Chapter Twenty-Three. Man-Made
Chapter Twenty-Three
MAN-MADE
In the week following their tattoo appointment, Cam felt like she’d returned to college, to the days preceding final exams when her focus was on studying alone.
As a student, everything else faded away—no TV, no parties, scarcely even a free moment to eat.
Tunnel vision was an asset, a way to compartmentalize her life and concentrate on what mattered.
But in its return, her laser-sharp focus was on the wrong subject. It wasn’t on waiting tables, or writing, or job hunting.
It was on Danny.
In one week, he emerged as the catalyst for every ounce of sexual need she buried deep. He was that fucking match back in DC, lingering in her fingertips, seconds away from burning her skin unless she reacted.
She could drop the match and start the fire, or she could blow it out, and smell the smoke for the foreseeable future.
Both options scared her.
By the next weekend, she’d barely survived a brutal Saturday dinner shift, and despite a pocketful of tips, her body and mind were wrecked. When they got home, it took every ounce of energy she had to shower, wish Danny and Reggie good night, and climb into bed.
But sleep didn’t come easily.
The linen sheets dragged along her bare legs, scratching her skin as she tossed and turned. Despite her efforts to shut the aged curtains, moonlight streamed into the room, casting over the bed like a spotlight hell-bent on keeping her awake.
Under the midnight mirror ball, her thoughts wandered. To a firm, tattooed thigh beneath her hand. To fingertips caressing her spine. To their appointment, to the intimacy of being inked together, to brown eyes studying her as a moon and sun were etched into flushed skin.
Danny and tattoo swam around her mind, throwing her back into the pool. Chlorine teased her nose, strong hands teased her body, warmth teased her aching skin. She was wet, from pool water, from sweat, from—
Sighing, she flipped onto her stomach, her oversized T-shirt shifting and exposing her bottom half. Anxious hands skimmed along her thighs until reaching the waistband of her underwear. Unsteady and unsure, she maneuvered the cotton off and watched the colored panties hit the floor.
Cam didn’t shy away from sex. It was natural, it was fun, and she had no qualms about being with a man she admired—and if she was lucky, loved.
There hadn’t been many over the years, especially when most of college was spent with Cory, and in the ten months since Morgan left, there’d been nobody.
Not when she was consumed with self-loathing over her finances and miserable from her dead-end job.
With the absence of sex, she masturbated.
A lot. But there was something sacrilegious about doing it on a pull-out bed in Danny’s den, him and Reggie fast asleep down the hall.
Despite the ethics of the situation, she couldn’t deny herself any longer.
Her stomach was in knots, her skin felt too tight, and she was desperate for relief.
She stared at the wooden nightstand, imagining the package tucked inside. Sex toys were new territory for her. But she was feeling needy, and this summer was about change. About fun.
Stupid fun.
Decision made, she grabbed the toy from the drawer and sprawled across the middle of the bed like a starfish.
Soft black silicone traced shapes on her inner thighs, teasing her skin until she finally built up the courage to turn the toy on.
It took her a few tries, since the power mechanism was a small button flush with the body of the vibrator.
A couple of clicks adjusted the intensity and on option three, Cam found the right rhythm.
Then, she closed her eyes and prepared for the vibrations to end her torment.
Her faith was short-lived. The pulses were nice, but nothing life-changing.
Desperate for anything, she flipped onto her stomach and attempted to rut into the toy.
The vibrations mixed with her gyrations were an improvement, so she continued meeting the toy with mini thrusts, letting the silicone tease her.
“Okay,” she breathed, holding the toy against her skin, “we’re getting somewhere.”
But a couple minutes of pleasant vibrations later, she made a mistake.
Maybe it was muscle memory. Maybe it was a slip of her hand.
Something convinced her to move the tip of the toy south to tease her entrance.
Her body knew what it wanted, and she pressed the toy in, hoping to mimic the sensation she was familiar with.
Except just the tip wasn’t a thing. Not for douchey frat bros, and not with tiny bullet vibrators. Between the vibrations and the small size, one lust-addled push caused the entire toy to disappear deep inside her.
She shrieked and flipped onto her back, immediately shoving two fingers inside herself, desperate to grab ahold of the slippery silicone. But it was out of reach, the intense vibrations and her shaking panic not helping the rescue attempt.
