Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
One Giant Motherfucking Bed
IRINA
Panting, I hurried towards the gangplank, grinning at the man side-eyeing me from the dock.
“Sorry!” I gasped, clutching at the stitch in my side. “Had a vulva emergency!” I’d spent far too long trying to find a pair of panties that didn’t constantly rub on my healing clit. One week post-piercing, and it wasn’t hurting anymore so much as it was just hyper-sensitive.
I had the satisfaction of seeing his cheeks flush, and as soon as I’d made it up onto the deck of this swanky yacht, he tugged the gangplank away, refusing to look me in the eye. I wiggled my fingers in a little wave in his direction, before heading straight for the crowded bar.
“Pizd?!” I cursed, jostled to the side and into a group of beer-swilling men as the boat lurched. They chuckled, eyeing me with appreciation.
“Hey!” one of them exclaimed, tilting the neck of his bottle in my direction. “You’re one of the porn girls—I’ve seen your posts! Are you really sticking that giant dildo up you? Because if you are …” He nudged his mate, “I reckon we’d both fit in there at once, Gaz!”
I gave them a simpering smile, inwardly seething at these sleazy men.
“Oh, I have no doubt I’d fit you both ‘in there’ …
” I eyed the other two men with them, and they all chortled along like we were all engaging in verbal foreplay.
“I think I’d probably manage all four of you at once, to be honest.”
They guffawed, leering at my body. “You offering to try?” ‘Gaz’ asked, stepping closer. His breath was rank with garlic and the hoppy stench of beer, but I held my ground with a titter and a shake of my head.
“Oh, fuck no! But really, boys, it would almost be too easy to fit in four teeny weenie pin dicks.”
While their pin-sized brains scrambled to process my words, I flounced off, chuckling. If nothing else, I’d go home knowing I’d bruised the egos of four grotty bogans.
I glanced around at the sweaty sea of people milling, dancing and chattering …
o Doamne, was that River Riley? I’d been bingeing episodes of The Rileys of Emu Grove for the last few weeks—since I’d suddenly found myself with too much free time, now that I had no uni and no job to leave the house for.
His family was hilarious, and he’d been such a cute kid who’d grown up into a certified hottie and a major celebrity.
Okay, so this party—except for ‘Gaz’ and his loser brigade—was looking up. If only it wasn’t so crowded here by the bar! I needed a vodka—probably on ice since these heathens never stored their vodka in the freezer.
I fanned myself, surreptitiously wriggling to try and get my panties to stop grazing against my piercing. Why hadn’t I just free-flapped it?
“Ru Snack?” a feminine voice asked behind me. I turned to find myself face to face with a petite woman with a glossy fake tan and an expensive blonde dye job.
“Just Ru,” I lied. I was not giving out my real name to anyone on this boat. I couldn’t trust people I didn’t know.
The woman smiled prettily at me. “It’s so fantastic to meet you!” She stuck out her hand. “Cadence Sullivan. I’m the founder of Cadence.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You founded yourself?”
A hint of pink spread across her cheeks, and her smile slipped just slightly. “Of course not! No, my company, Cadence, makes a variety of female-empowering sex toys.” She spoke slowly, as if I were stupid. Or perhaps as if she wasn’t sure I grasped English.
I really shouldn’t fuck with her …
But it was just too tempting …
“Vhat is zis … toy … you speak of?” I asked, thickening my accent, my brow furrowed in confusion. “Vhy toys for sex? Vhen ze man and ze voman lie together to make the babies, zis is not a time for toys! Zey come later, vhen ze baby is arrived.”
Cadence’s increasingly perplexed expression almost made me break character. “No, not children’s toys! I mean … like the one you use in your videos. That’s a sex toy.”
“Really? Back home ve call zem ustensile murdare de dormitor.” I pursed my lips to stop myself from cackling at her horrified look. “Dirty bedroom utensils.”
“Oh …” She rubbed her forehead. “Well, I’ve seen your content, and you seem to really know your way around your … ustensiles?”
I lost it, snorting out a laugh and nudging her in the ribs. “I’m just playing! They’re called sex toys in Romania too.”
