Innuendos (It Had 2 B U Book 1)

by V. Kelly

  “Eww no way! I would never sleep with Max,” I answer quickly. The last thing I need is for her to go running to Max and tell him about all the wet dreams I’m having about him lately. I know I’ve been looking at him differently, but I would never sleep with him. Okay . . . maybe not never.

  “Oh, sorry, I guess I just misread you two. You guys seemed really into each other while swing dancing.”

  It’s true we were really close and flirty while dancing, but we’re always like that—even if that night it felt a little different.

  “So you got drunk . . .”

  “And we made a bet with each other.”

  “Oooh, I love bets, especially juicy ones. What was the bet?”

  “That neither one of us could go without participating or talking about, well you know . . .”

  She grins. “You mean the horizontal tango? Sheet wrestling? Bumping uglies? The pound and slap game? Coitous? Fucking?”

  “Yes, exactly. Peanut butter cups.”

  “Is that the new lingo these days? Peanut butter cups, huh?”

  “It’s what I’m calling it for now.”

  “Okay, so what happens if one of you cracks and talks about peanut butter cups?”

  “If I crack first, I owe Max a kiss—a real one like full on making out for thirty minutes on the couch. The only restriction is my clothes remain on, and he’s not allowed to touch my no-no zones.”

  She giggles. “No-no zones, huh? I haven’t heard that phrase since I was in elementary school. So what do you get if he cracks first?”

  “A puppy!” I answer in excitement. “We haven’t got one because Max doesn’t want to train a dog. Anytime I drag him to a pet store, he shoots me down about buying one. He doesn’t think I will take care of it and that he will have to pick up the poop and stuff. He’s right, but I still want a damn puppy.”

  “It’s interesting how you both have very different wants from this bet.”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure why he wants a stupid kiss. He could get anything he wanted, but he asked for a kiss. He’s a weirdo.”

  “Yeah, he’s the weird one.”

  She gives me a strange look, but I shake it off.

  “So how can I help you?”

  “Max assaulted my underwear collection last night. He literally cut up every crotch and snipped all my thongs. I have no underwear unless my vagina is wearing a mask.”

  She laughs. “I’ve never imagined crotchless underwear being a mask before, but I can see it. Imagine walking into a bank and . . . never mind don’t imagine that.” She eats another piece of bread.

  The waiter picks that moment to walk up to our table. He’s a handsome guy—a little young, but still handsome. He’s definitely in his early twenties and has reddish brown hair that’s neatly combed to the side. He grins at me and a single dimple appears on his cheek.

  “What can I get you two, beautiful ladies?”

  “I’ll take a turkey and cheese sandwich—no mayo, lots of mustard, and pickles please,” I answer.

  “What to drink?” he asks.

  “Water please,” I say smiling.

  He turns to Maggie. “What would you like?”

  “I’ll have a salad with Italian dressing, but please put it on the side, and I’ll take a water to drink,” Maggie tells him.

  “Got it.” The waiter makes sure to lean in closely when he takes my menu, and I hear him whisper, “You’re beautiful,” in my ear. When I look up, he’s gone.

  Maggie starts giggling. “It must be amazing to be you. Guys probably hit on you all the time.”

  “Yeah, I guess they do. Honestly, I don’t date a lot because of Max. Every guy I date ends up dumping me the minute they meet him. I guess they think we’re messing around or something.”

  “Well, you two do act like you’re married.”

  “Do we? I never noticed,” I lie. We totally do act like an old married couple. It’s really annoying.

  “So anyway, back to our previous conversation. He assaulted your underwear collection? How does he expect you to replenish it?”

  I pull out the gift card to Victoria’s Secret and show it to her.

  She whistles loudly. “Damn! Two hundred dollars? I didn’t realize Max was such a big spender.”

  “Neither did I. We live off Ramen noodles and spaghetti. We don’t usually spend a lot of money.”

  “Hmm, that’s very interesting. Have you thought about forcing him to watch you try on the underwear?”

  “No, would that be a good way to get him back?”

