“Nope. My parents don’t support my life choices,” she says, using air quotes. “I’m not welcome. I taint the strong catholic values of the family. Apparently I’m on a path straight to hell.”
“That’s fucking harsh. When did all this shit happen?”
“When they found me in bed with a woman. Everything was fucking peachy when I was engaged to Fuckface. But after him, I turned—”
“Say what?” I splutter.
She rolls her eyes and drags her fingernails over her scalp through her blonde hair. “Okay, calm down. I’m bi, okay? I’d been with guys and girls in college, but I kept that little titbit from my parents because I knew how they’d react. It took me a while to work out where I fit in with the whole sexuality thing. After him, I—”
My head reels with this new information. “Wait. Go back a sec. So you were engaged? Fuck. I want the whole story.”
“Yeah, well I’m not drunk enough and don’t exactly feel like sharing, so …”
“I can remedy that real quick. The bottle shop is just around the corner.”
“Don’t you get sick of drinking?”
“Nope. Why would I?”
“General good health? I don’t know. Just seems like you have a problem.”
I don’t have a problem. I just have a healthy obsession for the finer things in life—namely, tequila. “Ha. Why not tell me what you really think? Anyway, we’re not talking about me. I wanna know the goods. It’s the least you can do, because I’m cooking you a decent fucking meal.”
She purses her lips and lets out a long stream of air. “There are things I want in life. It doesn’t matter if I’m with a girl or a guy.”
What kind of things? A house? A family? What? Why’d she break up with her girlfriend, but more importantly, what did he do to her?
“Did he fuck you over?”
“He FUBARed me.”
“He what?”
“You know, fucked me up beyond all—”
“I fuckin’ know what it means,” I blurt out. With a sharp prickling sensation, blood rushes to my face. “Did he beat you? Is that what you’re saying?”
She scoffs. “No, but let’s say if I ever see him again, his face will be FUBARed.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“What about you? Surely one day you’d be looking to settle down?”
“Not in the foreseeable future.” I turn back to face the stove. I can’t see it happening. Why put myself out there again just to be shut down? Besides, I never meet the right women, which is probably my fault, but who’d be interested in someone as fucked up as me?
“There’s more to life than getting your dick wet, you know.”
I chuckle as I take the steaks out of the pan. “You’re probably right, but it’s one of my favourite pastimes.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“You and April like to talk about my dick gettin’ wet?”
“You wish.”
“Yeah, I fuckin’ do.”
****
SOPHIE
Rocco lets out an almighty burp, standing right behind me at the kitchen sink. It reverberates around the room, drawing a mother of a scoff from me.
“In what fucking universe is that acceptable?” I ask him, surprised that a God-awful noise like that is even human.
“In mine.”
“Well it’s disgusting.”
“The last I checked it was my name on the deed to this place, so if I need to burp, love, I’m gonna fucking burp.”
“Fine, but just so you know, if you ever fart when I’m around, I’ll hurt you with the nearest blunt object I can find.”
He chuckles. “I make no promises.”
“Okay then, at your own peril. It’s just good manners, you know?”
“I suck at manners.”
“Ha. Yeah, you kinda do. It wouldn’t hurt to try and put the toilet seat down either.”
“You’re fighting a losing battle, Suds.”
I wash up the last of the dishes, and wring out the dishcloth. I feel like my stomach is about to explode, but in a good way.
“Now doesn’t that feel better?” Rocco says, his tone heavy with sarcasm as he sidles up next to me, pressing his weight against the bench top.
I frown and eye him suspiciously. He’s biting back a grin, as if he’s a cat that just ate a fucking canary.
“What?” I bark out.
“To eat a decent meal.”
I roll my eyes, because I’m tired. I’m in a food coma. I can’t manage anything else.
“What do you want me to do? Drop to my knees and thank you?”
He thrusts his hips towards me and makes a grunting sound. “Hey, if the mood strikes you.”
