Spiked Lemonade: A Bad Boy Sailor and a Good Girl Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Ryan, Shari J.

  Her question, honest to God, takes my breath away. I cannot for one second believe that sweet, innocent Sasha just asked me that very question, something I would definitely ask if I were in her situation. “I do have a license to carry my dick, actually. Didn’t know they handed those out, did you?”

  “Can’t say I did,” she says weakly. I’m taking this girl’s breath away.

  “Yeah, they only hand them out to the gifted and talented,” I continue.

  Another breath goes missing.

  “Gifted and talented?” she asks through laughter.

  “Well, one must be gifted and talented to lift heavy machinery and also know how to use it properly.” That did it. Sasha has created an abundance of space between us.

  “You’re not really sorry for attempting to send me a picture of your…”

  “Dick?” I laugh. “No, I’m not really sorry for showing off my biggest and best asset.”

  “I think you’re just being cocky,” she tells me.

  “Cocky?” I argue, chuckling, as I lean up against the counter behind me.

  “Did you put a filter on your picture? I mean, I have always heard that things appear larger on screen.” Is she really asking me these questions? Because this is fucking awesome.

  “I should have hash-tagged the image with #nofilter. Would you have believed me then?”

  “There’s no way,” she continues arguing. Is she looking for me to prove it to her?

  “How many dicks have you seen, Miss Sasha?”

  She may be holding the flashlight up to my chest, but the glow allows me to see her eyes clenched shut. “That’s none of your business,” she snaps.

  “And the girth of my dick is none of your business, but yet, you’re questioning my honesty about it.” She can’t argue with that.

  Her eyes open and I don’t think she knows I can see her face right now, but she’s looking down at the crotch of my pants. “I can see where you’re looking.” Her gaze shoots up to my face, obviously embarrassed to be caught staring. “Do you want to touch it?” I ask. “It’s the only way I can prove myself to you.” Laughter rumbles through me, knowing she’s likely going to freak out in less than a second.

  “No!” she snaps. “I don’t want to touch your…”

  “Just say-y-y-y-y it,” I tell her.

  “No.”

  “I bet Landon was the size of a string bean. Am I right?” I keep pushing forward, waiting for her to totally snap. I shouldn’t get pleasure from the thought of her squirming in her pants, but I do.

  “Landon’s penis is none of your business, either.”

  “Wow, you said penis. I have to say, I’m kind of impressed,” I tell her. “It was small, though, wasn’t it?” After a few long seconds of silence, I reach behind me, grabbing the refreshed glass of Jack I had been sipping and hand it to her. “Here, you need this.”

  “I don’t drink whisky,” she says.

  “You don’t appreciate big dicks either. Do you know why?” I love that she hasn’t slapped me and walked away by this point. I am pretty sure she won’t give me an answer, though. “It’s because you haven’t tried either, isn’t it?”

  Still no answer. I press the ice-cold glass up to her chest, and she recoils from the iciness. “Try it.”

  Her eyes are locked on mine with either confusion, question, or maybe she’s just trying to figure me out. I’m not sure which it is, but there is a determination of some sort swimming in her blue eyes. Her nose flares a little—pretty much the cutest thing I’ve ever seen—and she snatches the glass from my hand, placing the rim up to her plump lips. I’m not sure she’ll actually go through with this but somewhere inside of my fucked up head, I believe if she tries the whisky, she’ll try something else she hasn’t tried before too. She’s had the glass between her lips for way too long and it’s given her a chance to inhale the strong scent—that alone could make someone not want to try it.

  An arch of her brow hints at a side of her I hadn’t expected to see. She tilts the glass a little more and I expect her to touch her tongue to it and call it a win, but instead she downs at least two shots’ worth. Oh shit. She’s going to puke that up.

  Her eyes shut tightly and I hear the whisky struggle down her throat. The second it hits her stomach, that’s it. I grab her arm and bring her over to the sink. “Damn, girl. I didn’t think you were going to drink half the glass. That’s whisky not lemonade.”

