I think about his words for a moment. And then I shrug. “Either way, no harm, no foul. I get peace of mind, Warren gets his pickup skills upgraded, and Kate will be pleasantly surprised that I’m not jumping at the chance to put him in a shallow grave. Everybody wins, right?”
Matthew nods thoughtfully and finishes his drink.
Over the speaker system, the lifeguard calls our team number, and we get ready to nail the game.
Chapter 8
By the time we head back to the villa-as the returning water-volleyball champions we are-afternoon has slipped into dusk. It’s my favorite time of day. The sun is setting and the air smells like summer-a mix of earth and chlorine and freshly cut grass. I swipe my card through the security gate surrounding the house and walk toward the front door.
Something in the window catches Jack’s eye, and he freezes. “What the hell . . .”
I follow his gaze through the window. I see the girls in the library, sitting in a circular formation on chairs dragged in from the dining room. They’re wearing long, pink, satiny robes and open-back, fuzzy, black heels. In the center of the circle stands a tall, fiftyish blonde in full black-leather dominatrix attire. She’s sort of hot-in an aging-hooker, been-around-the-block, her-pussy-is-probably-as-wide-as-the-Lincoln-Tunnel kind of way.
I whisper excitedly, “Goddess party.”
See? Dreams really do come true.
Matthew fist-pumps. “Yes!”
Like SEAL Team Six, we stealthily invade the villa single-file. Once inside, we line up-totem-pole style-in front of the library’s mahogany double doors. Without making a sound, I crack the door-just a little. Just enough to watch and listen. In one hand, dominatrix lady holds a mini, purple vibrator-in the other, a matching remote control.
“We call this the Master. You insert the vibrator into your panties, and your gentleman takes possession of the controller. It’s noiseless and discreet, but powerful. With the remote, he can alternate speed and pressure at his discretion. . . .”
Matthew whispers, “I have got to get me one of those.”
I murmur, “I’m gonna get five.” I envision our weekly staff meetings in the conference room taking on a whole new meaning.
Dominatrix lady goes on, “And now, ladies, let’s continue our oral instruction. Your bananas, please.”
Instantly and without shame, each of the girls picks up the large banana that has been resting on her lap. And puts it in her mouth.
Holy Mary, mother of God.
“Remember to relax your jaw . . . breathe on the outtake. Watch your teeth . . .”
My eyes are glued to Kate as the banana slides smoothly in and out from between her perfect pink lips. I’m so turned on, I could hammer nails into a two-by-four with my cock. I mean, I’ve been where that banana is going many times before, but something about watching Kate give head from this point of view is crazy erotic. It’s like . . . live-porn dinner theater.
“Use your other hand, ladies. The testes are the neglected stepchild of the male genitalia. Knead them, massage them, caress them-they need your love too.”
Yes. Yes, they do.
In a hushed voice, Jack puts into words what all of us are thinking. “Anyone else about to jizz in their swim trunks? This is . . . this is like every fantasy I’ve ever had all rolled into one.”
I can’t help but agree. “Me too-except the part about my sister being there. And Delores.”
Matthew is insulted. “Hey, my wife is magnificent.”
You wanna know what else is magnificent? A black panther, streaking across a valley, going in for the kill. Doesn’t mean I want to mount one.
I tear my eyes away from the fruit-blowing fest and look down at Matthew. “Your wife’s a psychopath. I wouldn’t fuck her with your dick. She’d probably pull some kind of booby-trap shit and shove razor blades up her twat to try and slice my cock off.”
Was that too crude?
“That’s a fucked-up thing to say.”
Pick a conspiracy, any conspiracy-the JFK assassination, Area 51 . . .
“The truth usually is.”
The guy code restricts how much you can mock a friend’s significant other. There’s an imaginary line. And if Matthew’s reaction is any indication? I just crossed it.
He lands an angry punch to my right leg. In the spot above my knee-the charley-horse region-that makes pain echo up and down my femur.
“Ow! God damn it!”
I shift my weight to my other leg to keep from falling over, but I step on Warren’s hand and set off a not-so-quiet domino effect.
“Hey! Those are my fingers, asshole!”
“Dude, stop pushing!”
