Felony Ever After

by Helena Hunting

  Hudson narrowed his eyes. “I could beat the ever-living shit out of him.”

  “You could. And I could watch.” Verity let herself picture that and felt a satisfied smile pull at her lips. But then she shook her head. “I love when you’re violent Hudson, but I really think he’s weird, not dangerous. I mean, I guess if you left him in the pool toy aisle…”

  She and Hudson made matching faces of revulsion before she continued. “He did say he was sorry, and he realized it was a mistake. I think he’ll let me have it if I ask. I get the sense that he’s really a broken guy. What leads a man to feel comfortable with dolls instead of a real person? He has lovers, and then has to create them again. It’s almost like he makes dolls out of the women so he doesn’t have to be involved with a human long-term. That’s some serious baggage. And up until me, all the girls knew about it, agreed to it. But anyway, I kind of wish I had the doll and maybe his promise to not do it again.”

  Hudson lifted an eyebrow and picked up her phone from the coffee table. “May I?”

  Verity shrugged, puzzled. “Sure.”

  He spoke to her phone’s artificial intelligence. “Hey, can you dial Larold Lay at SalesExportt.com?”

  “Dialing Larold Lay.”

  Verity covered her mouth with both hands.

  Hudson cleared his throat as the call connected. “Yes, thank you, Marge. I need to speak with a Mr. Larold Lay? This is Hastens Furburger. I’m representing Ms. Verity Michaels in a lawsuit against your boss. Can you put me through to him?”

  Verity mouthed, Furburger??? before clamping her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing.

  Hudson tipped a pretend hat at her and pulled her legs onto his lap.

  “What are you doing?” she asked after Marge had put him on hold.

  “I’m getting you that doll. You don’t need to feel squeamish because of a guy’s sexual desires, whether he’s dangerous or not.” Hudson gave her knee a reassuring squeeze before paying attention to her phone again. “Yes. Am I speaking with Larold Lay of SalesExportt.com?” He drummed on her knee with his fingertips.

  He listened for a moment, and although Verity could hear the tone of Larold’s voice, she couldn’t make out his words.

  “It’s come to my attention that you have a rubberized likeness of my client, Verity S. Michaels, in your private corporate bathroom?”

  After a moment Hudson’s jaw clenched, and Verity heard a few words that indicated why.

  “Personal property… time investment… customized to my genitals.”

  That last one made Verity a little nauseated.

  Hudson interrupted. “Know that this conversation is being recorded, Lay. The lawsuit I can file right now will implement a restraining order against you, protecting every inanimate object with an ethylene base from you for the rest of your natural born years.”

  Verity gave Hudson a perplexed look, and he shrugged and pantomimed whacking off.

  She giggled again.

  Hudson mouthed, Got him!

  “Okay, can you then please send my client the doll in her likeness and agree right here on this recording that you will never create another sex doll without the woman in question’s consent? Yes? Good. Then I’ll forget this restraining order and perhaps persuade my client that a lawsuit won’t be necessary…”

  After Hudson ended the call, he turned to Verity and smiled. “He’s going to send the doll via an overnight courier to this address. Is that okay? If you really want to sue him for harassment, I can help you.”

  Verity loved the look of determination in Hudson’s face. “Thanks. A lot. I think I’ll leave that option alone for a while. As long as we can track him to make sure he never does this again, I think it will be okay. Angie is pretty invested in her job there, and I think Lay is scared of her. He doesn’t hit on her, so I’d like to not upend her life.”

  Hudson held out his arms, and she adjusted so she could put her head on his chest.

  “First you steal a taxi, then we break into the Conservatory Garden. Now you’ve impersonated a lawyer. You are the trickiest white knight in the business.”

  “Anything for you, baby.” Hudson put his chin on top of her head, and her heart did that warming up thing again.

