Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 60081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
I come crying out things way naughtier than The Dirty Taco’s name and Drew follows me a few seconds later, his cock pulsing inside me. The ball on the end of his piercing draws out my orgasm until I’m boneless with pleasure.
I’m so starry eyed, I don’t realize there’s a problem until he curses.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, still a little breathless.
“I’m so sorry, Tatum, but it did break. The condom. I’ve never had that happen before,” he says, his voice stricken as he reaches between us.
I smooth my hands down his back, instinctively wanting to comfort him. “It’s okay. I’m on the pill and I never miss one. And like you said, it’s been a long time for me, too. I was tested after I broke up with my boyfriend a couple years ago. I found out he’d been cheating, and I was worried, but I’m fine.”
“Same,” he says, relaxing a little. “I was tested after I found out my ex-wife had been with other people. Thankfully, I was negative for everything, too.”
I cup his face. “I’m sorry that happened to you. Cheaters suck.”
He flashes a brief smile but seems distracted by whatever’s going on with the condom. “They do. And right back at you. That guy must have been one dumb asswipe.”
Touched, I sigh. “Thanks. You’re very sweet. But now you have to roll off me. I should pee so I don’t get a UTI.”
“I would,” he says, his troubled expression deepening, “but I can’t.”
I blink. “What?”
“I um, can’t,” he says, tugging lightly on my piercing, sending a wave of dread rolling through me like a riptide.
Chapter Three
DREW
Tatum’s eyes go so wide that I’m reminded of the spooky stuffed animals on Sarah Beth’s bed, the ones with the enormous glitter eyes that I plan to hide (and eventually get rid of) if she doesn’t notice they’re gone.
I consider myself a reasonable man, but those things give me the creeps.
But then Tatum squeaks, “What do you mean you can’t?” in a horrified voice and my attention shifts fully back to the disaster at hand.
“I mean, it seems a little…stuck,” I say, reaching between us again. “But don’t worry, I’m sure I can…”
“You’re sure you can what?” She yips. “No, don’t pull that. That’s definitely connected to my body.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I was just trying to untangle mine from yours.” I pull back a little farther, glancing down into the shadows. “Maybe if we turn on more lights?”
Tatum lets out a nervous laugh. “Right. Smart. Lights. Duh, Tatum. Seeing things is easier with the lights on. So…how do we manage that? Considering we’re currently cojoined twins?”
I smile, grateful she’s keeping a sense of humor about this. “Wrap your legs and arms around me. I’ll carry you over to the light switch and we’ll take it from there.”
“Great.” She locks her limbs around me tight enough to make me grunt.
“Good, but maybe not so tight. I don’t want to pass out on the way and drop you.”
“Sorry.” She laughs again but loosens her grip. “I’m nervous. I usually try to look on the bright side, but right now my head is full of worst-case scenarios.”
“Like we’re stuck together for life and have to take turns going to each other’s jobs with a big blanket wrapped around our lower halves?” I ask as I rise from the couch with Tatum wrapped around me.
She exhales a wheezing breath. “Oh my God, no. I work in childcare. If I never have to tell a kid that my privates got stuck to another grown-up’s privates, I’ll consider myself a lucky woman. I was thinking a weird trip to the ER. Or getting caught by my landlord on the way to the ER. Or having to tell my future husband why I have a weird scar above my clitoris from where my piercing was ripped out in a tragic boinking incident.”
Ignoring the flash of irrational jealousy inspired by talk of her “future husband,” I assure her, “Don’t worry. If we have to seek outside assistance, I have a place we can go. They’ll keep it private and discreet.”
“Why isn’t that comforting?” she asks as I flip on the light and glance around the small main room of her apartment. “Try the kitchen table. You can maybe sit me on it, and we can…examine things from there?” She sighs before adding, “So much for wowing you so deeply with my grace and sex vibe that you can’t wait for that second date. There’s nothing sexy about crotch piercing surgery.”
“Sure, there is,” I say as I carry her over to the table. “Traumatic experiences are bonding. And we’re proving we can handle stress and problem-solving together. If that’s not proof that we should go on another date, I don’t know what is.”
She looks up at me, the sweetest smile on her face. “Really? You mean it?”