  “Think about it. You’re alone in a dressing room with barely any clothing on. It’s a sure fire way for him to jump your bones or at least blurt out some sexual comment.”

  I contemplate this scenario and grin. “I could ask him to do me from behind. You know, like the bra won’t clasp or something.”

  “I usually turn my bra around, clasp it, and turn it back around to slip my arms in the straps.”

  “I think all girls do that, but Max doesn’t know that. It’s not like I get dressed in front of him. I really like this idea. It’s perfect. I have another idea I want to try out first, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I was thinking about asking him to give me a massage, and then asking him to massage my melons.”

  “You mean your boobs?”

  “No, I mean my melons. Like actual watermelons.”

  “That’s pretty funny. Although I would be careful; I hear watermelons can be sticky.”

  “I don’t plan on opening them. I want to use the melons to make it look like I got a boob job. Then when he goes to massage my breasts, he gets a palm full of melon instead. That’s what he calls my boobs anyway—melons. I thought it was fitting.”

  “Well, if that doesn’t work, then you definitely need to do the lingerie thing. I’m pretty sure it will work.”

  “I hope so. I’m not very good at this innuendo thing. Max is a pro at it. I kinda feel out of my element.”

  “Remember to be funny. That’s the quickest way to win. Make him laugh and think about sex. It’s sure to get you a puppy.” She checks her cell phone. “Hey, I need to get back. It was really great having lunch with you. Make sure to keep me posted. I want to see how this all plays out.” She gets up from the table and opens her arms. “I’m a hugger, get over here and hug the crap out of me.”

  It’s been a long time since I’ve had girl “friends,” so the actual hug ends up being quick and awkward. She laughs when she pulls away. “We’ll work on it. Don’t let him win, Breezy. You got this.”

  “Thanks for all your help, Maggie. Tell that Chocolate God of yours I say hi.”

  “Oh, I definitely will. See you later.”

  Maggie gave me some great ideas on how to win this bet. Her lingerie idea is priceless. I know for sure that I can work it to my advantage. What self-respecting straight man says no to watching a woman model lingerie? No guy, they’re all horn dogs.

  I came up with a perfect plan to get my revenge on Max for going all Edward Scissor Hands on my undergarments. After work I went to the store and bought two watermelons—two sizes bigger than my breasts. Usually I’m home before Max, so it was easy to get everything ready. I hid the watermelons in my bedroom and waited patiently for him to get home.

  Around four-thirty, his smiling face struts through the door. He’s all sweaty. He practically melts onto the couch. His head lazily flops over to look at me. He sighs.

  “Bad day?”

  “Tiring, long, the owner has decided to let a trio of punk-ass kids start training there for boxing. To say they’re a pain in my ass is an understatement.”

  “They can’t be that bad,” I tell him smiling.

  “They’re prima donnas. One even had the audacity to ask me to go get him water. I don’t care if he’s the fucking light weight champion of Florida. I’m no one’s bitch.”

  “You look like you need a massage,” I say sweetly.

  “It wouldn’t hurt.”
He quirks an eyebrow at me. He knows that I’m up to something. I’ve never given him a massage before. I dismiss his gaze and sit up on the couch, motioning for him to sit in front of me. He does as I instruct. The moment he’s close enough, I begin slowly kneading his shoulders.

  “Oh god, you’re a witch. Put me under your spell, please,” he moans, leaning against me.

  “You’re stupid,” I laugh.

  “Where does it hurt?” I ask him.

  “Everywhere, especially my groin muscle,” he looks behind him and smiles up at me. He’s never looked at me this way before. With our heads this close together, I’m two inches from his lips.

  “There will be no happy ending with this massage.”

  “Aww come on, those are the best kind of massages.”

  “I took a self-defense course. I know your pressure points. Either suck it up and love my hands as they are, or you’ll be sleeping like a baby in five seconds.”

  “I love your hands anytime they’re on me,” he winks.

  “Shut up, Max.”

  I find a spot in his back that’s totally knotted and begin massaging it.

