“There has to be some way to figure out what we did after the cabaret last night,” Liam pipes up. He thinks hard to himself, staring off to the ground below. “Percy! What if we were to message Lock? I’m—”
“No. No Lock. We will not call him. Will not speak of him. We will not even think of him. Got it?” I snarl, shutting down his entire suggestion before I even hear it.
The knowing look I’m getting from all of them right now has me wishing I had that flashy pen thing from Men in Black so that I could wipe their memories of Lock having his way with my pussy under the table.
But the feeling of his tongue against my dripping pussy lips returns to my own memory, and now I’ve gone and made the mistake of letting myself recall our entire ‘Tina Turner’ set.
The incredible, passionate kiss we shared at the table…I’ve never been kissed like that.
Ever. Not by Eggs. Not by anyone.
And again, with his lips and tongue on my wet, aching cunt under the table. I just can’t help but remember that now. That man is a master with that mouth of his. He had me practically turning to jelly in the palm of his hand.
No, Sammi! Stop it. Do not fall down this rabbit hole. Eat your ice cream. Think cold, frigid thoughts.
And yet I feel this longing sensation from my gut to my pussy.
It’s hard not to want more. It’s hard to not want Lock here. And that’s a fucking problem.
Why the fuck did this have to go and happen to me? Why can’t shit ever be fucking simple? Why do I keep drinking tequila?
“What about your tattoo?” Mysti asks as she shoves an arm at me. Her elbow nudge and words bring me back to the present.
“What about what?” I reply, foggy and lost from what’s actually going on.
“Your tattoo. It looks super intense. Like maybe only a handful of people could do it, that kind of thing?” she leads on, trying to get somewhere, anywhere with it.
“So, what do we do? Just go around asking people if they know who did my tattoo?”
“No, but I think I know who we can ask,” Percy cuts in with a smile on her face. She pulls out her phone. “Turn around so I can get a picture.”
I turn my shoulder to her, posing for the camera.
“Got it!” she confirms “Should I Instagram this, too? Maybe put on a cool filter? Caption could be like Llook who got a new tattoo and bomb dick? I’m putting the Bang in Bangkok, baby!’ Then maybe a hashtag? Maybe ‘I licked the Lock?’”
I wonder how many years in prison I would serve if I just assaulted them all with an ice cream cone. It’d be difficult, but I think I could handle it.
“No Percy. It would be ‘Hashtag, Lockdown’.” Mysti interjects as I promptly elbow her in the ribs.
Smartass bitches.
“You guys are the worst. Can we all just forget Lock and I hooked up? It’s not important!”
They all laugh at me, Liam and ladyboy included, not taking a single word of my plea seriously.
Assholes.
Percy’s phone starts ringing again, and this time she answers.
“Hello, my sexy Silver Fox,” she greets him as she puts him on speakerphone.
“Hey there, baby. Glad to see you picked up this time.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy. It’s been super crazy here.”
“Don’t worry about it, baby girl. I know how Bangkok is. It’s so easy to get all wrapped up. I just wanted to make sure that you were safe and sound.”
The way her voice jumps three octaves when talking to him makes me want to vomit. But of all her sugar daddy boyfriends that she strings along, I like this one the most.
“So, Daddy, can you tell me what the deal is with Sammi’s tattoo?”
“Yeah! It’s a Yantra tattoo,” he reveals. “Specifically a Ha-thaeo. The five lines are meant to be a blessing for success and good luck.”
Well, at least it’s not some fucking swear or curse or some shit. Now I just need to figure out where I got it.
“So do you think you could help us figure out what tattoo shop she got it at? Is there anyone that, like, specializes in it, do you think?”
“Oh, she didn’t get that at no shop, baby girl.”
Okay, now I’m super confused. If not a shop…
“Then where did I get it?” I blurt, no longer thinking to myself.