Her upper lip twitched. “You really had me going there for a moment!” she said, trying valiantly to sound amused. I forced my expression into something a little less full of hilarity.
“I forget that not everyone has the same sense of humour as me.” I tucked my hair behind my ear.
“And yes, I do know my way around my collection. Are you offering free samples?” I glanced down, but she didn’t seem to have any goodie bags.
Damn it. I was always up for a new buzzing bestie, especially if it was free.
“You were asking to see me?”
Cadence and I both turned to the woman with the thick Slavic accent. I immediately recognised that long, honey-coloured hair and the unimpressed expression on her perfect face from Bikini Cove—a guilty pleasure reality show that Kat and I had binged last year.
“Ilya Ivanov!” I squawked. “The bestest, baddest bitch on Bikini Cove!”
She looked at me like I was a piece of stubborn dirt under her fingernail. “Who the fuck are you?”
I blinked. Wow. Clearly her snarky TV persona hadn’t been an act.
“Ilya, this is Ru Snack—Ru—she’s a viral Tickle sensation!” Cadence interjected, while I struggled with an odd out-of-body feeling that this person I had cheered on from our living room was an absolute cunt in real life.
Ilya’s eyes snapped back to me, roving my body with sudden interest. She smirked when her focus hit the hem of my very short black bodycon dress.
“Ah, yes … how is that new jewellery of yours coming along? Hurts like a bitch, I’ve heard.
No silly little ‘watch me come but only from the waist up’ posts for you for a while.
” She huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Or I suppose you still can post them—it’s not like it’s hard to fake an orgasm when you don’t give your followers the proof.
” She sniffed. “And I’d guess your followers would be gullible bottom-feeders. ”
I saw red.
“Are you fucking for real?” I hissed, stepping closer. “No wonder every other girl in the Bikini Cove house hated your guts! You’re a sad, nasty scroaf?, cutting another woman down to make yourself feel good.”
Ilya’s eyes widened, but almost as soon as I noticed, she was back to looking utterly disinterested in me. “If you can’t handle honesty, you really need to find a less … exposing … career.”
“Sugi pula! Fuck you and your fucking honesty! I have no time for people like you.” I turned to Cadence. “Whatever you wanted to discuss with me, it’s a ‘fuck no’ as long as she’s involved in the conversation.”
Cadence made a squeaking sound of protest, but I was already storming away. Ilya fucking Ivanov might be a stone-cold bitch, but I was a feisty Romanian who took zero shit.
And damn it, these mama naibii de chilo?ii were rubbing on my clit, and it was making me insane! I needed to find a bathroom and take them off.
“Can I help you?” a deep voice rumbled.
I scowled up at the gargantuan man who glowered at me, arms folded, with two little frown wrinkles between his eyebrows. “I just need a bathroom, you giant grouch!”
He pointed in the direction of a set of stairs towards the rear of the boat, his expression not softening one tiny bit.
“I’d suggest while you’re down there, you take some time to calm down.
Take a few deep breaths before you return to the party.
I won’t tolerate abuse of any kind—including verbal—on this cruise. ”
“Tell that to that bitch Ilya Ivanov, then! She’s the one—”
The man gripped my arm, steering me towards the stairs, away from the crowd. He was so large and so strong that I had no chance to fight him off. Nerves swirled in my stomach.
“Ilya Ivanov isn’t the one screeching obscenities on my employer’s boat.” He stopped, swinging me around to face him. “Have some fucking decency.”
“Ooh, some ‘fucking’ decency, huh? Will your employer make you wash that filthy mouth out with soap now?”
He rolled his eyes, releasing me. “Just go get yourself under control. If you make another scene, it won’t be the toilets I’ll escort you to, it’ll be overboard.”
Turning, he strode back in the direction of the chaotic dance floor without another word. I flipped the bird at his retreating back and stormed down the narrow stairs.
“Takes his job far too fucking seriously. What a douche kayak!” I muttered, reaching the bottom and glancing up. “Holy … this is fucking wild!”
The living room I found myself in was bigger than my entire apartment.
A giant, plush grey sofa ran along one wall, windows behind it revealing a glittering panorama of Sydney Harbour at night.
It was covered with soft cushions in a variety of blues and greys.