“Argh! Enough of the sexual innuendo!” I splash him with enough murky dishwater to soak the front of his shirt.
A hearty chuckle rumbles up his throat. He ducks for cover as I raise my hand to do it again. “Hey, you’re the one talking about dropping to your knees.”
“Figure of speech, De Loser.”
“Take it easy, with the De Loser, Suds.” He dips a finger in the bubbles in the sink and flicks some at my face.
I regard him closely as he uses the tea towel to dab at the moisture on his top. Is he planning on drinking tonight? Here goes nothing.
“So you layin’ off the tequila tonight?” I dare to ask.
“Why?” he asks, with an arrogant lift of his chin.
“You seem less arsehole-ish without it. You’re almost tolerable.”
“Almost?” he asks, raising his dark brow.
I can’t help but smirk. “Yeah, almost.” I hang up the dishtowel and turn to him, one hand to my hip.
“I’ll make you a bet. You lay off the tequila tonight, and I won’t hang up my underwear all over the bathroom.”
“You can hang ’em up if you want. I can’t guarantee I won’t touch them though.”
“Ewww, gross,” I say, as I laugh and lightly punch him in the arm.
“One way or another I’ll get into those panties,” he says with a wink of one of those dark eyes.
I swallow down. My heart jumps in my chest, and the rush of blood to my lady parts takes me by surprise.
I don’t need De Loser talking about getting into my panties.
I don’t need a reminder of the last time someone was in them.
My poor pussy is being neglected.
“Just being honest. No filter, remember?” he says.
“Yeah, I remember.”
Rocco runs his hands down the front of his wet T-shirt and lifts it over his head. He slaps it over his shoulder and then struts towards the hallway. With his back to me, he turns his head, his toned muscles rolling in unison. “Guess I’ll wash this dishwater off me then go to bed.” He narrows his eyes, and takes his time looking me up and down.
I look down at my white T-shirt, and am horrified that my nipples are poking out like fucking headlights. Fuck.
“No shots then?” I challenge, hopefully diverting his attention from my traitorous boobs.
“Guess I can take a night off.”
“Night then,” I mutter.
He lifts his chin in my direction as a silent goodnight, and then enters the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.
Yes. Definitely less arsehole-ish.
Who knew?
****
Lucky to get a drop of warm water, I have a quick shower once Rocco has gone to bed for the night. I can’t believe he’s gone quietly. I wonder if it has to do with the fact the guys are racing this weekend, and they’re leaving at the crack of dawn tomorrow. With all the commotion tonight, I forgot to mention to Rocco that April and I are coming too. Oh well. I’m sure Jones will fill him in.
When I get back to my room, I rub some jasmine-scented moisturiser over my body, taking my time. Yes, I’m aware I’m romancing myself. When my skin feels suitably soft, I slip on my leopard print Victoria’s Secret nighty but don’t bother with the matching G-string
. Besides, all my good underwear is hanging off the edge of my wardrobe tonight. Not where De Loser can get his sleazy hands on them.
I rummage through my bag of toys for my lube and favourite dildo. BOB didn’t quite do it for me last night. The vibrations were either too intense or didn’t have the right rhythm. Tonight, I need to go old school. Bonnie and I always preferred this one. I would have fought her tooth and nail to keep it too, but she didn’t put up a fight.
I wonder if Bonnie has company tonight. She’s successful. Sexy. Seductive. Everyone is drawn to her. It’s a shame we were never going to work out, because I swear the best sex of my life was with her. The things she could do with her tongue. Sigh.
Applying lube to the object of my affection this evening, I lie back into the pillow and move my legs apart.
I glide the dildo between my lips, spreading the silky lube. With a few swirls around my clit, I push it in, a little at first until I adjust to the glorious girth.
I want a mouth on me, all over my skin. I want hands to explore, to hold me tight, to touch me softly. I miss that closeness with a person. It doesn’t do the same thing for me, doing it myself.