  ***

  The next day was festive, yet moderately terrifying, as it heralded the triumphant return of the faceless latex Verity doll. Larold had indeed sent it to Hudson’s overnight, but Hudson had gone to work by the time the delivery came mid-morning. The box was so big and heavy, at least compared to all the other doll-parts boxes, that Verity worried Larold had mailed himself to her or something crazy. She called Hudson right away, and he instructed her not to touch it. Verity found a baseball bat in one of Hudson’s closets and sat with it at the ready until he returned.

  When he arrived, he kicked the box a time or two before opening it with a knife from the kitchen. It contained no human bodies, but latex Verity came in her own carrying case with her name embroidered on it. The sheer number of packing peanuts surrounding the deflated, carefully folded carcass would have kept a Fabergé egg safe on a cross-country journey by army tank. A very formal sheaf of documents included a wedding certificate Lay had made for the doll and himself and five pages of instructions outlining the care and handling of latex, faceless Verity.

  Hudson read the whole thing over her shoulder before muttering, “Dude’s got issues. That guy’s issues have issues.”

  Verity shuffled through the last of the paperwork to find a generous personal check from Lay made out to the real Verity. An attached note explained that it was to fund the completion of the doll’s face, as well as provide an outfit allowance and money to take the doll on the Hawaiian vacation he’d promised her.

  “How would he even get the doll on a plane?” Verity asked, her mortification and Lay’s latex love obsession reaching brain-melting levels.

  “In a suitcase?” Hudson suggested. “Perhaps she travels in her snazzy case there.”

  Verity could imagine her rubbery self dressed in a bikini, lying on a beach in Hawaii while Lay pretended she was actually real. That would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. No way in hell would she use Lay’s pervy fantasy money.

  But before she could tear up the check, Hudson snatched it away. “Sweetness, this is what we’re calling your severance package. You are cashing that shit.”

  Verity considered that for a moment, and realized he was right. Never look a gift horse in the mouth. Never look too closely at Larold Lay’s anything.

  “Okay, but we need to get rid of this.” She gestured to the folded faceless effigy. “It’s creepy, and I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep with it in my apartment. I keep imagining her coming to life to murder me and take over my identity.”

  “Wow. The things that happen in your head are wild.” Hudson shook his head, but promised to take care of it. After a few phone calls, he’d managed to make arrangements to dispose of the latex body.

  Verity invited Angie to join them for the doll’s afterhours burial in the Conservatory Garden that night.

  Just after sunset, Hudson’s maintenance contact let them into the Garden grounds and directed them to an area being actively planted where the soil was loose. It was rather sexy to watch Hudson work a shovel in the semi-darkness of the security lights as he dug a hole for the nightmare that was rubber-doll Verity. At the end, she and Angie tossed a few flowers on the carrying case before he covered it with soil.

  “Here lies faceless, rubber Verity,” Hudson intoned. “May she find peace under the marigolds come spring.”

  Angie stifled a laugh. “Can we go get a drink now?”

  Verity smiled as she felt her peace of mind return. This mafia-style burial of a sex doll would no doubt be a tale she and Hudson told while tits deep in the hot tub at an Ocala retirement park 40 years from now. It had been just a little criminal and a whole lot perfect. And this time, they left the Garden without being chased.

  Verity Michaels @VerityPics0
3

  Ever feel like you’re burying the past behind you? #NoMoreRubberEver

  Hudson Fenn @tatwhiteknight

  The real thing is 100% better. #RealSkin #ThatSoundsWorse

  Chapter 22

  Happiest Vagina

  Leisa Rayven

  On Friday morning, Verity awoke feeling deliciously lazy and snuggled further into Hudson’s pillows as her coma-like post-sex slumber lifted. He’d convinced her to take a few days for herself before diving right into the job search, and damn if he wasn’t a wise man. Nearly a week of self-indulgence had been heavenly. She’d reacquainted herself with her camera, explored the city with her favorite bike messenger, and even gotten to see Hudson the tattoo artist in action one night when a client came over.

