Reveal (A Wild Nights Novel) (13 page)

Em, why are you even thinking this? You just met him. You barely know him. Just have some fun.

Ugh! That was easier said than done.

Pulling away, I smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. You’re just so sweet that my inner bear thought you were honey.”

The look on his face was ravenous, his eyes fixated on my lips. It had me tranced, immobile, until his hand slowly moved to adjust the obvious erection tenting his shorts.

“I don’t want to fuck this up again,” he said, his voice gravelly, his stare still magnetised to my lips. “Which means you need to create a bit of space between us.
right now!
Because all I want to do is kiss that mouth again, slide my hand behind your back, and lift you onto my lap. I want to take your top off, undo your bra, suck your perfect little pixie nipple into my mouth and play with it while you grind your sweet pussy into me.” Brad’s eyes finally found mine, and he blinked. “I think you … I think you should back up and … um … fuck! I think you should perform Veruca Salt for me.”

“What?” My body jerked back in surprise at his request, and I almost fell off the bed, creating the distance he bloody needed.

“Yeah. That’s right. It’s a great idea. You sing ‘I Want It Now’ and I won’t have to wrestle with this rock-hard monster in my pants.”

My condescending gaze found his crotch. “Monster?”

“You bet. Fucking scary beast.”

The monster twitched, and my sight snapped to his, my smile broadening. “Okay, okay. I’ll do Veruca for you. Just keep that thing at bay or I’ll unleash Pooh.”

“That sounds really wrong, sexy pixie.”

“Could be worse.”

“Yeah? How so?”

I shrugged and tapped my chin with my pointer finger. “Hmm … I don’t know. How ’bout … I ate Pooh? I have Pooh in my tummy? Does my breath smell like—”

Brad held up his hand, interrupting me while adjusting his position on the bed and appearing to make himself more comfortable. “Gotcha loud and clear. Let’s move along to you performing for me, shall we?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I thought I was supposed to see you perform. That’s why I came to Surfers Paradise, you know. How is it that the roles are now reversed?”

“You will see me perform tomorrow night. And trust me, you’ll enjoy it.”

The cheeky bugger straightened his position and lifted the hem of his T-shirt while rolling his washboard abs. My jaw dropped. His stomach and what he was doing with it reminded me of the delicious golden ripple in caramel sauce: soft, smooth, silky and fucking tasty.

Gritting my teeth, I channelled my British accent and began singing “I Want It Now”, spotting the cocky lamp that Cori hated from out of the corner of my eye and walking over to it. I picked it up and improvised that it was a goose while demanding that I wanted it to lay golden eggs at Easter.

Brad laughed and it was perfectly timed, prompting me to put down the lamp and sing the next part to him by crawling onto the bed and stating that I wanted a feast, a bean feast. I snatched the chip packet out of his hands and insisted they’d be cream buns and doughnuts and fruitcake without nuts at my feast. He played along, pouting at the loss of his chips. With a look of gluttonous determination, I stood up on the bed and helped myself to the contents of the packet, munching on one of them while I continued to list what I wanted—a party.

My smile was greedy at the thought, as Veruca’s had been in the film, and I disregarded the chips by dropping them on the bed before I stepped off the mattress with the elegance of a dancer.

Nailed it. Because, hello … dancer!

My change of position was both fluid and full of awesomeness, and what was also full of awesomeness was the pirouette I stepped into while dreamily singing that my party would consist of one million balloons and performing baboons. The thought of morphing into one of said primates and jumping on him to groom his long blond hair actually crossed my mind, but that would mean breaking character, and I was a professional.

Turning to face Brad, I was met with a look of awe—his smile excessive, his eyes sparkling. He soaked up every movement I made and every word I sang like a sponge, and it was clear to me in that moment that he really was a Willy Wonka fan.
Can the guy be any more of a contradiction?

Unable to help but break character, I laughed at his appreciative gleam and skipped toward him, my face just as excited as his when I mentioned wanting the whole world. Yes. Our planet. Mother Earth.
Veruca was ambitious, I’ll give her that much.

Brad clenched his packet of chips, insinuating I’d try to steal them again, and once more I broke character, laughing but then reining it in when I sang about wanting today and tomorrow.

Tilting my head and looking to the ceiling, as if to sweetly ponder what I’d do with those days, I glanced at Brad while twirling my hair and batting my eyes.

He swallowed, nervously.

I flared my eyes, angrily.

He looked confused.

I couldn’t blame him.

