Chapter Seven #2
I’m sure we only stare at each other for about three seconds, but it feels like a fucking eternity as the deep realization sets in that not only has this man caught me masturbating, begging for someone to come inside my mouth, but his gaze is now slowly drifting over the bed and locking on the bright pink dildo that’s right next to the anal beads.
A guttural generational trauma-forming burst of “Noooooooo” draws from my lungs in long form, before I whip the blanket to try and cover what’s exposed.
Except that’s not what happens.
Nothing gets covered. What happens is that the motion of the blanket propels the dildo off the bed and into the air. It bends and wiggles, cutting through space like a goddamn crotch missile as my face morphs into sheer tragedy, and I shoot my free hand out to stop it.
But it’s to no avail because my neon pink, eight-inch thrusting dick collides directly with Wells’ right eye, making a smack sound before hitting the ground with a thud.
“Fuck,” he growls as his head flies back.
Oh. My. God.
My mouth is agape, my eyebrows hitting the top of my forehead as I shake my head.
This isn’t happening. I did not just hit this man with my dick.
You know what? There’s no such thing as dignity. I take it back. I refuse to believe it’s a real word. Because I’ll never come back from this.
He rubs his eye as he looks down. So I do what any normal person would do in this circumstance—I wrap myself in the blanket like a burrito from head to toe and hope to suffocate.
Which, in hindsight, isn’t the greatest plan because somehow, I’ve lost the goddamn lemon. So I’m just a whole ass dickslinger in a blanket burrito who’s still buzzing.
I hit him with a dick. Why, god? Why, Violent Femmes? Whyyyyy?
There are tons of sounds outside of my self-imposed prison, but the lack of his voice makes it feel silent. And that’s deafening. I’m literally waiting on bated breath for him to say goodbye and leave. But really, what’s there to say?
I swear to god, every single time I think things can’t get worse, they do. Also, why is he always letting himself into my room?
“Margot,” his deep voice rumbles, but there’s no way I’m coming out.
Still, I can’t force myself to be rude, so I answer, “Please let yourself out.”
Except all my words are muffled. It is actually hard to breathe in here. God willing, I’ll fall into a coma.
“Margot,” he says in a much more teasing way, but I refuse to leave my blanket jail. I deserve life here.
“Hey.” His voice is softer and closer. Too close for my comfort.
I feel the tug of the blanket, but I’m not budging. My fingers curl into the fabric to protect myself. Honestly, if I could fight him off, I would, but I can’t move my arms.
Wells says, “Hey,” one more time before the dim light from outside my little tunnel peeks in because he’s peeled the blanket back from around my face.
My expression morphs into a wince as I blink like a cat sees daylight.
I know my cheeks are a shade of crimson they’ve never been because I’ve never been this embarrassed in all my life.
Wells is squatting down next to my bed, staring at me with amusement coating his expression. But I’m staring back with sheer dread because his eye is red, and I think there’s a bruise already forming.
Slowly, he lifts the dildo between us and smiles. “You dropped something.”
I squeal, wiggling my whole body. It’s a cross between a high-pitched growl and a frustrated shriek due to my inability to free myself from these blanket chains.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he laughs. “I couldn’t help myself.” There’s a beat of silence before he adds, “Was this your way of trying to give me pink eye?”
“Wells,” I shriek. “Please just close the door behind you. Thank you so much.”
He’s still smiling. It’s awful.
“Margot.” He leans closer like he’s got a secret. “Don’t worry, it’s not the first time I’ve had a dick hit my face.”
My mouth opens, then closes. I don’t know what to say to that.
“Never a neon pink one though,” he adds with a wink. “It’s also not the first time I’ve seen a woman masturbate…although—”
I cut him off, eking out, “Please just ignore me for the rest of your life, okay?”
He licks his lips, still grinning. “I would, but you keep buzzing.”
Jesus Christ. I watch in horror as his eyes peruse down my roll-up-shaped body, stopping somewhere near…
Oh god. “It’s nothing,” I groan. “I was using an electronic nail file.”
What the fuck am I saying?
“Kinky,” he tosses out and does exactly what I knew he would.
Wells begins patting around the blanket to find the culprit before I feel him get it in his grip, and then suddenly, it’s silent.
“That’s better.” He winks, but I try to scoot further down under the blanket so my face is covered again.
“Quit,” he complains way too cutely, staring into my eyes.
“You quit. This is humiliating enough without you making fun of me.”
He boops my nose. “I’m not making fun. I’m just glad to see we had an effect on you this morning. Unless it was the sunrise that got you going?”
I can’t help how my body responds to what he just said, coupled with the way he’s looking at me. So I do what feels natural and scowl at him.
He chuckles. “Listen, I came up here to ask you a question, but—”
I cut him off. “I won’t be taking any questions at this time. Thank you. Please close the door as you leave. And speak of this to no one.”
His head tilts, but he doesn’t move. It’s as if he’s debating what I just said. Except, why? He just needs to leave.
“You’re not really in a position to give demands,” he says, but as if it’s almost to himself. My eyes grow wide as he finishes, “I think we should trade my silence for your answer to my question.”
I scoff, briefly realizing that I probably look like one of those Russian dolls. “You’re setting conditions?”
He holds up my fucking dick. “Uh, yeah, because I was assaulted. There’s a billboard a mile down the road for a personal injury attorney. Maybe I should take a hot girl walk and find out how to protect my rights.”
“Oh my god,” I grind out, just wanting this to be over. “Fine. Ask your question.”
The smile on his face grows wider. “Well, now I have two.”
I shake my head, but really, there’s no way out of this but through, so I spit out, “Go. Ask. Hurry up.”
Wells stands, his gaze angled down at me as he crosses his arms.
“First, is your sister full of shit, or are you interested?”
Oh fuck. His candor takes me by surprise and sobers me up from my master-embarrassment. It’s also suddenly scorching in this blanket burrito.
What did she say to them downstairs?
All I know is that I can’t answer this. I’m not ready to answer this. Shit.
“What do you mean, interested?” pops out from my lips before he cuts even closer to the boning.
“We want to fuck you, Margot. I know you know that.” I’m nodding but kind of feeling like I’m floating as he continues. “We’d like to show you everything you’ve missed out on for the last twenty years. Starting tonight. So what I’m asking is, are you down?”
I can feel my chest rising and falling, but the words aren’t ready. Because am I down? I am. But am I brave enough to say that?
Time feels like it’s suspended as he stares at me. But there are a million thoughts ticker-taping through my mind.
This is exactly what I want—experience. I want a wild and untamed time. Something my sister would say I was doing for the plot. But that feels so scary.
Something I always say hits me square in the jaw. Everything worth living feels scary as hell to begin.
Don’t be a chicken, Margot. Jump into the deep end. The worst that can happen is you can tell a story about how you fucked three hot twenty-eight-year-old guys on a beach in Malibu.
Nobody turns that down.
I wiggle to break free from the blanket so I can at least sit up as Wells smirks, taking a step closer to me, then adds, “And second, who did you ask to come down your throat just now?”
I suck in a quiet breath before a smile tries to peek out.
He heard every word I said. And that means he heard his name and just wants me to say it.
If this were a television show, this would be the moment the episode ended because the audience would be screaming as the main characters just stared at each other.
But it’s not. It’s my freakier Friday life. Because I’ve clearly switched bodies with someone braver and cooler than me.
I hear the words come out of my mouth, even though I don’t remember deciding them.
“What time tonight?”