But I deserve to be single. I’m in such a shitty place that I can’t comprehend having any kind of relationship. I need my head right. My career right. I need to sort my shit. As much as I’m trying to get ahead, I feel as if I’m pushing a hail-bale-size piece of shit up hill. It’s nasty and it’s taking it out of me, but I know when I reach the top I’ll be able to breathe easier. Let’s just hope I can get the stench of shit off my hands.
One day, I’ll be rid of Prince Fuckface and his bloody debt for good. If I believed in God, I’d ask him to help me out. To help me carry the burden, but as my parents drummed into me, I’m going to hell anyway, so what’s the point in praying?
Aware that my breathing is heavy, I throw my head back and allow the moans to rise up my throat. I’m not afraid to get noisy, but there’s a big problem here.
Where the hell is my O? What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I get off?
I move the vibrating dildo faster, tilting it so it reaches that sweet spot. It feels so good, but I’m wound up too tight. I rub at my clit with one hand as I thrust the dildo inside me with the other.
“That’s it … yeah,” I whisper to myself, as I climb to that point of no return. I’ve got this. Oh. I’m almost there. “Oh, God—”
“You alright in here?”
I look up and the fucker is in my doorway, his hair dishevelled, wearing nothing but boxers.
I launch myself up right. “Don’t you knock?” I scream.
His eyes widen. “Don’t you know the walls are paper thin?”
“Argh!” I swing my right arm towards him and before I know it, the dildo leaves my hand and goes flying in his direction.
I gasp, as the scene before me plays out in slow motion. The heavy phallic-shaped object hits him in the eye. He yells out. His head bounces off the doorframe. Rocco’s legs give out and he hits the floor like a pile of rubble.
I scramble from the bed and tug my nighty down. “Shit!”
He isn’t moving. Oh my God. What have I done?
I kneel beside him and slap his cheek. “Rocco,” I repeat a few times, slapping harder until his eyes open.
“Am I dreamin’?” he asks as he reaches out and places his hands on my boobs and squeezes hard.
I swat his hands away. “No, you’re not.” His eyes are a little glazed, and a lump is forming around his eye. Knowing my luck I’ve probably blinded him. “Shit. Are you okay?”
Blood oozes from a gash on his forehead, just beneath his hairline. Oh no. Blood. All of a sudden I feel lightheaded.
“We, um, need to get you to a hospital.”
“What happened?”
Christ, he has amnesia. This just gets worse. He’ll sue me, and I’ll have to stand up in court and provide a play by play of the incident. I might as well end it all now.
The offending dildo is within reach of his head. I have never been more mortified in my life. Could I pick it up without him noticing?
I lean forward to snatch it. Rocco grumbles and sits up, his head swaying. I make my move and reach for the dildo.
“No wonder you were moaning. Look at the size of that.”
“Shut up.” I throw the object on the bed, and drag a stream of tissues from the box on the bedside table. I don’t do blood, and Rocco is bleeding. The bright red liquid creates a stream down the side of his temple.
I clutch at my stomach. I don’t need to be sick right now.
Shit. I’ve cut him open good and proper. I hand him the tissues and guide his hand to put pressure on the wound. Saliva builds in my mouth. I force myself to swallow it down.
Pretend it’s strawberry jam.
“You bare under that sexy thing you’re wearin’?” he says, his voice gravelly.
“What’s it to you?”
“Just give me something else to focus on, huh? I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck.”
I can’t believe I threw it at him. I was so fucking angry, and seeing his cocky face pushed me over the edge. Too bad I missed out on an orgasm first. If I had been flying high on Cloud O, I wouldn’t have reacted that way. And Rocco wouldn’t be potentially blind and bleeding.
“Fine. I’m not wearing any underwear. That shit tends to get in the way when you’re getting yourself off.”
His eyes roll back into his head, and his shoulders jerk up and down. A low, raspy chuckle leaves his mouth, gaining volume as the fucker laughs hard.
“Please don’t wet yourself. I can barely handle blood, and there are other bodily fluids I have zero tolerance for.”