I couldn’t blame him because what I did next was yell aggressively. I yelled that I wanted to wear ‘today’ and ‘tomorrow’ as if they were braids in my hair because I wouldn’t want to share them, all the while shaking my head like a toddler chucking a tantrum. It was typically Veruca, and typically fun.

Calming my raging farm, I was now at the part of the song where pleasant music played and Veruca appeared to stop the crazy-little-brat bullshit. I liked that part, because her change of demeanour was a ruse, and I was good at ruses. Plus, she wanted tons of ice cream, and that was something I wanted, too. It was also the part of the song where her pretending stopped, and her fake sweet-self quickly disappeared as the song began to crescendo—Veruca leaping about the geese room and destroying everything in sight. Obviously, I wasn’t about to go all rock star and trash the hotel room, so instead, I picked up anything I could find that was soft and launched it at Brad—pillows, towels, clothing, underwear … shit!
That was my lace G-string.

He caught it—the only thing out of everything I’d launched—and smiled satisfactorily, his eyes bursting with mischief as he lifted the hot pink lace to his nose and took a whiff. Yep … the brazen shithead sniffed my undies. And I’m not gonna lie, it was kinda hot.

Hot or not, I wanted them back, so I took the opportune moment of the song and thrust my hand out, singing that I didn’t care how, I just wanted it now, like Veruca had.

He shook his head.

I sang it again.

He shook his head faster.

I glared.

He smiled.

I smiled.

Shit!

He’d won.

Damn it!

Panting mildly, I tried desperately not to laugh but failed, bursting into giggles and flopping backward onto the bed, the hem of my top rising to expose my bellybutton. “There you go. If that doesn’t scare your scary monster, I don’t know what will.”

The bed shifted and I lifted my head, finding Brad walking toward me. His eyes were hooded. His pupils dilated. He stopped where my legs dangled off the end of the mattress and nudged them apart with his knees before stepping between them and leaning forward to place his hands on the bed either side of me.

I pressed my lips together, my breasts rising and falling with each expectant breath I took. I knew what I wanted and didn’t want him to do. I also knew they were one and the same thing.

I was screwed … literally.

Dipping his head and breaking the searing eye contact between us, he slowly traced his tongue around my bellybutton. My mouth fell open and I inhaled deeply, my stomach drawing down and away from his mouth. A shiver passed through me, though I wasn’t cold. If anything, his tongue licked fire across my needy skin.

I wanted him …
desperately
. Fuck the uncertainty. Fuck H. And fuck me for thinking otherwise. So I wasn’t perfect. Big deal. Nobody was. We were all flawed and fighting demons of doubt. Demons we grew. Demons we fed. And the majority of the time, we were the ones holding ourselves back under the false bravado that someone else was holding the reins.

They weren’t.

We controlled our steps forward, and we were the ones who took steps back.

As I was about to secure his waist with my thighs and regain those reins I so often let go, he stood up and out from between my legs.

“I gotta go, sexy pixie. Because I sure as hell won’t be fucking this up again.”

I tried to speak, tried to object, but my jaw was stuck open. Instead, I watched his tight, firm arse walk away from me until the door of my room closed and I snapped back to reality.

“But I want it nooooow!” I whined in my Veruca voice, flopping flat on my back again and covering my face with my hands.

Yeah. I think it was safe to say that I
definitely
liked him.

The idea of me is nice, isn’t it?

A little good. A little bad.

Timid smile. Indecent thoughts.

But would you want me?

I’ve an open heart. Open thighs.

A tainted tongue that sweetly sighs.

But would you want me?

Would you want me if I wore the lust of others

On my skin like the badge of honour I proclaim it to be?

The idea of me is nice, isn’t it?

Doodling what started out as a question mark, but what now looked like an ancient rune, I put my pen down and read over my diary note one more time.
Could Brad really want me? If he knew what I did for extra cash, could he still want me? And what about H … what would Brad think of him? And what would he think of me?

I picked up my pen and scribbled the word uncertainty, tracing circles around it as I pondered the situation further.
Yes, what one might do or think about any given situation at any given time was a mystery to others. And yes, we could probably take a decent guess, depending on the circumstances involved. But the human mind was never a sure thing, never apparent. It was ruled by emotion, and emotion could not be controlled.

Sighing, I basically had two options: take a chance or … don’t.
Great! Easy-fucking-peasy.

Scribbling the word chance, I tapped my pen on my lip, studying the word. It felt promising, a solution, albeit not … because it wasn’t. All taking a chance solved was my decision to step into the unknown. But I was ready to do so. I was primed and willing to accept whatever happened. If Brad and I went any further and it ended with me getting on a plane, then so be it. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, and it certainly didn’t mean I was a slut, because I wasn’t. Besides, Brad said he would never think that of me.