“That there was done at a Buddhist monastery. There’s one not far from the city that you can get a rickshaw to. That’s probably where it was done,” he theorizes.
“You’re the best, Daddy! I’ll talk to you soon.”
She makes an over exaggerated kissing sound, and a nearby stray cat looks at her and hisses as if Percy just insulted its existence.
Percy throws whatever is left of her ice cream down at the cat, and it rushes to the strange treat before the heat completely melts it into the ground.
Suddenly, a horde of cats—and I mean like a fucking biblical plague kind of horde—appears from every direction to lap up the corn-flavored ice cream.
Looking at one another, we tiptoe away from the street as an unsettling number of felines crawl out of buildings, trash cans, and holes I didn’t know were even there. The sea of cats emerges to fight over the frozen dairy.
Liam manages to grab us two rickshaws, giving us a perfect escape. And now we’re off again to solve another piece of last night’s mystery.
Given what I learned at the cabaret, I’m terrified at what I may learn at the monastery. At this rate, I’m half expecting to learn that I got inducted into some Buddhist community or that I got married or something.
As that particular thought crosses my mind, I’m petrified.
Chapter 9
Lock
10:37 AM SATURDAY
Well, that didn’t go like I wanted it to.
I turn away from the door to the suite and begin my long, cumbersome walk of shame—naked. Fucking naked. Sammi didn’t even let me grab my pants.
Do I really care right now? Nah, not really.
The love of my life just so happened to forget she married me. Nudity isn’t even nearly as hard a pill to swallow. It doesn’t help that I’m more than a bit hungover, if I’m being honest here.
I press the button for the elevator and put my hands on my hips.
“Bright side: she at least knows something happened this time ‘round,” I say to my reflection in the elevator doors. There were damn too many witnesses to deny it.
I hear a DING and pull my hands back to my side, ready to step in. When the doors open up, I’m greeted by two old ladies and what appears to be a young married couple, most likely in their early twenties.
“Mornin’, folks.”
I give them a nod and step inside. The button for the lobby has already been pressed so I just turn around and face the door, trying to figure out where exactly I went wrong.
Which isn’t hard. I just shouldn’t have gone with all of this with Sammi being so drunk. Time and time again, she’s always had the same result in the morning.
So why would this time be different?
I can hear the couple behind me whispering an argument. My impeccable people watching skills come into play, and I deduce that the woman doesn’t need her husband to cover her eyes for her and that she knows better than to look.
Meanwhile, the pair of older ladies flanking me are not so subtle and are giggling like teenage school girls seeing a naked man for the first time.
I’m not going to lie; it feels good. At least some people are appreciating me—even if they are strangers.
…I might be just a little bent out of shape.
I give the two older gals a wink and flex my pecks for them. The one to the left of me is grabbing her inhaler, while the one on the right is giving the married woman behind us a thumbs-up—and likely checking out my arse, too. I can’t blame her. It’s firm, shapely, and smooth as a baby’s bum.
Once we reach the ground floor, the doors open to the lobby, and I stroll out without a second thought of those a
round me.
I turn my walk of shame into a strut of confidence, which only makes me cockier about knowing how much better I am than Eggbert. He would never handle something like this so well. That I know for a fact.
Some of the onlookers are undoubtedly enjoying the show. Others—mostly husbands trying to cover their wives’ eyes—not so much. And then some look like they’re about to rush off to the nearest gym and hit the weights.
I should enjoy this moment to the fullest. I’m debonair, attractive, articulate…
Yet crushed by the woman I love.
Yet left wondering just why I keep doing this to myself.
It’s the same thing year after year. I know things aren’t going to be any different, and I still do it.
I hit the streets, and there’s a wave of heat and humidity that hits me like a fucking kick from a kangaroo.
I’m an Aussie. I can handle the heat, the sun, and the humidity. That’s not a fucking problem.
But in Bangkok, it’s like an entirely different beast. And there’s the pungency in the air, but let’s not go into that too much.
