Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
King
Ipat Josie’s back as we stand beside our RV. We’ve been back long enough to change out of those hideous outfits and ask nearly everyone we spotted if they’d like to play her little penis-pepper game.
“There, there. I tried to tell you no one would want to play Peter Pipel’s Peckeled Peppers.” My tongue tangles over the words, but she knows bloody well what I’m trying to say.
She laughs into my t-shirt—the first I’ve worn in quite some time. I figured it was time to break out the new outfits. It’s quite comfortable, though I feel horribly underdressed for nearly everything other than a nap.
Her breath warms my skin. “All these years later, and you still can’t say Peter Piper’s Peppered Peckers. It’s not even difficult.”
“In my defense, I haven’t had to say it in all these years. You’re the only ninny I know who comes up with such rot.”
“God, I hate it when you go full British.”
I laugh. “I seem to recall you begging for a little slap and tickle the first time you heard me speak, and I was far more British then than I am now.” I give her cheek a gentle pat. “We should head to the campfire so that we may learn our fate.”
“I already got the results. Eve and Gary won by a landslide. And don’t think you’re getting out of it that easily.”
Blast.
I never should have agreed to this.
“Josie, I really don’t enjoy spicy things, and I enjoy putting another man’s penis in my mouth far less. Can’t we save ourselves the anguish and just reminisce about the time we played? I lost. I remember.”
“Oh, you remember that?” she says with a heaping helping of side-eye.
I sigh. “I remember a lot more than I let on.”
She nods and starts toward the campers further down the line. “I know.”
My stomach sinks as I follow her and realize she’s heading for Chef’s bus. She’s really serious about these pepper-stuffed penises.
“He probably isn’t back yet,” I say, hoping she’s merely coming here to clear my name in her mind once and for all. He wasn’t in when we arrived back at camp; he’s taken Grim and Rose into town to shop for supplies.
Josie keeps walking, and I feel like a buck in rut with every sway of her hips. I’d follow this doe into a bear’s den. I’m already torturing myself by tending to her needs while neglecting my own. Might as well die, I suppose.
I just can’t help hoping she’ll finally let me live.
Who can blame me for wanting it as badly as I do? The sex with Josie was always incredible because it was so unpredictable. From one moment to the next, she wanted it a different way.
She didn’t—and doesn’t—have a sexual addiction. She has a sexual obsession, a curiosity, an urge, and we sought ways to quell the burning need. So many exciting, dangerous, jaw-dropping, back-bending . . .
Sometimes it was a roll in the hay, but not always. I didn’t want her to only reach for that outlet, especially once I was no longer there. The thought of her with another man still makes my skin crawl. So for those other times, we killed. We cooked dinner. We played stupid games on the beach.
And in the process of teaching her all these healthy coping mechanisms, we went and made a dog’s dinner of everything by falling in love.
I can’t tell her any of this, however. I can’t say that I don’t want to play the pepper game because I don’t want to go down this path again when it can’t end any differently.
Josie reaches the door and raises her fist to knock. After three sharp raps of her knuckles, she steps back. I stand by her side, and we wait. Seconds pass, but no one moves inside. Does the redheaded she-devil take this as a sign to walk away?
Of course not.
“We are not breaking into Chef’s camper.” I try to step in front of her before she can grip the handle, but the little weasel is too quick. She darts under my arm and opens the door.
“It’s not breaking in if I don’t have to break anything to get in.” She sticks out her tongue and rushes inside.
“That’s not how it works.” I groan and follow her, right into the bear’s den. Because if Chef Maurice catches us in here, we’ll both be mauled.
She asks where Chef keeps everything, and I, under great duress, point to each thing she requires. The sooner I play this game, the sooner we can get out of here. She’s disappointed when she doesn’t find many pepper options, and a bit of hope rises in my heart and lifts my spirits.
But does she let it go?
Of course not.
She says she has another idea, and it’s pointless to argue, so I don’t. When Josie sets her mind to something, she very rarely lets go of it until she’s achieved her goal.
I sit back and watch her waltz about the kitchen area, pulling from cubbies and spiriting away items from the fridge. It’s adorable, the way she tries to keep each secret tucked away from my sight.
She’s doing a damn fine job of it too. There’s no telling what I’ll bite into now.
When she’s nearly finished stuffing the skins, she begins heating a skillet of oil on the stove. Fried is the only way dick skin is even remotely palatable, and even then, it’s quite unpleasant.
