Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Hannah’s blushing a beet red. “Thank you. Yeah, I actually do think it’d help me to have the thing sitting in my bedroom, just in case. You’d have to promise not to set your expectations too high, even if I decided to ride it, though. I might not be able to relax enough in front of you to have a single orgasm, let alone multiples like in all those videos.”
All those videos. Jesus Christ, I’m hard as a rock underneath Hannah’s kitchen table. “I’d have zero expectations about it. Like I said, you could take one look at it and decide, ‘Nope.’ And that’d be fine.” I take a sip of wine and try not to look as turned on as I feel at the thought of Hannah riding a Sybian. Back in college, Josh excitedly told me about the existence of the infamous orgasm machine, which a woman straddles and rides to hopefully achieve multiple full-body orgasms. After he told me about it, I got lost down a rabbit hole on YouTube that very night and devoured at least twenty videos of women losing their minds on the machine. But that’s where my interest ended—with one night of binge-watching and jerking off. After that, I honestly forgot the thing even existed. But now, suddenly, I’m a horny college kid watching Sybian videos in my fraternity house, all over again. Thankfully, I’m now mature enough to realize my enthusiasm could very well feel coercive to Hannah, if I’m not careful, and that’s the last thing I’d ever want.
Hannah exhales. “Okay. Let’s do it. Will you try to rent one for me?”
“Sure thing.” Thankfully, I sound far calmer than I feel.
Hannah’s blue eyes are twinkling. “I’m excited to explore my sexuality with you. When I invited you to ride my Slip ‘n’ Slide in Vegas, that wasn’t normal for me. You brought out something new in me—something wild. I’m excited to keep exploring that side of myself.”
I’m physically vibrating with excitement. But somehow, I manage to say, “Consider me the Lewis to your Clark, baby.” As Hannah laughs, an alarm goes off on my phone, and I quickly turn it off before announcing, “That means it’s time for your latest surprise.”
14
HENN
I park my car, turn off the ignition, and smile at Hannah sitting next to me. She looks gleefully expectant, I’d say—like a kid on Christmas who knows she’s been a very good girl and can’t wait to see what exciting present Santa has brought her.
“Sit tight, pretty lady. I’ll get your carriage door for you.”
“So chivalrous! But, dahling, isn’t that what we pay the footman to do?”
“Pish. I’d never let a footman touch one of your erogenous zones.”
Hannah giggles happily, the way she always does when we trade Pride & Prejudice jokes. Which we do frequently. Because we’re dorks. Two dorks of the same genus, as a matter of fact, as the paper in my pocket attests. Speaking of which, as I walk around the back of my rental car, I slide my hand inside the front pocket of my coat to triple-check that folded piece of paper is still there. It is. Same as last time.
At Hannah’s side of the car, I guide her out by the hand and do the hand-flex thing for her, as usual. And yet again, the bit kills.
“My coat is in the back,” Hannah says.
“Oh. Glad you mentioned that. I almost forgot our dessert.” I open the back passenger door and grab her coat, as well as a little something I stowed on the car floor, out of sight, earlier today. After hitting another used car lot and doing the whole rigamarole with it while Hannah was at work, I swung by Hannah’s favorite bakery—which I know about, thanks to the digital “VIP” card on her phone—and bought six different varieties of cupcakes to surprise her with tonight.
“Allison’s Bakery!” Hannah gasps out when she sees the pink cardboard box in my hand, its logo emblazed on its top. “The absolute best!”
“You mentioned that.”
Hannah furrows her brow. “I did?”
Shit. Why’d I say that? Come on, Peter. It’s justifiable to tell a little white lie in order to pull off a fun surprise. It’s also justifiable to lie to ensure my online identity remains safe and anonymous until it’s time to reveal it. But there’s no justification for gaslighting the poor girl by telling her she said something she didn’t.
“Actually, wait, no, I think maybe I googled and found out this bakery is highly rated.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is. Their cupcakes are a little taste of heaven on earth.” Hannah bats her eyelashes. “Thank you for getting them. You’re always so thoughtful.”
My heart thumping, I take Hannah’s hand and lead her up the sidewalk for a couple blocks, since I purposefully parked far enough away from our destination to keep the mystery intact for as long as possible. After I’ve guided her around a dark corner, we head down a little pathway to the back service entrance of our destination, where there’s no discernible signage to tip Hannah off.