  She lets out a loud “Woot!” and I’m shocked. Like, utterly shocked. This little Southern belle with perfect blonde curls, red lipstick, and a white sun dress is standing before me with a cocky-ass grin on her face right after she downs way too much straight-up Jack. Someone needs to pinch me right now because I might have just fallen in love with her.

  “You haven’t had whisky before?” I ask again.

  “Nope,” she says with a croak in her voice. “It was good, though.”

  A glaze quickly covers her eyes and a smile larger than I’ve ever seen her stretches across her lips. “There, maybe now you’ll lay off my case,” she says, slurring her words a bit.

  “Well, no,” I argue. “I can’t lay off your case. You’re still missing out on other things.”

  She shifts her weight to her right foot and crosses her arms over her chest while still holding the flashlight between us. “I’m not sure I’m missing out on anything,” she says.

  “You didn’t think you were missing out on whisky just a minute ago, either,” I tell her.

  Her free hand drops, like she’s frustrated with me, which is exactly what I was going for. What I wasn’t going for, or necessarily trying for, is what she’s doing right now. Her small hand shoots out and firmly grips my cock. To say this is shocking the hell out of me is a complete understatement. With no control wanting to be had, I harden immediately within her hand. I didn’t exactly ask for this, but I sure as hell am not complaining either. I love that I can still see her eyes right now. They’re large. They’re surprised. This is awesome. I’d like her hand to stay right-t-t-t-t like this for the rest of the night.

  “If you move your hand up a little, then down, that would be just perfect.”

  Gambling my last statement, I lose the hand. Literally. “Jags,” she says. “I’m a little afraid of what would happen if I did that.” The words drawl with her cute southern accent, which sounds enhanced under the influence of whisky.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, doll-face. I’ll keep you safe,” I say quietly.

  “I think I’d need a lot more whiskey to be convinced of coming any closer.” Drunken women are usually the only ones who will come near me anyway, so it isn’t a huge shock to hear this.

  “That’s what they all say,” I tell her.

  The look on her face changes, like I just said something hurtful to her. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she says. “But it’s nice to know that’s what they all say.”

  Jack has a way about him. Almost always, he brings something good to the table, but then it’s normally followed up with something real shitty. Like this. “What can I say?” I finish the deal off.

  “How many women have you been with, Mr. Jags?” We’re back to the Mr. Jags shit now?

  “That’s none of your business,” I use her own words against her. In truth, I couldn’t come up with an accurate number. Sex is like water, it makes up seventy percent of my life, and right now I’m very dehydrated and no closer to a nice cold glass than I was six hours ago. God knows I can’t get an actual girlfriend so I do what I have to do. “Let me tell you this, Miss Sasha. A man who has been with too many women is obviously a man no woman wants to love. Think of it that way instead of considering me a manwhore.” Using this as my exit strategy since I now feel like a million fucking bucks, I grab the rest of the Jack from her hand, leaving her so I can go find the sheets and shit for the couch.

  “Jags,” she calls out after me.

  “People are sleeping,” I
tell her.

  “Stop,” she says again.

  I’m not stopping. She’s no different than any other woman shooting me down. She’s the one who just grabbed my cock and then insulted me. I didn’t ask for that.

  Regardless of me ignoring her, she finds me in the living room and stands in front of me, pointing the flashlight to my chest again. “Women might not want to be with you because you talk about your man-part like it’s the best thing since sliced bread. Women might not want to be with you because you send inappropriate pictures to their best friend. Women might not want to be with you because you look at them like you want to…like you want to…shove your man-part into places it has no right to be.” I’m trying so fucking hard not to laugh right now. I love drunk Sasha even if that was a total jerk move she just made. “But a woman could definitely want to be with you after watching you have a tea-party with a five-year-old little girl. A woman could definitely want to be with you after watching you care for your best friend’s wife when she’s going through a hard time. And a woman could definitely want to be with you for being so complimentary about the food she makes. Just stop bragging about your man-part so much, Mr. Jags. It’s not becoming of you.”