  This one hadn’t been overly paranoid, so as long as she didn’t talk and didn’t stare, Verity was allowed to hang out with them while the work was done. Why anyone would want such a filthy word permanently printed on his lower back, Verity wasn’t sure, but this guy always wore suits on TV, so maybe he figured it didn’t matter. Rather than cursing through the pain, he’d cracked jokes, so Verity had felt like she was on the set of his show, without having to stay up quite so late.

  Her smile faded as she rolled over and found nothing but cold sheets. Hudson was MIA, and it seemed he’d been gone a while. Her smile faded further as she reminded herself she was officially jobless, and today was the day to begin dealing with that. Manhattan was expensive, and even though Lay’s “severance” was substantial, it would only keep the wolf from her door for so long. She reluctantly resigned herself to leaving her cocoon to deal with the messy reality of her life.

  She threw off the covers and grabbed one of Hudson’s crumpled T-shirts off the floor. When she pulled it over her head, a burst of his scent filled her nose, and her determination to find him and drag him back to bed intensified. Her messy life could wait a little longer.

  She padded around the house, stopping at the room off the kitchen to peek for him. Hudson wasn’t there, but his crew of cats was, including two still sleeping, wrapped around each other like yin and yang.

  Verity smiled. “Morning, Killer.” She stroked the cat's back, and the brown kitten purred so loudly the vibration tickled Verity's hand.

  “Yeah, such a badass.”

  Killer rolled over to expose her tummy.

  “Where’s your dad, honey?”

  More purring.

  “Oh, he’s off being a smoking-hot sex god? Yeah, well, duh. Tell me something I don’t know.” Verity added a bit more kitty love before resuming her search.

  “Hudson?” she called, stepping back into the kitchen.

  Silence greeted her. She stopped in the bathroom on her way back down the hall. He wasn’t there, but he had been. His scent hung in the air, and the shower had recently been used. Without her.

  Not cool, Tattoo. Not cool at all.

  She padded out into the empty dining room. Hudson wasn’t there either, but on the table was a plate of fresh pastries, a grande Starbucks cup, and a note.

  Morning, Honeybee.

  The sight of her nickname in print stopped her for a moment. But she’d decided to own it, she reminded herself. Larold Lay would not be ruining a perfectly sweet nickname for her. She returned to reading.

  Sorry I had to bail. Have some packages to deliver today. Would have woken you, but two things prevented me. First of all, you look like a fucking angel when you sleep. Did you know that? I sat there for a while and just watched you, all messy hair and swollen lips. Anyone seeing you like that would never guess what a filthy perv you are in the bedroom.

  Secondly, I knew that if I woke you, and you looked at me with those “please fuck me” eyes of yours, neither of us would get out of this apartment today, and that couldn’t happen. My dick had other ideas, but he’s not the boss of me.

  Well, maybe he convinced me to pull the sheet down so I could stare at your rack like a creeper for a minute, but that’s where I drew the line. At least he allowed me to drag myself away from you and go about my day. He’s such a fucking dicktator. (See what I did there? Handsome and hilarious with a cock that just won’t quit? No wonder you can’t get enough of me.)

  At this point, Hudson had drawn a cartoon portrait of himself with two thumbs up and a shit-eating grin. He’d even made an attempt at capturing his tattoos. Verity laughed, startling the cats now peering at her through the French doors.

  “You adorable idiot,” she muttered to the note, and then kept reading.

  Anyway, I’ll call you later. Not sure when. Feel free to hang out at my place if you like. You can watch TV. Eat my food. Rub your boobs on all my underwear. Whatever. Oh, but don’t look in the bottom drawer of my dresser. That shit is private.

  I’m serious.

  X Hud

  Verity smiled down at the note. She had fallen hard for this guy, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

  Thank God.

  With a contented sigh, Verity picked up a pastry and took a huge bite. She ended up devouring three of the things as she drained the entire lukewarm cup of coffee. When she’d finished, she let out a huge belch.

  The cats silently judged her.

  “What?” she asked. “Like you’ve never had a sex marathon with a hottie in an alley and then binged on kibble. Please.”

