Chapter Eight
CASH
THE ROLLING PIN.
It’s the rolling pin's fault.
That smooth little fucker rolled on the floor and right under my boot.
I tried to grab the counter, steady myself, steady Shay—where the hell did she even come from?
But it all happened way too quickly.
One minute I’m reaching, and the next we’re hurtling toward the floor.
It was a dance I wasn’t expecting. My hand shot out, catching her hip, yanking her close as we toppled together.
I heard her low yelp of surprise and hugged her tight against me, shielding as our bodies hit the floor.
Impact jolts up my spine and knocks the wind out of me.
A grunted curse tears from me, and my body clenches against the sting.
Chest to chest, knees tangling, we collapse in a tangled heap. Her body presses against mine, and I feel every curve, every inch of her.
The entire room goes dead silent.
“Is this part of the class?” Jaclyn leans over us, hands on her hips, squinting through her red glasses. “‘Cause I’d really like to have my turn next.”
Flat on my back, my arm holds Shay flush against my side. She’s half draped over me, her knee wedged between my legs, one arm propped on the floor while the rest of her is very much on me.
“Not part of the class.” My voice sputters out in a strained groan.
Every word is a fight against the pain.
“Well, hell, ain’t that a kick in the teeth. Y’all need help?” She offers a hand.
“Just give us a second,” I grit out, teeth clenched, every syllable tight with pain.
Her eyebrows quirk upward. “Maybe y’all need more than a second because that ain’t no rolling pin she’s holding onto for dear life.”
I feel it.
Fucking hell, shit.
Is that why I don’t want to move? Did I subconsciously know Shay was gripping my crotch?
Her hand releases, and the disappointment is instant.
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.” Her hand moves and presses a warm palm against my chest, but then she must realize I’m bare and she lets go, only to crash against me. “Oh my gosh. I didn’t mean to.”
She wiggles, trying to get off me without touching me.
I hold in a groan because damned if I don’t feel every movement of her breasts against me and her knee rubbing my dick.
She gives up, squeezes her eyes shut, and buries her face in my shoulder. “I should’ve stayed in my room.” Her voice muffles against my skin.
I push aside her hair falling over my face. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”
Her head snaps up, those wide eyes locking on mine, and at the same time, noise stirs above.
We both jerk our heads toward the counter.
The suitcase is teetering on the edge. Then the lid falls open, and the goody bags spill out.
At first, it’s innocent stuff. Heart-shaped candies bounce off her hair. Branded lip balms ricochet off my shoulder. But then the penis-shaped pens follow and the sponsored inevitable dildos. They all topple out, raining down on us.
“Oh shit,” she curses. “I can explain.”
“Explain?” I act innocent, but I know what she’s referring to.
These aren’t the fun toys I found tucked in her bag. No, these are my toys. Or the brands that sponsor me. But it seems this moment of embarrassment has shadowed her in recognizing these are hers.
So I’ll play along.
“I mean, they’re not his,” Shay raises herself slightly to untangle, only to land on me again.
Technically, they were mine to hand out.
Again, I don’t say anything.
“Sweetie, whose else would they be?” Jaclyn says.
“They’re mine.” I’m surprised she takes credit so quickly.
“They’re yours?” Jaclyn’s skeptical eyes run over the belongings. “All of them?”
“Yes.”
Vibrating buzzes in my ear.
“It’s not what it looks like.” Shay reaches across me to grab the toy, and in the same motion, her body plops fully against me.
Completely. Flush. Her body smacks mine with no restraint, practically splattered across my chest, and her cheek brushes mine.
I love every blasted second of it.
“It looks like a suitcase raining penises.” Nettie’s cane hits the floor. “Pink penises. Blue penises. Oh, I like that purple penis.”
“Oh heavens,” comes Faye’s low surprise.
Shay props her shoulder on my chest.
I hiss when her elbows dig in, but she’s too busy trying to turn off the toy to notice. And when it slips from her hands, or plays in slow-motion horror, landing—right—on—my—face.
The bouncing little devil buzzes against my mouth like a tiny jackhammer.
“Oh my God!” Her shriek rings in my ears. “Cash, I’m so sorry!”
Gasps collide.
Laughter ensues.
Neither of which comes from us.
Shay’s fingers scramble across my face, desperately fumbling to snatch the buzzing toy sliding across my cheek, jaw, and nose.
I’m pretty sure the tip slid into my mouth at one point.
“I got it. Shit, I don’t,” she stammers, every flailing movement making things worse. “It’s—ugh—it’s so alive,”
I lunge for it, she lunges, and our arms smack into each other midair.
We both yelp.
This is not how I pictured the direction of the evening mingle kickoff going.
My skin prickles in all the wrong—or right—ways, but we need to get this under control.
I reach for it.
“It’s okay, I got it.” She yelps. “Wait. Nope.”
The toy slips from her fingers, and it squirms and vibrates between us.
Lower.
And lower.
Fucking hell.
Every nerve in my lower half sends a single, united scream.
“What is happening?!” Her fingers slide further down.
“Best class ever,” Jaclyn says somewhere in the distance.
The toy twists, slides, and jumps until it pulses against my dick.
Heat jolts low.
My cock twitches against the denim.
Fuck. My thighs tighten without thinking, and I clench her body so tight.
Shay gasps, and her breath catches in a strangled squeak. Her cheeks flush redder than a cherry tomato. Her eyes slam into mine, wide and pupils blown.
Then she scrambles, pushing off me to perch awkwardly on top of me. She finally gets her hands around that vibrator—no, she thinks her hands around my real cock pops into my head.
I lie.
They do.
Her frenzied hands fumble for the switch to turn it off when she teeters, and her knee connects with my groin.
Hot, sharp, and unholy pain hits me. I hear the sound of death, and I’m pretty sure it’s come from me.
I clutch myself, hissing through gritted teeth.
“Cash! Shit! I’m so sorry.” If she’s moving on top of me, I’m not feeling any of it.
I’m going to pass out.
Or cry.
Maybe both.
I’m pretty sure I’ve rolled onto my side, hopefully away from the women, so that I can suffer alone.
“Cash?” Her voice is gentle now.
She’s hiding the panic pretty well.
“I’m alright,” I rasp.
She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. Just sits on her knees beside me and runs her hand over my arm. The motion is soothing more than she knows. But only because it’s distracting. She’s a distraction. But in a good way. A really good fucking way.
She tips her head when I finally open my eyes. “Do you want ice?” Her tone is careful, like she’s offering a bandage for my dignity, too.
I nod weakly.
“Ice would be ideal.” My voice still comes out hoarse.
“Here.” She rests a small cloth wrapped with ice gently against my hand, still covering my crotch.
I curl my fingers around the ice pack, guiding the coolness to the spot that hurts.
The shock is simultaneously soothing, mortifying, and a damn turn on.
And after some glorious minutes, I’m able to breathe without flinching.
“Better?”
I blink up at her, and that’s when I notice a lump forming on the side of her head.
Before I can comment, there’s a thump on the floor, then a scramble. I recognize that scraping anywhere.
That black-haired menace of a dog charges into the kitchen and jumps straight onto my leg.