2. Rune #2
Sweating, panting, and shaky, I snapped a selfie while holding the vibrator and sent it to Lindsey: IT'S A VIbrATOR, BITCH. BUT ALSO. HOLY SHIT.
She responded almost immediately: RIGHT? SEE WHAT YOU'VE BEEN MISSING OUT ON?
Me: YEAH, BUT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN A GUY CAN'T COMPETE WITH IT? I JUST CAN'T COME WITHOUT IT?
Lindsey: UM, YOU USE IT DURING SEX, DUH.
Maybe I am a bit sexually conservative, as I've never even thought of using a toy during sex.
I enjoy sex, okay? In fact, I love it…a fucking lot .
Hayes and I fucked three or four times a week, at minimum, our whole relationship.
He may have been a lying, cheating, gaslighting asshole loser in the end, but the guy could fuck .
I always got off with him, and if I didn't come during sex, he always made sure I did afterward.
But now?
I see what Lindsey has been trying to tell me the whole time; I can't go back to using my fingers now. Not after that.
I washed off the rubbery white oval piece and put the device away, took a shower, threw on a sundress and flats, and headed out in search of coffee and breakfast.
I found a place on the boardwalk that wasn’t too crowded and treated myself to some pancakes and an endless cup of coffee.
By the time I cleared the plate, it was nearly ten.
I don't know how late Duncan usually sleeps, but I know Lindsey, and if I don't get ahold of him soon, she'll be blowing up my phone.
So I found a bench looking out at the Inside Passage and FaceTimed him.
It burbled a few times, and then there was the connection sound effect, and Duncan’s absurdly handsome, chiseled face filled the screen. He was bleary-eyed, squinting at the screen. "Rune, hi."
"Sorry to wake you up."
"Eh, it's fine. I need to get up anyway. What's going on, hot stuff?" He scrubs his face, wipes sleep away from the corners of his eyes and sits up.
My eyes went to his bare chest, to his hard, powerful pecs. I may or may not have licked my lips at the sight, because the man was ripped .
"Rune?" I heard the amusement in his voice. "My eyes are up here, babe."
"Shut up." I sighed. "Um, so…"
"Yes, I have my tux dry-cleaned and ready to go."
"No, that's not it. I, umm, I have a favor to ask."
"A favor, is it? Another one?" He shrugged. "I live but to serve, my lady."
"Well, it's more of a request for information, really. The wedding we're supposed to be going to…the venue had an electrical fire yesterday.”
His eyes widened. "Oh, shit. I heard about that. The Old Toby Inn, right? The whole place went up. They had to evacuate all the guests, and nowhere else has vacancy. Everyone was talking about it last night."
"Yeah, well, now Hamish and Raquel have nowhere to stay or get married, and nowhere for the guests to go," I said. "We were hoping you, as a local, might have some ideas."
He scratched at his chest, and then leaned out of the screen to grab something—the action bared more of his lean, shredded, muscular body—I count abs: two, four, six…
eight ? Fuck me. The blanket covering him slid away, revealing a dangerous expanse of male flesh…
including the sharpest set of V-cuts I've ever seen, and let me tell you, I'm a sucker for those things. Nice arms, a good chest, a tight, hard cannonball ass? Yes, please. Gets me going. But V-cuts? They turn me into jelly. I can’t explain it, I know it's dumb and shallow, but it just does it for me.
And Duncan's were fucking glorious. My pussy clenched, my gut flipped, and my nipples went tight and hard. Just lean a little further, I can't help thinking. It's obvious he was naked under that blanket, and now that I've seen this much, I needed more.
A lot more.
He came back onto the screen with a water bottle, which he took a long drink from. Even his Adam's apple was sexy.
Did I or did I not just have an epic orgasm? I did. So…why am I hornier than I was before?
"Do you always sleep naked?" I asked, and then clapped my hand over my mouth. “Sorry. Forget I asked that."
He grinned at me. "In fact, I do." He winked. "What about you, Rune? What do you wear to bed?"
"A T-shirt and underwear," I answered. "Nothing too exciting."
He smirked, shrugging. "I dunno…there's something hot as fuck about a girl in a tee and underwear. Especially if it's my shirt she's wearing."
“If I'm wearing my boyfriend's shirt," I said, letting my mouth run wild, "then I'm probably not wearing panties under it."
He groaned, covering his face. “Goddammit, Rune. Now I'm picturing you wearing nothing but my T-shirt. I won't be able to walk for a while. Thanks for that."
"Won't be able to walk?" I ask, momentarily confused.
He quirked an eyebrow at me.
"Oh. Ohhhh." I covered my face with my hand. "Shut up."