Sucking in a deep breath of I-can-do-this-shit, I also knew I had to trust that he was different from the random guys I’d been with for that to happen. He felt different. Safe. Liberal … unlike other guys I’d dated. I had to trust that those feelings meant
something.

Trust, another word like uncertainty and chance that was reliant upon faith for a favoured outcome. They all went hand-in-hand.

Staring at the words before me, I played around with stringing them together. I’d become good at this during the years, during the times I needed to transfer the muddled thoughts in my head onto paper for clarification.

Faith
stems from …

uncertainty,
which leads to taking a …

chance,
that requires …

trust
in yourself and in others.

“Hmm …” I hummed, reading my note. On paper, things always seemed ostensible and easier than what they really were. But I knew they weren’t, because I’d been practising this form of therapy for ten months. Yes, my written word helped to relieve the chaos that often mounted in my head, but it never solved it, and it never prevented it from reappearing.

Actions solved, and words spurred actions. And that was why I was going to take a chance, starting first thing in the morning. In the meantime, I had plans for a threesome … with BOB, and thoughts of Brad and H.

What? I never professed to be an angel, especially when behind closed doors.

***

“Ugh!” I moaned, yawning and stretching as I opened my eyes.

Cori yawned, too, because apparently those fuckers were contagious. “What time is it?”

“Dunno.” I blindly reached for my phone, my fingers skating the surface of the bedside table until they detected the cold metallic casing. Gathering it in my hand with one eye closed and the other squinting, I swiped the screen. “Just gone eight-thirty.”

She groaned. “You slept in.”

“So did you,” I countered, stretching again and putting my phone back down.

My bed dipped and Cori lifted the blankets to climb in. “How’d it go last night?”

I shuffled over a little to accommodate her. “How’d what go?”

“You and Brad. You both looked a little ‘hot and bothered’ when you left the bonfire.”

“Do you want the long story or the short?”

“The middle. And no sound effects. Your vocal account of that one-night stand a few months ago was disgusting.”

I laughed. “Okay. No vocal theatrics. But you’ve got to admit that I rock at anal replay.”

Cori’s foot made friendly contact with my leg—friendly contact that hurt a little. “Ow!” I reached down and rubbed it, my glare toward her anything but fierce. “Okay. Soooo … after Brad and I left the bonfire, we headed down to the water’s edge, and the next thing I know, he’s on his knees, his lips are creeping up my inner thigh, and his finger is exploring my kitty cave.”

“Really?” She sounded a little distracted. She was also wiggling like a worm with eczema.

I turned my head to look at her. “What are you doing?”

“Hang on … I’ve found …”

“What?”

“This.” Her face was scrunched as she struggled to reveal what she’d found, finally pulling my BOB out from underneath the blankets.
Oh! Oops.

“Is that your—oh my GOD! It is! EW!”

She screamed and launched BOB into the air, and I could do nothing but watch helplessly, as my beloved pink vibrator soared across the room as if in slow-motion and hit the wall, breaking and falling to the floor.

“Nooooooooo! BOB!” I cried, flinging the blankets on top of Bitch-faced BOB-breaker and scrambling to the ground where he lay lifeless and with a rather large contusion—break … whatever—along his posterior. His injuries looked bad, and I didn’t want to touch him in case he’d fractured his neck … or something.
Ugh!
What am I saying?
I tried the buttons. He was dead—his buzz, gone.

Delicately scooping him up, I slowly stood and turned around to find Cori with one hand over her wide-open mouth, displaying a holy-shit-I’m-in-trouble face, while the other hand was held out as if it were contaminated.

I pouted. “You murderer!”

“It was self-defence,” she mumbled behind her hand.

“Lies. BOB never hurt anyone.”

“He attacked my leg. I swear.”

I could tell she was trying desperately not to laugh, her eyelids blinking rapidly, her smile creeping out from underneath the edges of her fingers. In all honestly, I was trying not to laugh as well. The situation, her expression, and her dangling hand were simply hilarious.

“What am I going to do?” I asked dramatically, my cupped hands held out in front of me presenting a deceased BOB to her.

She stood up and walked toward me, stopping to place her ‘uncontaminated’ hand on my shoulder. “I think you know what it is you have to do.” She gave me a sympathetic squeeze. “I’ll give you a few moments alone to say your goodbyes.” Cori then headed to the bathroom, no doubt to wash her hand.

