Spiked Lemonade: A Bad Boy Sailor and a Good Girl Romantic Comedy Standalone (15 page)

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…”

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.

I hear a thud against the wall as a pile of toilet paper lands in my lap. “Sorry, I tried to give you enough warning.”

“It’s okay,” I reply quickly. “I’m the one who didn’t move.”

“Here,” he says, “I’ll turn around so you can pull your pants up and stuff.”

I close my eyes, knowing I will regret this deeply in the morning, but right now I don’t think I want to consider my feelings six hours from now.

Standing up from the toilet, I pull my pajama pants up and pivot so I’m facing him.
Leave, Sasha. Don’t do anything else you’re going to regret.
I don’t know whether or not he knows I’m standing here because it’s so incredibly dark, but I give it a second.
I shouldn’t be giving it any seconds
. He only clears his throat, though. I think I might be making him uncomfortable so I place my hand on his side letting him know I’m still standing here. His body jerks in response. “I’m sorry for everything I said out there, sort of. I don’t exactly think highly of a man who sleeps around so much, but you shouldn’t think that’s your only option.” His hands find my hips in response, and he pulls me into him as he wraps his arms around me.
Okay, I’ve apologized. Time to go!

“Thank you for relieving my blue balls,” he says softly, seriously. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me one of what?” I question, wondering what he might say in return.
I know what he’s going to say in return. I should stop encouraging him
.

“Something that makes you feel better, I guess.”
Yup, I knew he’d say that. And that is exactly what my body wants right now, but I know better. I should know better.

“It’s been six months since someone touched me.”
Whoa! Hey now, why would I say that?

“What?” he chuckles questioningly. “You were with that dickwad up until recently.”

“I know,” I sigh. Mine and Landon’s lack of a life between the sheets should have been a clue to tip me off, but it wasn’t. I was just plain old dumb.
I’m plain old dumb right now, too.

“Well, what can I do to fix that?” he asks, his voice holds a lot of hesitation, more than I’d expect with this open-door invitation.

I pause, thinking for a long minute. Do I stay or do I go? My mind is out the door…my mind has been out the door, which means it’s not here to stop me from saying, “What do you do if a girl has the equivalent of blue…you know.”

“You can’t even say balls?” he says against my ear.

I close my eyes and rest my forehead over his left pec, which is much harder than I thought it would be. “No, I can’t.”
Nor should I have touched them. They’re kind of nice, though.

“What would I do to fix blue balls in a woman?” he purrs in my ear. His words make my skin crawl, but not in a bad way.
Or actually, in a really bad way, like an “I shouldn’t be doing this” kind of way.

His hands both slip down a bit until they’re resting on my butt. He squeezes gently, and this only makes the ache between my legs more apparent. “You’re making the pain worse,” I say through my breath.
I give up. I need this. I want this. And I don’t care what he thinks of me after.

Now his hands are slipping beneath the waistband of my pajama bottoms and his skin is touching my skin. “Pain creates pleasure,” he says. His words vibrate against my ear, intensifying everything.