  After clearing up the kitchen, Verity proceeded to have a scavenger hunt around Hudson’s bedroom to find all her clothing. She eventually located everything except her underpants, and for the life of her, she couldn’t remember where they’d ended up. They’d been watching a movie last night before they’d turned to other activities, so she thought they might be on the couch, but nope. Deciding not to waste any more time, she gave up and went to shower.

  She was preparing to head home when she remembered Hudson’s note. Smiling to herself, she went back into the bedroom and opened the bottom drawer of his dresser. Inside sat a piece of paper with his messy handwriting on it.

  Honeybee! What the fuck? I told you this shit was private.

  Close the drawer and walk away.

  Now.

  Don’t make me ask you twice.

  “Pfft. Way to get me to absolutely not do that,” she muttered.

  She took the note out, along with the hastily folded T-shirt it sat on. Below it was another note.

  Woman, you are on dangerous ground now. I’m warning you, go no farther or face the consequences. That dentist’s chair? I have restraints fitted to it. They’re leather and unbreakable, and if you don’t want to find out how uncomfortable they can be, leave.

  Immediately.

  I’m serious.

  Again she removed the note, along with a pair of grey sweats. Below, she found another note.

  You have a death wish, lady, don’t you? I wish I’d known about this earlier. So, I’m going to mark you down for a round of severe discipline when I see you next. Where do you stand on ball-gags? Floggers? Anal beads? Yay or nay?

  Verity laughed and kept going. This time, below the note was a giant plastic bag of Star Wars action figures. She smirked in triumph. Oh, Hudson. Really? He’d led her to his hidden Nerdvana.

  There was a message scribbled on the front of the bag:

  Okay, fine. So I figured you should know this about me as well: I have a serious thing for Star Wars. And yes, I even own a Jar Jar. Shut up. I’m a little OCD. When I get home, you can dress up like Princess Leia, if you’d like. Or I’ll tattoo a detective badge on you to commemorate your excellent sleuthing. Now, get out of here.

  Verity giggled like a fool as she examined Hudson’s collection. Man, there were a lot of them. At least fifty or sixty. So her ultra-male, hot-as-Hades, tattooed piece of man meat was also a total Star Wars geek? Dear God, why did that make him even more attractive? It didn’t make sense.

  She was about to put everything back into the drawer when she noticed another piece of paper poking out from under a gym towel.

  Seriously? The
re’s more?

  She pulled out the towel, and yep. Another note.

  Verity, what the fuck are you doing? You’ve satisfied your evil curiosity and now know my darkest secret. Why are you still snooping? There’s nothing more to see here. Move along now!

  And under that:

  My God, woman, have you nothing better to do?! I have some ideas for a future profession for you: drawer organizer, private detective, handwriting analyst, procrastinator deluxe… SHUT THE FUCKING DRAWER! NOW!

  Finally, under a blue T-shirt with Chewbacca on it, was one last note. Oh, and her missing panties.

  Okay, fine. Yes, I stole your panties. Yes, I was keeping them to rub on myself when you weren’t with me. No, I’m not some panty-stealing pervert who does this kind of thing on the regular. You’re my first.

  I just wanted to have a part of you, I guess. Something to remind me how delicate and sweet you are. How I can’t get enough of you. How totally sexy and fucking insanely aroused you make me.

  So, yeah. As tempted as I was to snap a crapload of pictures of you while you slept, I went with the slightly less stalkerish option of stealing your underwear. Sue me.

  If you’re creeped out by me keeping them, then go ahead and take them back. I won’t mind.

  X Hud

  PS. Please don’t take them back. You know I’m capable of breaking into your apartment, right? Leave these where they are, and the entire contents of your underwear drawer will remain safe. For now. Don’t make me go all Liam Neeson on your ass. It wouldn’t be pretty.

  Verity shook her head, unable to stop smiling.

  Okay, so it was official. She loved this man. She loved every part of him—from his hard body and gorgeous face to his passion and intensity. She loved his utterly ridiculous sense of humor and his amazing belief in and devotion to her. He made her feel like she could fly.