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I decide to go for it. I lunge across him, aiming for the very hand he’s got the remote in. But, damn him, he holds it out of my reach.
That doesn’t stop me. I scramble across his lap, probably kneeing him in the balls several times, and throw myself after it.
Still no luck.
“Jesus Christ, woman,” he cries. “I had no idea how vicious you were.”
I’m swiping at his arm, trying to pull the remote closer. “Give me that thing, dammit. Or I’ll go in my bedroom and watch TV alone.”
“Go ahead. There’s no TV in the guest room. I guess you could watch it on your phone. But that would kind of suck, right?”
Oh, the nerve.
That’s when I lose my balance, falling across his lap with my ass up in the air. I start to push myself up, when I realize I can’t.
He’s pinned me in place, one arm over my back and the other across my legs. I twist and writhe but can’t get any leverage. Not that I’d be able to do much against his brawny muscles, anyway.
“Let me up,” I shriek.
“I just love this movie,” he says, making no move to release me.
“Arghhh!” I yell. “Rake, so help me. You’d better let me up. Don’t forget, I have a belly full of Indian food. I’d hate to puke it up all over your fancy sofa.”
“Don’t worry. It’s all replaceable.”
That’s when I really shriek. “Gross! You’re a pervert! You’re getting a boner!”
It’s pressing right into my stomach.
“I’mthe perv? You’re the one who threw herself clear across me like you were trying to get a cheap feel. And what do you expect. You rub your hot little body into mine, of course I’m gonna get a hard-on. Don’t you know anything about male anatomy?”
He is so gonna get it.
“I did not throw myself on you,” I insist. “I just wanted the remote. You’re the one who can’t control his male genitalia.”
He laughs at something Danny Glover says. “That’s right, Murtaugh, you tell ‘em.”
Rake’s penis is getting bigger and is now pressing into me hard. “Who’s Murtaugh? And when are you letting me up? I… I have to pee.”
“You just did pee. Murtaugh is one of the stars. If you were on board with popular culture, you might know that. Anyway, I’m thinking about letting you up. But this is kind of fun, having you sprawled out across my lap.”
Such. An. Asshole.
“Hold still, Petal. You are just making it worse.”
Jesus. How can it get worse, pinned by a fake husband, whose huge dick is pressing right into my stomach?
But I hold still for him. I’m not above bargaining.
“That’s better,” he croons.
And then he runs his hand over my ass.
“Hey, I didn’t give you carte blanche to touch my butt, Mr. Puck Head,” I say.
That doesn’t stop him. He just keeps doing it.
And you know what? It feels nice. Very nice. Soothing. Calming. Sexy.
