Chapter 28
Miriam
“Come on,” I pant in a mix of sweat and frustration.
Getting myself off has never been a problem.
I’m well-acquainted with my body and the erogenous zones that will activate an orgasm.
You wouldn’t know it based on the hours I’ve spent trying to pleasure myself with the sex toys I bought.
There’s enough here to host a convention. Still no happy ending.
I didn’t want to be outside dressed like Lil Kim in the middle of winter, but Antonio’s kiss sent me out the hotel and onto Fremont Street like I was a track star in a past life.
My brain scrambled. I couldn’t think straight, which is how I ended up searching for sex toys after venturing to the Strip.
Turns out my pre-travel checklist wasn’t thorough.
Every vibrator I own is at home, tucked away in the bottom drawer of my nightstand.
TSA will likely flag my bag for the inventory I’m bringing home.
How do I explain, in one of those tiny rooms with no windows, that I’m desperate to get off, but not from the only man who’s touched me in five years?
I was determined to eradicate Antonio and his soft lips from my memory.
I mustered up the courage to ask the woman behind the counter, who was assembling a literal bag of dicks, to point me to the good stuff.
That statement got a quick revision when she directed me to the biggest silicone penis I’ve ever seen.
The thing could plug a pothole and was going nowhere near my vagina.
I left with the anonymity of my hooded winter jacket and two discreet bags. A fairy wand, glass “juicer,” tongue teaser, bullet, rabbit, textured finger stimulator, and clitoral suction device are spread over my rumpled comforter.
Seven toys.
Two hours and fourteen minutes of putting them to use.
Nothing.
I’m a problem-solver by nature. I defined the issue: me not getting laid. I identified the outcome: euphoria from orgasms. I brainstormed potential solutions: my hands and toys. I conducted experiments and evaluated the results:
A testament to good battery life but no resolution for my neglected private parts.
The only malfunction to report is me. My equipment works just fine. I’m the one who can’t get into the right headspace.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Antonio.
His eyes boring into mine.
His teeth digging into his thick bottom lip.
The hands that gripped my waist.
No. The conclusions of that experiment will remain a mystery.
Would a one-night stand even work among friends?
What happens in Vegas—
“Leads to blurred lines, possible bruises, and offering our relationship to the altar of bad decisions.”
Great, now I’m talking to myself.
I gather the toys to wash in the kitchen sink in a huff. Antonio hasn’t returned since I came back from my pleasure expedition, which is ironic considering I didn’t come at all.
He’s probably on round three with a leggy influencer or a women’s rugby player who knows how to scrum, or whatever it is they do. He’s been thoughtful of me since we arrived, but I know him. A chronic bachelor in Sin City leads to one thing: all-you-can-eat pus—vagina, and sex on repeat.
I rip open the bedroom door and stomp down the hall in knee-length socks. I’m happy my friend is deep-sea fishing with his penis between someone’s legs. His touch still haunts me, and I can’t pleasure myself without seeing his face, but good for him. Doesn’t bother me one bit!
Maybe if I tried—
Dear God, I’m being robbed!
The toys go flying, and my mumbles turn into a scream at the figure in the kitchen. It’s completely dark, minus the lights from Vegas crawling over the living room. The sconces above the counter illuminate.
Antonio pulls out an earphone. “You okay?”
“You scared me,” I say between breaths, gripping my chest. “I thought you broke in.”
“To raid the fridge?” He chuckles. “Got washed up and wanted a snack.”
“How?” The only bathroom in the suite is in the bedroom.
He lifts a shoulder and scratches his bare chest. “It’s past eleven. The lights were off, so I figured you were sleeping. Didn’t want to disturb you, so I washed up here.”
Sure enough, there’s a washcloth on top of a towel on the granite counter next to the sink I came to use.
My sex toys are still on the ground.
“Did you, um, hear anything?” I fold my arms over my chest. My ratty black nightgown is see-through from years of use.
Antonio follows the movement, and his gaze stalls at the swell of my breasts. A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I had these in.” He pulls out the other earphone. “What were you doing?”
“Nothing,” I blurt. “If you want to wash up with more than dish soap, feel free to use the bathroom. After your snack. With the food in the refrigerator behind you.”
“What fell?”
“Why are you asking so many questions?”
“Why are you dodging them?”
“I’m not.”
His eyes narrow. Light drips over his very defined deltoids as he leans over the counter.
His lips quirk. “Want to know something fun about being your friend? Picking up on shifts in your behavior. You talk a mile a minute in detail when you’re nervous, and your voice sounds like Regina Hall’s when you’re excited. ”
Where is he going with this, and why is he moving?
The toys aren’t visible from where he is, but they will be if he comes around the counter.
“You don’t lie often.” He continues his impersonation of a nosy forensic investigator. I’m all for solving crimes, but he needs to mind his business. “On the rare occasion you do, you clench your throat and give vague responses. Like you are now.”
“Not true.”
He inches toward the end of the counter. “I see your sweat from here.”
Our stare-off ends when I make the mistake of glancing down. He rounds the corner before I get the chance to kick away the sex toys.
I toss my hands up. “Fine. You caught me, though it’s perfectly normal to enjoy self-pleasure. It’s safe, and I don’t have to worry about anyone annoying me or giving me the clap. I love touching myself, but I can’t get off.” For reasons I won’t reveal.
“I tried for hours. I’m wound up so tight I could snap.
I haven’t had sex in years, and I would like to sleep without contemplating rubbing myself over a pillow to feel a tingle because the sex toys I had no business buying with a pending part-time job aren’t helping.
They’re scattered all over the floor because I thought we were being robbed, and I tossed them.
A thief making a snack before holding me at gunpoint sounds like the only action I’ll see, anyway. ”
How’s that for mile-a-minute details? At this point, I’ll take a slice of cheese before bed. I need to pack my clothes and my unsatisfied vagina to fly back to Buffalo tomorrow.
I squat down and grab my waste of an investment. Fatigue and embarrassment are enough for me to bury my entire body somewhere in the desert.
Antonio drops to his haunches and holds my wrist. His quads are hard muscle under smooth caramel. His abs tense over the band of his boxer briefs, which holds a very noticeable bulge that’s teasing me to stare.
Between his legs, chest, and that weapon he calls a penis, someone is enjoying the best sleep of their life tonight.
“Let me help,” Antonio says, his silken voice a gentle whisper.
“Okay.”