Sucker Punched (27 page)

I laugh. “Yeah, no. That’s exit only.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

I grin and glance over my shoulder. “What are you saying? That I’m a prude?”

“No. I’m saying that your asshole’s lived a very sheltered life.”

I’ve
lived a very sheltered life. But Blake hasn’t.

My mouth twists to the side as I think about all the kinky things he’s probably done. Only to him, they wouldn’t be kinky. They’d just be “things.” My voice comes out quiet as I ask him, “Have you done anal before?”

“Nope. Can’t say that I’ve ever been fucked in the ass.”

Rolling my eyes, I throw off the covers. If he’s going to be a smartass then I’m getting up.

Blake’s arm tightens around me, locking me in place. “If you’re asking me if I’ve ever fucked a girl in the ass, then yes. I’ve done anal.”

I’ve never been interested in trying it before, but the thought of some girl—or
girls
, most likely—experiencing Blake in a way I haven’t. . . Well, it’s making me way more jealous than I’m comfortable with.

Blake’s not my boyfriend. He’s not even someone I’m casually seeing.

He’s just a friend. And friends don’t get jealous.

I feel like I’m doing it wrong if I have to keep reminding myself of that. . .

“As much as I love talking about anal on Christmas morning, I need coffee.” He pushes my hair aside and kisses my neck. “Come downstairs and unwrap your present.”

“I swear to God, if I come down there and you’ve got a bow on your dick. . .”

Blake laughs as he climbs out of bed. “Way to ruin the surprise, Duchess.”

After I pee and brush my teeth, I head downstairs.

There are only two presents under Rex and one of them is my present to Blake. I pick it up and hand it to him as he holds out a cup of coffee. “Open mine first,” I say, taking the mug from him.

I cradle the warm ceramic in my hands as I sit on the couch, folding my legs under me. He sits next to me, setting his mug and present on the coffee table.

Picking up the bottle of whiskey next to his mug, he unscrews the cap and pours some into his coffee. I watch, feeling outraged, shocked, and a little sad.

His drinking is getting out of hand. And while I don’t know the first thing about alcoholism or interventions, I know that spiking your coffee at ten o’clock in the morning is a red fucking flag if I ever saw one.

Biting my lip, I watch him take a drink. “It’s a little early to be making your coffee Irish, isn’t it?”

“I have to spend the rest of the day with my family. How else am I going to get through that?” His smile is so gorgeous it’s distracting—distracting me from the point I was trying to make.

“I’m getting worried about you. Maybe you should lay off the booze for a while.”

He sighs when he realizes I’m not letting this go. “You’re right. I should slow down. Here, you drink it,” he says, handing me his cup. “I don’t want to waste it.”

Rolling my eyes, I take it from him and hand him mine. “Open my present already.”

Blake sets the cup on the coffee table and picks up my present, tearing into the wrapping paper.

I’m beaming as I watch his face, loving the way it lights up when he reads the box. I put a lot of thought into this gift and a lot of work. It’s not something I could just order off Amazon, and his reaction makes it all worthwhile.

“Methopoly? Holy shit,” he says, laughing. “I didn’t even know they made
Breaking Bad
Monopoly.”

“They don’t. I had that custom-made.”

The fan-made game is free to play online, but I wanted a physical copy. That meant finding a company who not only made board games, but would also be willing to complete a non-bulk order.

It wasn’t easy. Or cheap.

His smile fades. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, but I can’t take all the credit. It’s an online game that someone else designed. I just found a way to make it something you could actually hold in your hands.”

“It’s still incredible. Thanks, Duchess.” He pulls me in for a hug.

“You’re welcome.” I take a sip of my coffee, forgetting that it’s spiked, and almost spit it out.
Good God, that’s strong
. Wincing, I set it on the end table. “My turn?”

Blake stands and picks up the lone present sitting under Rex. I hold out my hands, eagerly taking the shoebox-sized present from him.

He sits next to me as I tear into the silver wrapping paper. I frown in confusion when I get to the box under it and see that it actually
is
a shoebox.

For men’s shoes.

Blake clears his throat. “Just open it.”

I take off the lid and part the layers of white tissue paper, my eyes going wide when I finally see what’s underneath. “Is this. . .?”

He takes a sip of his coffee. “I told you. You ruined the surprise.”

My face heats as I lift the very realistic, very big cock from the box. There’s an on/off switch on the bottom, and I flick it on, making the whole thing buzz in my hand. “You got me a
vibrator
?”

“You said your dog ate yours. And it’s not just
any
vibrator. You won’t find that in any sex shop or on any website. There’s only one other like it in the whole world, but unfortunately that one doesn’t vibrate.”

His meaning sinks in when I glance at him, seeing his “cocky” grin. “Now you don’t have to imagine it’s my dick you’re coming all over. Now you actually can.”

That smug son of a bitch literally gave me his dick for Christmas. Complete with a bow and everything.

Suddenly it hits me, like a wrecking ball that came out of nowhere.

This is
fucked up
. Me, him, this, us—all of it. But the most fucked up part isn’t that he gave me a mold of his cock, it’s that I’m desperate enough to have him inside me that I’d actually fucking
use
 the damn thing.

How pathetic is that?

I flick it off and drop it back in the box, shoving the whole thing into his hands. I don’t want it anywhere near me.

