Chapter 10 Harper-Rayn #2
“Oh, God!” Izzy falls back against the couch, crushing the cushion to her chest, lost to the fantasy of finding herself a wild, dominant man like Knight. “Tell me the rest. I know damn well it didn’t stop there. Give it to me hard.”
I laugh and cringe at the same time. “That’s just the thing.
That asshole fucked my mouth like it’s never been fucked in its life, and just when I was about to demand the favor be returned, he walked away.
He didn’t lay a single hand on me, and now I’ve got the worst case of clam jam in my life. It’s blue balls on crack.”
Izzy howls with laughter, clutching her stomach. “Holy shit. If that were me, I’d be pissed, but because it’s you and Knight, it’s hilarious. I guess that’s what you get for attempting to fool around with someone who should be on the permanent ‘Don’t suck cock’ list.”
“So not funny.”
Izzy smirks before launching into a rundown of her night with the male model who was on set of the photoshoot for her winter line.
Personally, I’m not a fan of mixing business with pleasure, but Iz has never had the same reservations.
Though I suppose after sucking my step-uncle’s cock on his bedroom floor, my standards and morals aren’t as high as I’d always assumed.
Can you really blame a girl? Knight Slater has some pristine dick.
It would have been a crime against womanhood to deny it.
In theory, I was doing myself a favor. After all, curiosity killed the cat and all that shit.
If I never took the plunge and found out, I would have always wondered, and now that I know, I am forever ruined for any other dick.
Mom must be onto something. There’s something addictive about Slater dick.
Getting up from the couch, I start sorting through my wet clothes. “What are your plans for the day?” I ask as Izzy kicks her feet up onto my coffee table and makes herself at home.
“I’ve got a Pilates class at eleven, and then I was going to work on my designs for next fall.”
My brows shoot up, and I whip around to gape at my best friend. “Next fall? We only just started this fall.”
Izzy smirks. “I can’t help that I like to be prepared.
The designs have been bouncing around in my head for weeks, and I need to get them out.
Though I’m sure between now and next fall, I’ll change them a million times.
Not to mention, nailing down a fabric is going to be a nightmare.
Every time I think I’ve found what I want, something better appears. ”
I chuckle to myself. “I’d hate to be your assistant.”
Izzy laughs, knowing just how right I am, and as she goes to respond, her words are cut off by the sound of my phone screeching to life on the couch. Iz leans over to where I was just sitting and scoops it up before checking the screen, her face twisting with unease. “Ugh. It’s your mom.”
“Ugh. No thanks. Let it go to voicemail. I don’t need to spend the next hour getting berated for how deeply I offended and embarrassed her at her sham of a dinner party.”
“Are you sure?” Iz asks, a teasing smirk pulling at her full lips. “I could just swipe my thumb across the screen. Really, it’d be no hassle at all.”
My eyes widen with horror. Despite knowing she’s teasing, I have no doubt that she’ll actually do it. “Don’t even think about it, Izabelle Grace Davenport.”
Her grin widens, and I watch as her thumb gets closer to the screen. “What’s in it for me?”
“You—” The call goes dead, and I let out a heavy sigh, my heart hammering in my chest. “I don’t need that kind of trauma so early in the morning.”
“Early?” she questions, her gaze dropping back to my phone. “It’s—oh no. It’s ten thirty. I’m going to be late for Pilates.”
Izzy flies to her feet, scrambling for her things.
“I’ll call you later,” she tells me. “But just so you know, I wanna go out on Saturday night. I need to let loose and shake my ass. And by letting loose and shaking my ass, what I really mean is that I need to get wicked drunk and be railed in a filthy club bathroom by some sweaty stranger with a huge cock.”
I nod. Some things never change.
“You got it,” I tell her, not really down for a messy weekend, but if I don’t go, then she’ll end up going by herself, and I can’t let her do that. After all, she needs someone to make sure her bad decisions aren’t going to come back and bite her on the ass.
“Yes!” she cheers, racing through my door. She doesn’t bother with a goodbye, and I move across my apartment behind her, closing the door and making sure every last lock and bolt are firmly in place.
As soon as I turn back around, my phone chimes with a new voicemail notification, and I laugh to myself, because honestly, if I don’t, I’ll probably cry.
I can only imagine what kind of message my mother has just left for me, but just because it’s there, doesn’t mean I have to check it.
I can save that disappointment for another time.
For now, I have a scheduled appointment with a blue bean and every last battery-operated toy in my bedroom drawer, and I don’t plan on leaving until the job is well and truly done.