He just grinned. "So, moving on. I can make a couple calls and see what I can come up with."
"That would be amazing," I said. "I know it's a long shot, but Hamish and Raquel are desperate for a solution at this point."
“No promises, but I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call you back in a bit," he said.
We said goodbye, and I headed back to my room at the hostel. An hour and a half later, he called back.
"I have news," he said by way of hello, "but I'll only give it to you in person. Meet me for lunch."
"Alright," I answered. "Where and when?"
"Now. I'm outside your hostel. Come down."
"Are you stalking me, Duncan Badd?"
He snorted. "You told me where you were staying yesterday. I can do this cool thing called remembering."
There aren't that many people who can match my snark-itude, but Duncan definitely gives me a run for my money.
It's so weird to be on the receiving end of sarcasm that I found myself unable to come up with a witty retort. I am ashamed.
"Be right down," is all I said, and hung up.
I grabbed my purse and headed down—Duncan was dressed in faded, distressed black jeans, white Nikes, and a fitted three-quarter sleeve raglan tee with the Badd Kitty logo on the left breast—the sleeves were gray, the torso black. It was a simple enough outfit, but he made it look like high fashion.
He's just so damned attractive . It's honestly annoying, because being around him is distracting. I keep getting lost in his eyes, or staring at his stupid, toned, girthy arms. Yes, I said girthy . Deal with it.
And now, thanks to our conversation, I know what he looks like naked…almost. And I've thought about him going down on me.
Not a great combo for staying focused.
Although, to be fair to myself, I'm not the only one.
His eyes flared when he saw me, his gaze raking down my body, fixing on my legs, which my canary-yellow-with-white-flowers sundress left bare from mid-thigh.
After a long, blatant moment checking out my legs, his gaze fixed next on my cleavage, and that's where this dress really shines.
It gives me fantastic cleavage, especially with the pushup bra I'm wearing.
His pupils dilated, and his hands curled into fists at his sides.
"Hey, Duncan," I said, stepping into his space and tapping the underside of his chin. "My eyes are up here."
"Yeah,” he said, smirking, “but your tits are down there, and I'm not done appreciating them."
I faked an annoyed sigh, stepping back with a flap of my arms out to the sides and then down. "Well? Get a good enough look?"
He shrugged. "For now."
"You said you had an update."
"I did—I do. C'mon. I'm hungry." He took my hand and pulled me into a walk.
And in weird news, I continued to let him hold my hand as we strolled down the street.
It's weird because I don't hold hands. I’ve never liked it.
My hands get sweaty, and most guys tend to unconsciously squeeze too hard.
Duncan's hands were large and strong and rough, yet dry and cool. And he didn’t squeeze, only held in a gentle but firm grip.
It was…nice.
Weird, but nice.
He led me away from the main drag and the boardwalk where the crowds of tourists are thickest. He took me to a narrow side street not far from the main drag where the shops were mostly tattoo parlors, Mom-and-Pop cafes, boutiques, and the like.
We came to a shop with a large window framing a two-seat high top.
A cute sign, hand-painted in pastel pink letters on a piece of driftwood, announces that the shop was named Ella's.
Duncan opened the door—a bell tinkled a merry, silver little sound to announce our entry.
Inside, the floor was tiled in a classic black-and-white checkerboard pattern, with 50s style booths along the left wall and a soda-jerk bar facing the door, with plump vinyl-topped cushioned stools.
A blond girl about our age was behind the counter, rapidly assembling a sandwich. "Be right with you," she says, not looking up from her work.
"The service here sucks ass," Duncan said loudly. "The owner is a real bitch."
I gasped in shock. "Duncan!"
The blonde girl's head whips up, light brown eyes twinkling with humor.
"Donkey!" She grinned at him as she finished the sandwich—which was a massive thing, a masterpiece of thick homemade wheat bread piled high with turkey, Swiss, and all the fixings—wrapped it brown parcel paper, tied it with a pre-cut length of twine, and handed it to the waiting customer with a smile and a “Thanks, come again! "
She wiped her hands on her apron and rounded the bar to give Duncan a hug. "Been a while since you've popped in here. I figured I wouldn't see you until the softball game for the Fourth."
He tweaked her nose. "I had a craving for one of your sandwiches."
She batted his hand away. "Leave my nose alone, jerk, or no sammich for you." She turned her bright gaze onto me. "And who's your friend?"
"This is Rune. Rune, this is my cousin Ella. You met her dad, Bax the first day we met."
"Hi, Ella, nice to meet you." I looked around. "This place is adorable."
"Thanks!" She looks around with obvious pride. "It's my baby."
I frown. "Wait… your baby?"