Laughing, he fumbles with it. “Duchess, it’s just a joke—”

“Yeah, well it’s not funny.” I get up and dart for the stairs, tears stinging my eyes as I make a mad dash for my room.

We’ve crossed so many little lines that seemed harmless at the time, but now that I look at them all stacked up, it’s one thick, bold line that delineates right from wrong. 

I was delusional if I thought we weren’t doing anything. If it were truly harmless, then I wouldn’t feel this guilty. Whatever this is between Blake and I, it needs to stop before a certain cute, nerdy, perfectly
perfect
guy winds up as collateral damage.

Hauling my ass from the couch, I follow her up the stairs. “Macy.
Macy!
”

Instead of answering me, she slams her bedroom door shut.

Shit. Macy was supposed to think the vibrator was funny.

I expected to get a laugh, maybe an eye roll. I
definitely
expected her to turn at least three shades pinker. But I didn’t expect her to get so offended.

She’s the one who said she thinks of me when she masturbates. She’s the one who said her dog ate her vibrator. Excuse me for putting two and two together and getting her an awesome gag gift.

I try and turn her doorknob, but she’s locked it. Sighing, I lean against the doorframe. “Duchess, come on. It’s funny.”

Macy doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even tell me to fuck off or go away. At this point her silence is almost scarier than yelling.

Panicking, I pull out the small present I stashed in the pocket of my pajama pants. This is her real present. I wanted to see her face when she opened it, but fuck it. I’m worried I went too far. I’ve never seen her this pissed and the fact that her anger’s directed at
me
has me practically shitting my pants.

I slide it under the door and wait. A couple minutes later she opens the door, holding the necklace.

I saw it when I went to that overpriced jewelry store with Declan and immediately knew that I’d found Macy’s Christmas present. So I went back and bought it. I knew if I got it right then and there, I’d never hear the end of it.

Declan would’ve busted my balls so hard they’d have been permanently damaged.

She fingers the small, white gold pendant embedded with tiny diamonds. “Blake. . .”

When she looks up at me, I shrug. “Every duchess deserves a crown.” I wipe her drying tears away, ironically feeling like a huge dick. “I’m sorry. It was just a dumb joke. I thought it’d get a rise out of you, but not like this.”

Macy shakes her head. “I’m not really upset with you, I’m upset with me.”

“Why?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

She trudges over to her bed and plops down, looking at the necklace. “I let things get out of hand.”

“Look, if this is about last night—”

“It’s not. I mean it
is
, but it’s more than that.” Glancing at me, she smiles wearily. “While your cock was vibrating in my hand, I not only pictured myself using it, but I was actually looking forward to it. How fucked up is that? You’re my roommate and my friend, but most importantly I’m
dating someone else
. Hayden’s a great guy and even though we haven’t talked about being exclusive, whatever this is we’re doing is wrong. On
so
many levels.” Macy sighs, her shoulders slumping forward. “I like you, Blake. I know I shouldn’t, but I do, and every time you touch me or do something that makes my heart skip a beat, it makes me think that maybe you like me too. It’s. . .confusing. So either set me straight, or. . .”

“Or what?”

“Or let me go. Stop flirting with me. Stop sleeping in my bed. Stop making me think you could love me even a fraction of how much I’m beginning to love you.” Her eyes plead with mine as tears trickle down her face.

She can’t love me. Macy’s everything that’s right in the world. She can’t love someone who’s fundamentally as fucked up and broken as I am. She can’t love someone who will never love her back.

But the thought of losing her has fear rising up in me like vomit. I swallow it down, trying to remind myself she has every right to ask this of me.

Nut up or shut up, right?

“Duchess. . .”

My face says everything I can’t and she nods in understanding, biting her lip. “Okay.” She sniffles, wiping her face.

No, it’s not fucking okay.

My throat hurts. I can’t even take a goddamn breath past the knot trying to close off my airway. “This is not what I wanted. I
never
wanted to hurt you.”

She smiles through the tears and it makes me want to beat my own ass for being the one who put them there. “You didn’t. I hurt myself by falling for someone who told me not to.”

It’s weird having a big family Christmas again. After my mom died and we moved in with our grandparents, my nana went all out every year, I think in an effort to cheer us up.

There was always a big glittery tree in the living room, stuffed full of ornaments and presents. There were so many Christmas lights strung up outside, you probably could’ve seen our house from space.

I’m sure the neighbors hated us, based on the, uh,
creative
ways they rearranged our Santa and Rudolph display in the front yard. Rudolph’s nose was probably red from embarrassment that year.

But Nana didn’t let a little bestiality ruin her Christmas spirit. Next year she swapped out Santa and Rudolph for baby Jesus in a manger.

“I’d like to see them desecrate our lord and savior,” she’d muttered.

They didn’t.

Another staple of Nana’s Christmas was the amazing meal she’d cook for us on Christmas Eve. I took it for granted at the time, like I did with most things.

I thought the “special ingredient is love” saying was bullshit. Food is food. You follow a recipe and there you go. But food didn’t taste the same after Nana passed.

Nothing
was the same after she passed, especially Christmas. There was no tree. The decorations stayed boxed up in the basement. And Christmas dinner usually consisted of a sandwich, chips, and a beer. There were a few badly wrapped presents exchanged, but that was it. No hoopla. No big to-do. Our Christmas spirit died with Nana.