  Oh, it’d be coming of me if she’d give it a chance.

  “Thanks for the insight,” I tell her.

  “Anytime,” she says. With the flashlight still being the only source of light, she reaches it over to me, offering it up.

  “You can keep it,” I tell her. As the softness of my words fight against another clap of thunder, the entire house illuminates with lightning. “The storm must be right over us now.” Sasha doesn’t move with the flashlight; she just keeps her eyes locked on the window behind me. I turn to see what she’s looking at, but there isn’t much there other than total darkness. “Something wrong?”

  “Those clouds don’t look good,” she says.

  “How can you even see anything?”

  “When the lightning struck, I saw a funnel cloud,” she says softly.

  I take my phone from the side table and open up the weather map, looking for a radar. After a minute or so, the page loads and I don’t see much other than storms rolling in. “I think we’re safe,” I tell her.

  She nods her head with unease and clutches the flashlight against her chest, muffling the glow. I’d offer to keep her company if she was scared but I’m guessing that isn’t in the cards tonight. “Goodnight, Mr. Jags.”

  “Night, doll.” I can hear her walking slowly away down the hall, followed by the bedroom door shutting with only a soft click.

  I’m not sure what the odds are of me steering clear of walking into walls on the way to the bathroom, but since she’s not in there right now, I got to take my chances.

  Heading down there while feeling my way around like a pinball bouncing from wall to wall, I finally find the open door and close myself inside. I’m going to go ahead and pray this house doesn’t run off a septic tank. I reach around for the sink knob and twist to the right. Please work, please. Water thankfully runs from the spout and I shut it back off again. Good to know we can all use the toilet because that would suck.

  After a day of incredible sexual tension thanks to Sasha, there’s business I need to attend to. I drop my shorts and boxers and press the back of my head against the nearest wall. How long has it been? The girls in Texas definitely aren’t biting the bait like they were in Boston, that’s for sure. The last memorable night in Boston was weeks ago, which means I might explode soon. Don’t want that to happen.

  She grabbed my cock. She totally wants me. Why do chicks have to pretend they’re not interested for so long before they’ll finally give in? It’s like a game to them.

  With my hand gripped around my cock, I do what needs to be done, keeping my thoughts focused on Sasha’s big tits. Those things are fucking huge for such a small girl. It’s hot. She shouldn’t keep those babies so hidden. There’s no need for that.

  Dude…either my imagination is fucking amazing, or someone is sitting next to me right now, breathing over my cock.

  Okay, that’s definitely not my imagination.

  There’s a hand on my cock.

  Now there’s shrieking.

  “What the hell is that?” Sasha screams.

  “What the fuck!” I shout. Not that I mind that she’s in here grabbing my cock, but no one should shock the hell out of a man while in this position.

  “What are you doing?” she continues screaming.

  “Jerking off,” I tell her, matter-of-factly. Not like I owe her an explanation or anything. I was in here first.

  “I didn’t know you were in here,” she cries. “Why didn’t you lock the door?” I thought I did, maybe I didn’t. Oops.

  “I forgot?”

  “You wanted this to happen, didn’t you?” she continues.

  Well, uh, yeah, I want to say, but not against her will. “I was in here alone in the dark. I wasn’t extending an invitation to you,” I tell her.

  “Why are you standing against the toilet paper roll?” she asks me.

  “Why not?”

  “Why are you jerking off in someone else’s house?”

  “I’m horny, and there are no bars close by to help settle this issue.”

  “You’re disgusting,” she tells me.

  “But I’m still horny. What am I supposed to do about that?”

  “I…I…” she stutters. “I just…ugh, you are so infuriating.”

  “That doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

  “Could I please use the bathroom without your man-part positioned where the toilet paper is?”