I head down by the Chao Phraya River. Maybe I’ll get a nice breeze off the wate—
Nope. Nope. I’m just plain wrong on this one. Instead of something nice and refreshing, I get this really humid breeze that has me sweating more than I want to be.
I can feel beads of sweat forming and sliding down my temples. I can feel each individual droplet sliding down my pecks and in between my toned abs. One particular droplet actually tickles a bit as it trickles down the groove of my Adonis belt.
I’m sweaty, sticky, naked, and glistening in the sun like some Greek god.
I’ve got massage girls calling out to me. Trying to entice me into their shops so that they can help me relax.
It’s a tempting offer. Like, really fucking tempting. When you’ve had your heart snapped in two, it’s easy to take the closest pretty girl near you and let her reel you in.
And the looks I’m getting from these ladies is making my cock twitch more than a bit.
Considering I’m as naked as a newborn, that’s quite a dangerous plight.
They don’t matter, though. Not a single one of them would be able to hold a candle to the woman of my dreams.
None of them ever do.
I’ve tried. A lot.
In the end, the only one who remains relevant to me is Sammi.
It blows my mind how someone like Eggsy ever managed to land her—let alone get her to agree to marry him.
Fucking seriously. How did he swing that?
Don’t get me wrong. I love Eggsy like a brother. And as such, I’m entitled to acknowledge that he is absolute fucking wanker of a man.
And Sammi?
She’s a fucking head case a good chunk of the time. She’s a combative, uptight, prissy cunt, really. But I’ll be damned if she isn’t the most brilliant and determined woman on the planet.
She is also oh-so-fucking gorgeous, and she absolutely knows it. Her hair looks and feels like satin. Her green eyes are as vibrant and as full of life as the Amazon. Her lips feel as soft as rose petals. And her skin is as flawless as the morning sun.
How Eggsy is somehow more memorable of a man than I am is beyond me. And he took that beautiful prize that she is and shattered it. He fucked up.
It frustrates and angers me beyond what words can describe.
It was like he had the power of the sun in the palm of his hand and chucked it out the fucking window for a couple Ritz crackers.
Now what kind of fucked up shit is that?
I sigh as I pass a boat with a couple just getting engaged. All it does is make me think of Sammi.
I want to dwell longer on the thought of her in my arms, of her in my bed, snuggled up to me. Forget the sex. I had everything with her just hours ago.
Instead of having a nice brunch with my new wife, I’m yowling at the bludgeoning force of something spiky against my ass.
I turn around and see a durian rolling about on the ground. I look up and around for the source.
A man with his fist in the air is yelling at me in Thai and gesturing at my dick. From what I can gather, I’m scaring away his customers.
Around me, I can see an entourage of followers that I’ve amassed and not even realized. Some are tourists, mostly women, snapping away with their cameras at my muscled frame.
Some are even tracing out individual beads of sweat that sliding over my chiseled body with their fingers. Most, though, are pointing at my cock, which has gotten more than a bit stiff while I was thinking of Sammi.
If there’s one part of my body that I am exceptionally proud of, it’s my cock. I may or may not have been asked why I don’t do porn from more than a couple partners.
So I’m not at all surprised to see these women—and some men—taking pictures focused on one certain part of anatomy over everything else.
“Oooowwww!”
Another piece of durian hits my thigh and falls to the ground.
Let me tell you, that spiky fucking fruit hurts like a bitch, and this is coming from a man who has been bitten by sharks before.
I pick up the fruit and throw them back at the vendor, slightly vindictively. I’ve got some shit going on, and he’s got no idea how much of a nuisance his little fruit is.
He ducks for safety and yells at me to stop attacking him.
I want to curse him out. Hell, I want to shove one of his durian right up his arse and see how he likes it, but if I stick around and cause any more of a scene than I already am, I’m likely to get arrested.
