Can't Touch This (16 page)

“Did you just refer to me as drugs?”

“You are a drug.”

“And what are you? My antidote?”

“I am if you want me to be.”

We both laughed at how ridiculous we were.

She said, “To answer your invasive, stalkerish questions. I was at work all day. Preformed two surgeries, saved a squashed kitty’s life but not his front leg unfortunately, and worked with Polly on a new filing system to make our notes flow better. I’ve just poured myself a vodka and lime because I’m so on edge needing to come from some annoying man who paraded his perfect penis in front of me last night but didn’t come prepared with a condom, and I need to not look so wired as I’m about to hang up on you and attend an online vet conference with bushy moustached men and angry women who really need to have sex just like
I
really need to have sex.” She panted, then added, “Did I mention I
really
need to have sex.”

My throat closed up as my hand drifted to rearrange my rapidly hardening cock. “Just sex or sex with a particular person?”

“I can think of one person in mind.”

“Oh yeah…is he a relation by any chance?”

“How did you guess?” Her voice lowered. “Does that make me a naughty girl?”

“So, so fucking naughty.”

Goosebumps stood up on my arms as I broke a rule and popped my jeans to insert my hand around my cock. “Vesper?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m touching it.”

“Dangnamit, Ryder.” More rustling sounded and the sharp intake of breath over the phone made my cock come alive like a komodo dragon about to breathe fire. “Now,
I’m
touching it.”

“You can touch mine if I can touch yours.”

She breathed, “I give you all the permission in the world.”

My hand curled tighter, punishing and pleasuring myself. “Screw the conference. Just come here. Damn, I need you. I can’t describe how much I need you.”

“You don’t need to describe. I get it.”

I slid lower in the wooden kitchen chair wishing I was in bed and had space to masturbate the crap out of myself. Screw waiting. I couldn’t wait another second, let alone another twenty-four hours.

“Oh shit, is that the time?” Vesper’s drug sexed voice switched to professional panic. “I’ve got to go.”

“No!” I jerked, massaging the severe, did I mention
severe
, case of blue balls she’d left me with. “Not until we finish this. I can’t stop for a second time, Ves. Jizz will come out of my ears if you make me stop.”

“Ry…”

“Jesus, you called me Ry.” My back arched as I stroked myself. “Do it again and I’ll hose down my kitchen.”

She giggled. “Stop. I order you to stop. I did. I’m waving my hand in the air.” Something tapped the phone. “See those were my fingers. I really need to go and you’re not coming without me. That hose is mine.”

I couldn’t speak. It took all my willpower to remove my hand and sit with the tingling, growling pain in my groin. I’d never been so turned on and she wasn’t even here.

Who was this bloody woman?

“Ry?”

“Goddammit, you have to stop calling me that if you want me to obey you, Veves. I’m not going to sleep a wink tonight.”

“Aww, you called me your pet-name.” She sighed happily, then tried to offer moronic advice. “As for the issue you have—go for a run with your pack of dogs. I’m sure that will help.”

“Probably not.”

My mind raced as I did my best to think of fat wrinkly elephants riding around on circus balls. It never failed to deflate me. Mainly because the wrinkly elephants reminded me of old man testicles and the cruelty of them riding a rolling ball made me angry at the stupidity of humans.
(Bet if you had a hard-on, you’d have lost it by now—see, it works? Genius. Copyrighted by me, by the way).

“Hey, Ves…one last question before you go.”

She sucked in a breath. “One more.”

“Those fingers you’re holding up with the iron willpower you process…”

“Yes, what about them?”

I cupped the phone. “Are they wet?” I breathed hard, on a knife-edge of need as I waited for her reply. When it faintly came all I could do was groan and cut off the call—just in case I grabbed my car keys and charged over there like a demented knight ready to pillage the princess.

“Yes. Drenched.”

SLEEP WASN’T EASY LAST NIGHT.

After the conference call (that did somehow manage to take my mind off the insanely intoxicating Ryder Carson), I knocked back two more vodka and limes, and crawled into bed.

Everything—and I did mean
everything
—was a sensual tease.

My night shorts had a seam between my pussy lips that had never been a problem before but were now the most erotically maddening undergarments ever. The long sleeved cotton shirt with the words
I Bark You
with a Pomeranian on the front were the least appealing attire but somehow the material became silk and sex.