  “Sure, I’ll just take my blue balls back into the other room,” I tell her.

  “Blue what?”

  This makes me laugh loud enough that I hope I didn’t wake the kid up. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “Your…they’re blue?”

  Where has this chick been living? I mean, she just got out of a relationship. It seems like she’d have to be muffling her hands over her ears during any sexual encounter not to know what blue balls means.

  “No, Miss Sasha. My balls are not blue but right now they hurt like hell…because that’s what happens when a man’s jerking off and he’s suddenly put on pause.”

  “Oh,” she says. “Well, I’m sorry for causing you any discomfort.”

  “Discomfort is putting it mildly,” I reply. I love how we’re having this discussion in the darkest room I’ve probably ever been in.

  “I am sorry,” she says again.

  So, I know a way you can make it up to me. I should probably leave the bathroom now. Neither of us are saying a word, and we’re both standing within inches of each other…I think. Along with that, I can take a guess that since she was trying to go to the bathroom, her pants are down, and since I was trying to jerk off, my pants are down. And yet, even with all of this easy access, there is no reason for any of us to have our pants down. Well, except for her needing to take a piss. “Okay, well, I’ll get out of your space now,” I tell her.

  I take a step forward, needing to move away from her so I can yank my pants back up, but something obstructs me from going anywhere. You have to be kidding me. “What…what are you…”

  CHAPTER TEN

  SASHA

  TOO MUCH WHISKY. Too, too much whisky. What am I doing? This isn’t very lady-like. It definitely isn’t very Sasha-like. I feel bad, though. I didn’t mean to cause him pain. I can assume there’s only one way to ease the pain so, yeah, that still isn’t a good reason for my hand to be on his—holy moly this thing is enormous! This would not fit where I may have considered it fitting. Landon was very petite in that area. Very…like, he was ashamed of it and told me a number of times that he couldn’t shower in a men’s locker room for fear of what would happen. I’m not sure I understand that part, though.

  “Sasha, you don’t have to do this,” he growls through a soft moan.

/>   “I know,” I whisper. My hand hardly fits around the width of this beast, and I wonder if that matters. Probably not. The lower half of his body is grinding into my hand and clearly, he’s enjoying what I’m doing. It’s weird that I’m sitting on the toilet with my pants down by my ankles, and I’m pleasuring a man at the same time. I am out of my mind right now. I should stop. How did this even happen? A half glass of Jack does not cause this type of mistake. This isn’t a mistake.

  Part of me is even crazy enough to consider myself jealous that he gets to feel all the good parts. Well, I suppose what I’m feeling isn’t a bad part, but…

  “You aren’t as innocent as you pretend to be, are you?” he mutters.

  “Shh,” I tell him. Yes, I am! This isn’t me. I want to say that out loud, but that’s weird. I don’t do things like this. My body is definitely speaking for my mind right now, and my actions are completely ridiculous. Regardless, I’d rather not respond to his question, but mostly because I don’t know how to respond to it. I’m supposed to believe a woman should present herself in a particular way, like a lady at all times. I do not feel much like a lady right now, that’s for sure.

  His body is moving against my hand harder and faster, and I do my best to keep up with his pace, considering the awkward angle I’m sitting at. I squeeze my hand gently as I continue the movement, making him more vocal then he’s been since this began. I’m worried Cali’s going to hear what’s going on in here, but I also know she’s a deep sleeper.

  “It’s coming, doll. Either move or hand me something,” he says.

  Well, that’s a gentlemanly thing to do at least. Landon didn’t usually warn me. While I’m considering a proper plan of action, remembering the fact that I’m half naked from the waist down, I don’t move in time. Warm liquid drips over my leg, gliding off into the toilet between my thighs. For another reason I can’t understand, this turns me on even more. What is this man doing to me? I should not be in this bathroom with him. I should not be flirting with him. I shouldn’t have grabbed him in the kitchen earlier. And I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t have a drink in his presence, ever again.