“Okay.” She was laughing hysterically as sat back on her haunches, squatting over the bed in hopes of using gravity to push the vibrator out. “This is fine. Everything is fine.”
Except everything was not fine. She keeled over, crying out as the toy changed its rhythm, still dancing frantically inside her.
The new intensity had her eyes rolling back and a string of moans escaping her lips.
Every second of blissful pleasure was followed by three seconds of panic.
Because no matter her position or strategy, she couldn’t get the toy out.
Was this how she died? Could she get toxic shock syndrome from a thirty-dollar bullet vibrator?
After another string of moans and the subsequent panicked self-loathing, she accepted her fate. With a shaky breath, she flipped onto her back and lay flat, both hands concealing her burning face. Then she yelled for Danny.
Despite the late hour, one call did the trick. She heard everything. The hushed request for Reggie to stay in bed. The footsteps in the hallway. The squeaky hinges of the den door opening.
“Cam?” Based on his calm tone, he hadn’t noticed her state of undress. “You okay?”
“Um.” She laughed, tugging her T-shirt down in one last-ditch attempt at modesty. “Not exactly.”
“What’s wrong?” She must’ve woken him up.
It explained why he wore only boxer briefs and the black-framed glasses that lived on his nightstand.
Between his nakedness, his messy hair, and those glasses, she was on the brink of combustion.
“Are you—” He froze then, head tilting towards the bed. “What’s that noise?”
Since the universe was laughing at her, the intensity shifted again, and she squealed at the change. Apparently, she hadn’t grown as used to the humming vibrations as she thought. Instead, her hips flew off the bed, and she whined into her crumpled pillow.
“Cam?”
She braved another glance his way. He never turned on the lights. Instead, in the moonlight, he stared, eyes wide and mouth agape. Swallowing her rising panic, she flipped back to her knees and shifted to the edge of the bed. If she reached her arm out, she could touch him.
“After our tattoos, Esme convinced me to buy a vibrator at that sex shop, and I’ve never used one, okay?” she rushed out. “So, I let her pick, which, in retrospect, was stupid. I mean, Morgan had an entire collection of toys. I should’ve just asked her for a recommendation instead of—”
“Cam?” he interrupted, voice unnaturally hoarse. “What’s going on?”
“I have a vibrator stuck inside me and I can’t get it out.”
He didn’t immediately respond. Swallowing, his gaze dipped to her bare legs and quickly back to her eyes. Then, he turned to the door, as if trying to give her privacy after the confession.
“O—okay,” he replied, scratching his neck. “Should I take you to the hospital?”
“NO!” She refused to be story fodder for online communities.
He leaned his head on the doorframe, shoulders tense. If she wasn’t torn between exquisite pleasure and blistering embarrassment, she’d find his reaction endearing. “Should I call Esme?” he asked. “Maybe she could—”
“Absolutely not.” Her friendship with Esme was in the early stages and the last thing Cam wanted was to be indebted to the woman. “Danny…”
His head shot up but he didn’t turn around. He knew what she was asking without the words being said. But if he wasn’t going to respond, she’d spell it out for him.
“I need you to help me.” When she was met with continued silence, she added a desperate “Please.”
His naked back tightened, his entire body going ramrod straight. She didn’t miss his sharp intake of breath, or the familiar way he drove both hands into his hair to fuss with the bed-tousled strands. Then, like a switch had flipped, he turned and flashed a comforting smile.
“Yeah. Okay. Let’s do this.”
She let out a nervous giggle when he sat on the bed, and as she took in his half-naked body, she felt delirious. This was insanity. The vibrator, him helping her, the sight of his thigh tattoo, how toned he was when his idea of working out was lifting supplies and running on the beach with Reggie …
Cautiously, he kneeled between her feet, his focus shifting from her painted toenails to her face.
She studied his neck, and the way his Adam’s apple jumped in his throat as he swallowed.
Her thoughts returned to their drive to Elswick, and his dimpled smile.
To Beau’s, and his beer-flavored lips. To the convenience store, and his mischievous brown eyes.
To the pool, and his heated hands.
What the fuck was wrong with her? This wasn’t sexy. Their situation was the opposite of sexy.
So why couldn’t she take her eyes off him?
When she blinked out of her haze, she realized he was frantically rubbing his hands on the bedspread, generating enough friction she worried he’d somehow set it ablaze.