My eyes were scratchy and a pesky cough left over from the flu still lingered, amplified by tiredness and the stress of not being allowed to come.

The flu dregs were fading, but I hoped like hell Ryder didn’t catch it. I wasn’t a patient person when I wanted something.

And I wanted him.

Again and again and again.

Then again, he’d been around me from the beginning. He was most likely immune to the flu strain I’d had, seeing as he hadn’t become sick and he’d had his tongue on my tonsils the night before last.

“Earth to Vesper. You in there?” Polly waved her hand in front of my face. “You all good, chickadee?”

I shook my head, dispelling the lack of sleep and Ryder obsessed clouds. “Yes, sorry. Tough past couple of days.”

Polly returned to washing and disinfecting the instruments we’d used in the last surgery on a long-haired guinea pig that’d swallowed a button from his caring owner’s plaid shirt. He was aptly called Bits and Bobs and now he’d had his bits and bobs cut open and sewn back together to save his life.

“Yes, I heard a little bird say something about how chaotic your world has become the past week.”

I froze with my hands in scalding water, scrubbing a scalpel. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, Mrs. Lesley was in here yesterday collecting some more dog food for her fat lab and she whispered—in strictest confidence, mind you—that you were apparently set upon by a crazy naked cousin the other night and she was worried for your safety.”

I burst out laughing. God, only in small towns could busy bodies stir trouble. In big cities, no one cared because no one knew the person they gossiped about.

Why didn’t I move further? Why didn’t I open my (our) surgery somewhere larger?

However, if I had, I would never have become Ryder’s personal dog slave and soon-to-be-bed companion.

I smiled, remembering the way I’d shocked him and myself when he’d kissed me at laser strike.

“Oh no!” Polly screeched.

Bubbles flew everywhere as I jerked in shock. “What? What is it?” I swivelled to the door leading toward the recovery room where a menagerie of animals recuperated. “Did someone open their stitches?”

She rushed over to me and grabbed my wrists. “
Please
tell me you’re not sleeping with your cousin. Eww, Ves. What the hell are you thinking?”

I laughed, disengaging myself from her death grip. “First, I don’t have a cousin. Only child from only child parents. Second, I’m not sleeping with anyone.”

Not technically true but not a lie, either.

I had full intentions of sleeping with Ryder tonight.

“It’s that boy, isn’t it?” Polly waved her hand around, leaving a rainbow glisten of falling bubbles. “That Ryder with all his mismatching dogs.”

I grinned. “I can vouch that he isn’t a boy in any sense.”

She tossed water in my direction. “Ugh, you suck. Wait,
have
you sucked it?”

“Not yet.” I winked. Drying my hands on the towel by the sink, I strolled to my handbag and pulled out a pharmacy bag. Digging around inside for a new prescription to the pill that I’d started this morning and a fresh packet of condoms, I announced, “But tonight, I will.”

Polly rolled her eyes. “You disgust me.” Her smile gave her away.

“You’re just jealous.”

“Damn right, I am. Where’s my man lovin’, huh? The last action I got was senior year at uni. And it was miserable.”

“Remember our mantra. We don’t need men or penises. We’re strong, independent business owners with far too much respect for pining after Neanderthals.”

“Speak for yourself. You’ve just nabbed yourself a pretty good one. I mean, Ves, he saves dogs for a living. Who the hell does that?” She fake swooned. “If only I’d helped him that first day, it might be me touching it tonight.”

I felt a small twinge of uncertainty. Was that true? If Ryder had met Polly first would I be the one secretly jealous at my best friend's loin limbo tonight?

No, I wouldn’t torment myself that way. Ryder and I had something unique. The banter between us was ridiculous and over-the-top, but the chemistry when we touched was not. That was real and true.

Goosebumps tickled my spine as I hugged my box of soon-to-be used condoms. “You’ll find someone. And besides, who knows if this will last with Mr. Wonder Dog Saviour. For all you know, he might be goblin in the sack and I’ll come back to work tomorrow sorely disappointed.”

Polly wound her chestnut hair into a bun and resumed disinfecting the facilities. “Girl, you’ll be sore but not from disappointment. Have you seen the way that guy just stands? He does it oozing sex. There is no way he’s not going to rock your world.”

Throwing me a fresh towel to help, she added, “And I want to know every juicy detail because I’m not shameless enough to live through my best friend's orgasms and spank-bank her memories for my own until I meet Mr. Polly Dartford.”