The coffee table was glass with stacks of books on a shelf underneath.
A modern metal and glass dining setting sat up one end, framed by a small but luxurious kitchen, and a small hallway where a security guard stood, dressed just like the cranky bastard upstairs.
He noticed me and immediately headed into the hallway, clearing his throat awkwardly.
“Time’s up!” he barked, rapping on a door. “People are waiting.”
A muffled, feminine moan erupted from the other side of the door, followed by a deep grunt.
I muffled a smirk behind my hand. What would Mr ‘Have Some Fucking Decency’ have to say about people joining the …
what even was the super yacht equivalent of the mile-high club? … in his ‘employer’s’ guest bathroom?
“I’m not kidding!” the guard growled, hammering on the door. “Get yourselves out of there!”
I turned away, drawn back to the beautiful room and the stunning harbour views beyond the lounge.
“Must be nice making a fortune off other people having sex,” I murmured.
My eye caught on another hallway at the opposite end of the room.
I didn’t even need to pee; I just needed to whip off these panties, and then I could go drink enough vodka to forget that Ilya Ivanov was a first-class bitch.
Why did celebrities have to be so consistently disappointing? Maybe I wouldn’t try to approach River Riley when I got back upstairs, just in case he wasn’t a wholesome little golden retriever puppy after all. I didn’t need that bubble burst tonight.
I ducked across the room and into the darkened hallway as the security guard continued to snarl threats at the wayward bathroom fuckers.
There was a door at the end. Not sure if I was supposed to be there, but just wanting the overstimulating panties off, I reached for the handle and slipped inside.
“Meeeoooow?”
I stopped in my tracks, blinking. Looking down, two sets of eyes glowed eerily up at me in the dim light. Fumbling along the wall until my fingers found a light switch, I flicked it on.
“Well!” I crouched down, panties temporarily forgotten, to inspect the two cats peering expectantly at me. “Whatever I thought I might find in here, it was not you two!”
They meowed plaintively at me, and the larger of the two, a fluffy, scruffy-looking orange monstrosity, rubbed its squished face against my leg.
“Aww, you’re sort of adorable, you big, ugly thing!” I cooed, reaching out to scratch between its ears. It purred loudly. The other—a Siamese, I thought—strutted away, leaping up onto the …
“La dracu! That’s one giant motherfucking bed!
” I scooped up the smoochy ginger fuzzball and carried him into the room, finally looking around.
This must have been the owner’s suite. Who was the grumpy fuck’s employer?
Had this boat been hired by Tickle for the night?
Or was it owned by them? Who even were they?
The bed was easily bigger than a King, decked in more of the muted blues and greys from the living room. It was sleek and ultra-modern, but the colours lent it that calming, nautical air. I wondered if it was the owner’s aesthetic or if the yacht just came like this.
I plopped the marmalade lump down on the bed. It yowled demandingly, snagging a claw in my dress.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to be in here, you needy feline!” I untangled its claw from my clothes. “I just came in to …” I scooted my dress up to my waist and tugged the offending panties off. “Get rid of these bastards.” I dumped the wadded-up fabric on the bed and shimmied my dress back down.
“Prrrroww?”
The ginger cat was staring up at me, eyes wide, whiskers twitching. I took pity on the thing. The DJ must have been set up almost directly above because the room was vibrating with bass.
“Your daddy … or whoever owns this floating palace, really should have considered your delicate feelings before hosting this party, shouldn’t they?” I perched myself on the edge of the bed, and the ginger cat immediately ambled onto my lap, curling up and rumbling with violent purrs.
The haughty one stalked closer, eyeing me calculatingly before seeming to accept my presence and perch itself against my side. I reached for its collar to find a small tag and leaned closer to peer at the name.
“Trinket … what sort of name is that?” I wondered, feeling around the fuzzy neck of my new best friend until I located its collar. “And … Abernathy?” I rolled my eyes. “Rich people … they call their pets such stupid names.”
Trinket gave a little majestic head nod in agreement, and Abernathy purred harder in my lap. I sighed, rubbing him under his scraggly chin. “You know, I think you two are better company than the bunch of nasty fakes upstairs. I guess I can stay for a few minutes …”