical emergency to this room, but there’s no one here. I apologize. They must have gotten the cabin number wrong.”
Jeffrey jumps up out of his chair, ready to unleash his wrath on the poor workers who were only doing their job. He’s understandably upset, but not thinking rationally.
“It’s okay.” I interject. “We were just worried about the kids, is all. I hope whoever really needs you is okay.”
“What’s all over your pants?” Evangeline asks her father as I push down on his shoulders, forcing him back into his chair.
Jeffrey’s face turns beet red. His breathing is panicked. My evil side wants to wait and see what excuse he comes up with, but I decide the asshole has been through enough trauma for one day and come to his rescue. After all, I did just throw up all over his dick.
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