  “Oh fuck, right there.”

  “Lay on your stomach,” I order him.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he lays on his stomach and I inch his shirt up his back. I take a deep breath. Back muscles are on my top five favorite things about a man. The way Max’s back looks without a shirt is pure perfection. Before I know what’s happening, a drop of drool slides from the corner of my mouth and lands smack dab in the middle of Max’s back. Whoops.

  “What was that?” he asks.

  “Massage oil.” I lie.

  When he moves his head to look at me, I smack him, pushing his head into the pillows. He groans in protest until I start massaging him again. Then his groans get more erotic—almost sexual.

  “Stay put.”

  “You know the best way to restrain me is to tie me up. I think we have some duct tape in the kitchen.”

  “I’m not tying you up. Now, shut up and eat the couch cushion.”

  I quickly wipe away my fly away saliva and push my fingers deeply into his back. The more I do it, the more turned on I get. I’m thinking about sex. I’m thinking about it right now while I massage Max, and because of it, I’m suddenly very damp and straddling Max’s ass cheeks like a saddle.

  “You’re really good at this,” he murmurs.

  “I’m hoping you will return the favor afterwards.”

  His head shoots up again to look at me. “For real?”

  I nod and push his head back into the couch. “Assume the position, damn it.” As I get lower on his back, I’m fighting the urge to feel his ass cheeks. I’ve got the sudden itch to grab his ass and give him the best butt massage he’s ever had in his life. Thankfully, I push the thought away and resume touching him in normal places. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not attracted to Max, and yet I’m ten seconds away from my vagina humping his ass cheeks like a fucking horny wildebeest.

  “You okay back there? You’re making weird sounds?”

  Fuck, I am calling out to my inner wildebeest. I grunt through my nose and blow some air out my mouth. How I know what a wildebeest mating call sounds like is beyond me. Good thing we aren’t in Africa.

  “Okay, my turn. I really want you to give me the best massage you can, so I’m going to go in my room and change into something a little more comfortable.”

  “Ummm, okay,” Max says, sitting up on the couch awkwardly.

  I race to my room, pick out the sexiest tank top I own, and then I stuff the melons into my shirt, hoping to god they don’t look too obvious. I wish they were a little more comfortable. The Melon-to-boob ratio going on behind my tank top leaves very little breathing room for my girls.

  I check myself out in the mirror and notice I look really good with a D-sized breast. Maybe I should invest in a real boob job. I shake the thought from my head, put on some ass hugging hot pants, and lay down on my bed so my melons are camouflaged within the blankets. I prop myself up with some pillows so that I’m not lying directly on the watermelons, and hope to god Max’s sniffer won’t rat out my ripe melons before he has a chance to discover them like he’s supposed to.

  Max pads into the room a few seconds later and smiles. “I see that you’ve assumed the position.”

  “I have. Do your worst.”

  He crosses the room and sits on the bed next to me. He’s afraid to actually get on top of me. No, no, no! This won’t work unless he’s all in.

  “Max, I don’t bite. You can sit on top of me; you know?”

  “Okay,” he says reluctantly. I feel the weight of his body climb on top of me and realize he’s semi hard. Aha! Now I see why he didn’t want to straddle me. I try to fight back the grin wreaking havoc on my face. I’m so going to get a puppy. I want a fluffy one, like a Pomeranian or a poodle.

  “Is that a banana in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?”

  “Anaconda, he’s silent but deadly,” Max responds without even thinking about it.

  He begins massaging my back. His fingers start low, working small circles around the area right around my ass and slowly working their way upwards. Time to milk this shit for all it’s worth.

  “Oh god, Max, just like that,” I scream in ecstasy.

  He continues to massage me. Each time he meets a new spot, I respond like he’s rubbing my vagina and sucking on my boobs. Every time he rocks forward, I can feel his hard-on stiffening.

  “You like this?” He asks cautiously. There is a waver in his voice. It’s really cute how careful he’s being right now.