“We only ended up with five penises, so one of us will have to eat three of them,” she says, and I just bloody wonder who that lucky bastard will be.
“Just fry them up and pass me the trio of stuffed sausages. The sooner I get them down, the sooner I can get them back up again.”
“Ew, David,” she says with a wrinkle of her nose.
“You’re about to feed me a gutted cock with various food items stuffed inside so that I may guess what I’m eating, but wanting to vomit after that is where we draw the line, Alexis Rose?
” I nod. “Noted. And actually, I think it’s only fair you allow me to put random items inside your cock skins.
Do I hear any objections? No? Thank you. ”
I pluck two of the stuffed cocks from her hands while she’s still too flabbergasted to argue. Then I hold them over the bin, empty the contents, and rinse them thoroughly in Chef’s sink.
I try not to consider what I just squeezed out of them, as that doesn’t bode well for what may be in mine. At least I dodged one of the two pepper options.
“No peeking,” I say as I gather ingredients. When I’m satisfied, I stuff one with mayo and the other with a stick of mozzarella. I drop both into the hot oil.
“Damn you,” she says as she hurries to peek at what may be inside, but the skin tightens up and seals everything off where we’ve tucked it into itself on the open end. With a huff, she tosses her trio of cocks into the burbling, hissing liquid.
After a few more minutes, the skins go from yellow to golden brown, and we pull them out of the oil.
I dread the red hue I see through one of mine—the tiny little cock skin she pulled from the child killer.
She had to cut into his gut a bit to even gather enough flesh to make a decent pouch.
But that red coloring tells me it’s the pepper, and it’s either very spicy or not at all.
“You go first,” she says. “I hate hot food.”
I’m fine with that. The hotter it is, the less I’ll taste it. May the first one destroy every taste bud I have. They grow back.
I bite into it, and I’m delighted when only a hot temperature sweeps my mouth. It’s a mild pepper after all. The second contains cottage cheese, and by the third, I haven’t the foggiest. I’m too busy gagging to guess.
“It’s peach jelly,” she says through tears of laughter. “I think all of it melted out during frying, though, so it was just cock skin.”
I grab the small metal trash can and heave into it. I’ll have to remember to take this with us when we leave.
“Your turn,” I say once I’ve rinsed my mouth with water. “Can’t let me have all the fun, after all.”
She squares her shoulders and raises the first penis with a smarmy smirk. Then she places the curled end into her mouth and bites down. Warm mayo shoots from the tip and lands on my upper lip.
“You’re supposed to taste that one, not me!” I swipe my face and try not to go into another gagging fit.
“Mayonnaise,” she says through more giggles. “Fucking gross.”
She grabs the second one before I’ve had time to recover, but at least she bites into the tip this time. The crunch makes my stomach turn, but the cheese pull is impressive enough to settle my attention elsewhere. As she chews, the flavor sparks her mind.
“It’s a cheese stick,” she says. Her eyes open, and she smiles when she sees she was correct.
“A cheese dick,” I say with a grin I can’t suppress. “Get it?”
“Yep, I get it.” She gags. “Maybe keep the cheesy jokes to yourself.”
“Is someone feeling a bit squeamish?” I tease. “I wasn’t cruel. I didn’t put squash in either of them, and I could have. I remember how much you hate that little yellow vegetable.”
“Does he have squash in there?” Her eyes light up, and she goes to the cupboard again. When she turns around, she holds two healthy summer squashes, one in each hand.
My eyebrow rises. “When did you ever get excited about vegetables, let alone squash?”
She bites her lip, and I don’t like that look in her eye. “Ever since Cat—”
“Let me stop you right there.” I hold out a hand and shake my head. Vehemently. “Anything to do with Cat and food? Don’t want to hear it. Absolutely not.”
“Can’t we compromise? Just a little?” She hops up and sets her round ass on the prep counter. “After all, I didn’t get off earlier, and I’m still so needy.”
I want to drop to my knees and crawl to her when she spreads her thighs and pats her pussy, inviting me in. Damn her and her ways.
“What do I have to do with the squash, exactly?”
She twists the gourd in her hand, then cocks her head and looks at me. “I think you can use your imagination.”
Okay. I guess this is happening. I guess I’m about to fuck her with a bumpy yellow squash. In Chef Maurice’s kitchen. When he could return at any moment.
What is it about her that makes me do such horribly stupid things? If I could just figure that out, perhaps I could apply thrust, jettison the contents of my heart, and shoot safely out of her gravitational field.
But for now, I just want to bury my face in her space junk.