“I won’t piss myself, Suds,” he assures me.
“Thank God for that.”
“Just help me up.”
On unsure footing, he stands and holds onto my shoulders for support, the bloodied tissues falling to the ground. Rocco’s dark, glassy eyes flit around my face and down to my chest. His head dips, as if it’s too heavy for his neck to support. Fuck, does he have concussion?
“Can you see?” I ask, using my finger under his chin to draw his gaze back to me. He brushes his thumbs back and forth over the curve of my shoulder, causing goosebumps to prickle over my body. “Well? Can you?”
“All I see are nipples,” he says, straight faced. I glance down, and there they are, perky and poking through the sheer fabric of my lingerie. Perfect. Something moves below my gaze, drawing my eyes to his black-and-white checked boxers. The bulge grows, tenting his shorts and creating a giant shadow on the floor. Bloody hell. He’s hard? Really? And why am I now thinking about how big he is?
“Very funny, De Loser. So you can see.”
“Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p’ like a smart arse.
“Can you stand by yourself?” I shake my head as his stupid grin grows. Is he faking being dazed and confused?
“Yup,” he repeats, in the same annoying way.
“Then get your inked paws off me so I can drive you to the hospital.”
He leans down and picks up the tissues, trying to sneak a peek at my vag while he’s there. “Are you wearing that?” he says, with a raise of his eyebrow.
“You dirty bastard. Do you want me to throw it at you again?”
“Chillax, Suds. Kidding.”
“Get a washer from the bathroom, and hold it on your forehead while I get changed.”A few minutes later, we’re both fully clothed. Rocco grits his teeth as he climbs into the front seat of my piece-of-shit car.
“Is something wrong with your leg?”
“Nah, just my dud knee flaring up.”
What a relief. An existing injury. Just as well, otherwise it’d be another thing for him to sue me for.
“What happened to your knee?” I have to ask.
“I used to race motocross as a kid with my … anyhow, I fucked up my knee, had surgery and couldn’t ride after that.”
Shit. That’s too bad. “
Is that why you got into mechanics?”
“Yeah. Bikes are kind of a family thing. ”
“Cool.”
For the next few minutes on our way to the hospital, Rocco is quiet. Small victory.
“So did you get yourself off?” he asks.
I grip the steering wheel tight, and wonder if I’m a bad person for wishing in this moment that I’d hit him harder.
“Well, did you?” he prompts.
Yep. I’m a bad, bad person.
“I’m guessing by choosing not to answer that’s a big fat no.”
Concentrate on driving. Don’t say anything you don’t mean. Be careful; he might sue for civil damages yet. Pain … suffering …
“Don’t worry, Suds. You’re not the only one.”
I look over to read his face but find him staring out the window.
What the hell does that mean?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SOPHIE
“How did this happen?” the elderly nurse asks in a strong Scottish accent. She scowls as she looks over the admission form I helped Rocco fill out in the waiting area.
“Well, it’s a funny thing really,” I start with, and prepare to lie through my teeth.
“I’m speakin’ to Mr De Luca, lovey,” she says, and narrows her eyes at me.
“I was hit with a sex toy,” Rocco informs her.
“Jesus,” I mutter. I am never living this down. Ever.
“Okay, wasn’t expecting that one,” the nurse says, prodding at the swelling around his eye. “How did you get the cut?”
“Hit the door and fell,” he continues.
“Hmm. It’s a nasty one.”
Perfect. Just perfect.
The nurse takes some white gauze and tape from a shelf behind her, which is full of white packages and small containers. She dabs at the wound with a white cotton ball and then tapes a small square of gauze over it.
“It looks as though the bleeding is starting to stem, but you’re definitely going to need some attention.”
The nurse writes something else on the form and then guides us to a bed in the emergency room. She assists Rocco in lying back on the bed, which is raised at the head. She hands me an ice pack.
“If he can stand it, try hold this on his eye on and off for a few minutes at a time to try and reduce the swelling.”
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