“You’re gross.” I giggled. “Doesn’t fantasising about me having sex as spank-bank material make you a lesbian?” I held my chest. “All this time, Polls? I never guessed. Are you secretly in love with me?” I sidled up next to her feeling more carefree than I had in decades. “Do you need a kiss to make it all better?” I puckered up.

She stuck out her tongue, shoving me away. “I replace you with me, duh. And no, I don’t want your lesbo kisses. I needz me a man.” She swatted me with the towel.

Our cleaning up duties quickly descended into stupidity, laughing the way only two best friends can.

* * *

By the time six p.m. rolled around and our last customer with their squawking parakeet left for the night, I was a walking zombie from lack of sleep and the extended hyper sexual awareness of not coming for two days. I hadn’t been able to stop tormenting my libido with repeats of Ryder naked in my living room.

However, when I locked up the surgery and waved Polly off to meet her high-school friend for dinner, I had excited tummy-butterflies unfurling their wings.

The night sky still held lashings of a red and orange sunset as I pulled out my phone and dialled his number. We’d arranged to meet at seven again.

I couldn’t wait.

Tonight, I’m having sex.

Tonight, he’s all mine.

My fingers squeezed my phone tighter as it continued to ring, unanswered.

Voicemail clicked in.

He didn’t even have a personalised recording, just a robot telling me the number I’d called wasn’t available right now and to leave a message. Beep.

Beep to you, thank you very much.

Where was he and why hadn’t he warned me he would be busy tonight? Come to think of it, why hadn’t he texted or been in touch all day? I respected his attempt at giving me space (so I didn’t think he was smothering me), but I loved our text volleys.

I’d missed him since the moment I woke—even in my dreams he’d made a cameo with yet another dog he’d rescued.

Where are you, Ryder?

I hated how my mind diseased me with doubt. Had he had second thoughts about us? Had I done something wrong?

Feeling pissed off—mainly due to sexual frustration and partly due to his silence, I drove myself home, fed Visa, showered, and dressed in a fresh set of light denim jeans and peach button blouse and waited.

I’d give him the benefit of the doubt and not jump to conclusions.

I tried to be that good girl who didn’t let anything bother her. I tried to push away stress and not fiddle with the pearl cuff of my blouse.

I waited.

And I waited.

And by waited I meant sat stiffly on my couch with my legs crossed and foot tapping angrily while punching my phone screen to see if by some miracle I’d missed his return call.

I even sent him a message.

A cool calm collected message asking if he was still up for tonight instead of demanding he get over here and put me out of my misery. I didn’t even tell him I had twelve brand new condoms that needed soiling.

But as my tummy growled and the clock slowly slid through seven p.m. and eight, I struggled to come to terms with the idea that all of this had been a joke to him.

I meant, we
had
joked around, but I thought the connection was real.

Wasn’t it?

Even the anxiousness of a well-deserved orgasm faded as disappointment and confusion settled in for the night. It wasn’t a simple fleeting thought but a bring its own caravan, park up, and start frying dinner doubt.

When I couldn’t ignore my growling stomach any longer, I set down my phone, slid off my high heels, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. Visa scooted onto the bench and head-butted my elbow as if sensing my melancholy.

I scratched her chin. “I believed he was different, titty tat.” We nose nudged as I ducked to open the drawer for a spatula. “I guess not.” I had some store bought pumpkin pasta that would do as a lonely dinner for one.

Damn him.

I didn’t normally mind living alone. After a long day working all I looked forward to was curling up with me, myself, and I with a good dinner, my cuddly companion, and an enjoyable movie.

Ryder had ruined even that by making me worry.

Was he okay? Had he been in an accident? Should I stalk the streets for him just in case he’d wrapped himself around a pole and hung to dear life in a ditch?

Or was he with family and friends and completely forgotten about little ‘ole me and our standing agreement to fuck like bunnies and put each other out of our joint misery?

Maybe the misery was always one sided.

The pumpkin pasta tasted like cardboard and after I’d eaten, I washed my dishes, spruced up my small lounge, and dragged my drained corpse to bed.

Sliding out of my tight jeans, I unhooked my bra, pulled it from my shirt through the trick of a sleeve and burrito-rolled myself in my coverlet.

Visa positioned herself on top of my head like a kitty crown and my last thought as sleep finally dragged me under was,
screw you, Ryder Carson.

Screw you.