  “It’s fucking orgasmic,” I swoon. Really it is. I’m so wet right now, that if Max were to turn me over, he’ll find nice surprise right between my legs. “Max, I want you to massage my melons.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My melons. They really need a proper squeezing. It’s been far too long since anyone has touched them. God, they hurt so bad, a massage could really help ripen them.”

  His penis stiffens between my ass cheeks and he moves a little forward almost like he’s using my ass crack to adjust himself.

  “Melons, huh?”

  “Yes, if I turn over, will you squeeze them for me?”

  “I’ll do anything to your melons that you want me to.”

  This is going perfect. Max is hard, the melon thing is going off without a hitch, and I’m about five minutes away from winning this bet. All I have to do is get him to say “peanut butter cups”.

  Completely forgetting that the pillows are holding up my body weight, I move them out from under my body, only to come crashing down right on top of my botched boob job. I’m surprised by how hard I fall. When I hit the bed, a sickening squish sound explodes beneath me. In complete utter mortification, I watch as my D-sized melons squirt juice all the way to my dresser, staining my carpet in pinkish jizz stains. The smell of watermelon fills the room. I look down and groan, carefully peeling myself off the bed. My silk bed sheets are covered in fake boob juice. Rinds fall from my shirt and land on my lap. Max is laughing hysterically, and I’m on the verge of tears because I really thought this plan would work.

  “What just happened?” Max asks still laughing.

  “My melons exploded,” I say sadly. “You can’t buy a good boob job anymore.”

  Max reaches into my shirt, briefly brushing my chest. Instantly my nipples salute him, almost as if they are saying, “hey wait a second, touch me some more”. Traitorous whores. Max pulls out a rind of watermelon from between my boobs and eats it.

  “Your melons taste ripe to me,” he quips.

  I reach into my tank top and pull out another large rind. Well, when in Rome, I guess. I bring the watermelon to my lips and sigh. “I really like ripe melons.”

  Max pats me on the shoulder and smirks. “Nice try, Breezy. You’re going to have to come up with something better than melons to make me lose the bet, although you were close with that massage. Little Max
approved.

  “I know. You’re anaconda was slithering up my ass crack.”

  “What can I say? He likes to dive deep into places that haven’t been explored yet?”

  “Who says it hasn’t been explored yet?”

  “I uh, assumed . . .” his voice trails off, his cheeks a fiery red.

  “Well, I better clean up this mess and get back to the drawing board on how to pay you back for ruining my underwear. Oh, by the way, you’re coming with me to the store. You’re going to hold my purse while I try on stuff.”

  “Do I get to watch?”

  “Nope, you get to sit on the couch and look like my bitch.”

  “I hate being purse bitch.”

  “Too bad, Max, this is what you get for cutting up my underwear. Consider it partial payback.”

  “Couldn’t you just model the underwear for me, and we call it good?”

  “Nope, the punishment must fit the crime. You are now officially my purse bitch. Now, go get a rag so we can try to get this boob juice off my floor.”

  He laughs, “Boob juice?”

  “Well, they were pretending to be boobs when they exploded, so technically, yes, boob juice.”

  He kisses my forehead. “Have I told you lately how much I adore you?”

  My heart skips. “Not lately.”

  “Well I do, very much.” He leans in like he’s going to kiss me, and I’m leaning towards him like I want him to. What the fuck is happening here? Right when he’s a millimeter away from my lips, he changes course and brushes my cheek with the pout of his lips. “I’ll get a towel,” he whispers

  Shit! He gave me a lady boner. This innuendo game is slowly killing me!

  Chapter Eighteen

  Max

  I went to bed with a fucking boner. I was two inches away from kissing her, but I chickened out of it. I felt up her boobs, ate some melons that were nestled right between her breasts, and I didn’t make a move. Even though her hands were massaging my whole body, I didn’t do a damn thing about it. Now, I’m lying here in bed, staring at the mother of all boners, and I can’t even touch him to make him feel any better. This sucks. No oral, no self-pleasuring, no good old fashioned rolling between the sheets, just me and my unsatisfied dick, hot for the girl on the other side of this wall.