I laughed quietly then sighed. “It was good while it lasted, BOB. Thanks for the multiples. You did good.” 

Placing the pink wand of wonderment in its satin pouch, I laid it to rest in the tranquil setting of the trashcan, covering it with the empty Honey and Soy Lay’s chip packet from the night before.

BOB was now at peace.
RIP BOB.

The bathroom door opened, and Cori wrapped her arms around my waist from behind, her head resting on my shoulder while giving me a hug. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

I nodded. “Thanks. He was just … he was just so young. It wasn’t his time.” Turning around to face her and wriggling out of her embrace, I placed my hands on her shoulders. “But you know what this means, right?”

“What ‘what’ means?”

“This.” I gestured to the trashcan. “It means we’re going shopping … for a new BOB! BOB II.”

Her eyebrow shot up. “I think you mean BOB X.”

“Not quite. More like BOB VI.” I winked and stepped away, claiming first shower by closing the bathroom door behind me. I needed to freshen up. I had a big decision ahead—Bullet or Lelo.

***

“There it is, Baz!”

I pointed excitedly to the SexyLand store then gave the revue’s bus driver a well-deserved pat on the back.

Baz steered the Mitsubishi ROSA into the parking lot and pulled to a stop, occupying three car spaces. “I’ll just wait here,” he said, glancing through the front windscreen at the shopfront while pulling the handbrake on.

“Aw … Baz.” I leaned over his shoulder and smiled cheekily at him. “You sure you don’t want to come with us and get yourself a good stick mag?”

He scoffed and reached forward, grabbing an apple from a small basket on top of the dashboard. “Here, have an apple. You probably haven’t eaten today.”

“Um … I have, but thanks.” I took the apple from him and shrugged, biting into it.

“Baz thinks everyone is malnourished, Em. He’s forever plying us with apples. But we love him for it, don’t we, Baz?” Cori held her hand out like a good little girl, and Baz playfully rolled his eyes and handed her an apple. “Don’t forget Josh,” she said in a hushed voice. “I don’t think he’s eaten fruit since the last apple you gave him.” Cori winked then glanced in the direction of where Josh and the others sat, a flush spreading across her cheeks. She then turned and exited the bus.

“Thanks, Baz,” I mumbled around a mouthful of chewed-up apple, smiling and bounding down the steps after her.

We’d walked a few metres across the parking lot when Baz called out to Josh—who was just stepping off the bus—to “catch”, prompting both Cori and I to stop, turn around, and look back, finding the sexy man-whore turned good-boy skilfully accepting an airborne apple in one hand.

“Thanks, mate,” he called back before taking a bite.

Cori leaned in to me and murmured, “I can’t look at a Granny Smith apple without my vagina singing to me.”

“Really?” I wasn’t convinced. Yeah, Josh was all kinds of hot. Bad hot. Dangerous hot. But hot enough while eating an apple to prompt muff vocals? I didn’t think so. “Come on … what he does to an apple can’t be
that
good.”

She laughed and fanned her face. “Oh yes it can.”

“Well, I hope he doesn’t fuck it, because that’s just wrong.”

Cori pressed her lips together and looked up to her right as if in thought. She then scrunched her nose and tilted her head from side to side, as if unsure of whether to say yes or no.

“NO!” I blurted out, a little too loudly. “Please don’t tell me he fucks the apple.”

She hit me on the arm. “Of course not. Think applelingus”

Thank Christ for that!
I had a client who was a sitophiliac. I called him F, because his user name was Foodie, and when he’d first started sexting me, I’d assumed he was a chef. He wasn’t. Not even close. Think
American Pie.
Yep. One of the first things he asked me to do was shove a cucumber up my twat. Of course I didn’t, because
never gonna happen
. But F didn’t need to know that, so I’d played along—as per usual—and sexted that the cucumber was cold, hard, and kind of a big dill—he didn’t get my joke. He obviously didn’t like dill pickles.

“So what’s the big deal?” I asked, nearly laughing at my choice of words.

“What’s the big deal? Right, you’re gonna have to see for yourself. I’ll try to get him to do it when we’re in the shop. Keep a distance, but keep watching,” she instructed with a sneaky, underhanded and extremely funny devious grin.

“Roger that. I’m goin’ in and taking cover.” I winked and used my hands as a pretend pistol,
Charlie’s Angels
style, holding them against my chest with my pointer fingers aimed at my chin like a gun barrel would.

Dramatically looking both ways before crossing the last section of the car park, I turned to Cori and nodded while moving stealth-like before entering the store.

“Afternoon,” the sales assistant said, greeting me.