Mind you, I don’t have issues with handcuffs. Not at all. But I prefer them in the bedroom and not while I’m naked in the middle of Bangkok rocking a stiffy.
So for today, the fruit vendor gets a pass and I continue on my way.
I want to go back to Sammi’s hotel. I want to kick in the door to that suite and tell her how fucking badly I have, and will always, love her.
There’s just no escaping it. I’ve fucking tried. Time and time again I’ve tried.
Every year, it’s the same cycle.
I think I’ve gotten her out of my system—and then I see her. It’s like the first time I got to swim with a whale shark. It’s breathtaking and awe-inspiring and just an experience you don’t want to let go of.
Then we do this song and dance of arguing about just about everything. Her competitive nature makes her a fantastic shit-talker.
Instead of getting angry at her, though, it only makes me fall for her more. Her passion and determination is intimidating and admirable, like an unstoppable force that will never fall to an immovable object.
And then the drinking begins. We get into the tequila, and the tension between us festers. It builds and builds until this inescapable climax approaches, and we cave in.
Of course, that leads to the sex. The most incredible fucking sex on this planet we call Earth. She is every bit as passionate in bed as she is in everything else.
She knows what she likes and knows exactly what her partner likes. It’s like everything we do is what the other craves and desires and fantasizes about. It’s simply fucking magical.
And it makes me fall for her again every fucking time. It always convinces me that this is the time she’s going to remember it.
But then the morning comes, and she forgets it ever happened, that I even exist, and the thought of fucking me makes her sick to her stomach.
That right there is fucking soul-crushing. To know that the woman of your dreams—the woman you love—gets ill at the thought of fucking you.
I’ll admit, my mind isn’t in the best of places right now when I step up to the hotel’s front desk. I try to explain everything to them as best I can, and they only agree to let me up if security comes with so that I can grab documents to prove I am who I say I am.
I’m glad to be off the streets and somewhere that I can take a shower. I feel—and smell—fucking terrible.
Security lets me i
nto my room, and I retrieve my passport from my suitcase. They’re satisfied and leave me to my own devices.
I make a beeline to the bathroom before the door closes behind them. I don’t even care that the first rush of water to hit me is cold. Sure, my nipples are hard enough to cut diamonds for a moment, but it’s a nice reprieve from the heat.
I sigh as I rinse my body. I really just can’t shake this trip off.
Once I’m clean, I need to figure out my next move—and fast.
If Sammi doesn’t remember me, that’s fine.
But she will.
After all…a man never gives up on his wife.
Chapter 10
Sammi
12:10 PM SATURDAY
The tuk-tuks rumble over the pockmarked streets, rocking us wildly about as we go. The further we get from the city proper, the deeper the gouges in the streets become.
My stomach lurches in protest. My mind may be drawing a blank on last night’s festivities, but the stomach never forgets.
I press a hand firmly over my mouth, willing myself not to vomit.
I’m definitely rethinking that ice cream right about now. Just the thought of Percy’s corn flavor has me wanting to materialize chunks of my own.
I’m about to suggest we finish the trip on foot when the monastery comes into view.
I feel a wave of relief, and not just because the ride’s about to end.
The monastery is nice and calming even from a distance.
We can’t possibly have gotten into too much trouble there.
…I guess as long as they don’t perform marriages or anything, that is.
Our tuk-tuk comes to a stop just before a sprawling green lawn. It’s so inviting, I briefly consider lying down in the grass for a nap.
Until, of course, I remember exactly how deep into shit we are.
“Oh, wow. Pretty as a picture!” Mysti May hollers from her tuk-tuk, now pulling up beside ours.
“Hunky monks, too,” Percy adds, eyeing a troop of orange-robed eye candies as they pass. “I bet all that karmic detachment makes them fucking horny…”
I don’t know much about the hospitality of monks, but I gotta admit, I’m feeling a little optimistic.
The Marriage Mistake_A Billionaire Hangover Romance Page 6