“Shut the hell up, I can’t hear!”
“You’re ruining it!”
“Stop fucking punching me!”
You know what’s going to happen next, don’t you? Yep-the doors open. And the five of us tumble into the room in a heap-like a pileup after a fumble.
Of course.
There’s a collective gasp at our intrusion-the kind of sound a sunbather would make after getting doused with a bucket of ice water. Meanwhile, the man-pile does its best to untangle.
“Ompf . . .”
“Ow . . .”
“Get your knee off my balls!”
“Get your balls off my knee!”
I’m the first to recover. I hop to my feet and flash the girls a dashing smile. “Hello, ladies.” I hold up my hands, palms out. “Sorry for the interruption. Carry on, pretend like we’re not even here.”
But the lust spell has been broken. With a meaningful look, Delores peels her banana, then takes a big, chomping bite out of it.
I flinch.
My sister huffs, “You’re back early.”
Erin continues analyzing the remote control of the must-have vibrator. Kate is the only one who doesn’t seem upset by our arrival. She leans back in her chair and stares at me dreamily, her dark eyes big and shiny. Then she sighs. “Hi, baby.”
“Hey, sweetheart.”
The rest of the guys are now standing, and Jack approaches dominatrix chick, who’s busy packing up her naughty paraphernalia.
His come-on is a cross between James Bond and Rico Suave. “O’Shay. Jack O’Shay. If you’re in need of an assistant or a model to demonstrate correct technique . . . I would be honored to fill that role. I’m available until tomorrow evening.” He holds out his card and whispers, “Call me . . . cell phone’s on the back.”
She looks him up and down appreciatively, fingering the card with one red nail. “I’ll keep your offer in mind.”
But Matthew, like me, isn’t ready for the party to end just yet. “Wait, you don’t have to leave now.”
Dee-Dee stands and holds up a magazine. “I have a catalog, Matthew. Let’s look it over together in our room-you can make a Christmas list.”
His eyes follow her as she walks out, then he scampers after her like a puppy chasing a bone.
Erin announces that she’s taking a nap, and my sister and Steven disappear without a word to each other, or anyone else. My eyes never leave Kate. It’s only been a few hours . . . but still . . . I missed her.
“You look relaxed,” I comment. “Did you have a good afternoon?”
Kate stands and grazes her palms over my chest and across my shoulders, feeling me up. “It was nice. But I know how to make it even better.” She wraps her arms around my neck and slides her tongue around my ear. It’s soft at first-teasing. Then she plunges inside with the perfect amount of pressure to make my knees want to buckle.
Every guy has a spot. A highly sensitive place that, when stimulated, goes right to his dick. For some, it’s the neck or the stomach. For some freaks it’s the toes. But for me? It’s my ears. Kate knows this.
Sucking lightly on my earlobe, her hands skim down my sides around to the back, before settling on my ass with a firm squeeze. I’m not complaining-this is me here-a little grab-ass or jerk the johnson is never a bad thing. But Kate is usually more on the conservative side. Less overt with her sexual advances, particularly when other people are nearby.
I lean my head back to look at her face. Her smile is lazy, and her eyes-did I say they were shiny? They’re not. They’re glassy. There’s a difference.
“Have you been smoking Warren’s crotch stash?”
She bites her lip. Guilty as charged. She holds up two fingers, pinching them together, and closes one eye. “Just this much.” Then she gives me an innocent, adorable look. “Are you mad?”
As I said before, I’m not into drugs. They’re not just a vice-they’re a crutch. A chemical support for weak-minded individuals who can’t deal with life’s everyday bullshit. But it’s not like Kate is popping Mommy’s Little Helpers three times a day. Since I’ve known her, she’s gotten stoned exactly twice-both times with Dee-Dee, while the four of us were on vacation together. Kate doesn’t buy or grow her own stuff. She would certainly never get high around our son.
So if she wants to kick back and toke up once in a blue moon, I’m not going to be the self-righteous, overbearing asshole who gives her shit for it. “Of course I’m not mad.”
Her smile grows. “Oh . . . that’s good. Because I have plans . . . plans that require you not being angry.” She giggles wickedly. “Well . . . maybe a little angry would be okay.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.