The Tylenol is because even with his pain threshold being higher than mine, he squealed like a banshee when Harmony ripped the wax from the section of skin between his ball sack and butthole. He not only requested an immediate form of pain relief, he also whimpered for his mother.
I would have laughed if I didn’t recall I could never grant him his wish. Both of us are out of luck in that department. So, instead, I held his hand and encouraged him like he was giving birth instead of having his privates manscaped under the watchful eye of a Scandinavian giant.
When Lennox bobs down to place a kiss on my cheek, I snap out of my trance. “Where are you going?”
We only kiss when we’re saying goodbye and hello, so his peck is a clear indication his night is still young, much less what he says next, “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Don’t wait up.”
My stomach groans like I ate uncooked eggs by the bucketload. I’ve heard those words leave Lennox’s mouth multiple times the past three years, but there’s no doubt they’re more stinging than usual, and when added to his race out the patio doors, I veer my sorrow-filled backside to the bed we’ve left untouched the past three weeks instead of the one nearer the beach.
I can’t shower, but the thought of sharing a bed with Lennox after he’s spent hours gallivanting around town will have me desperate for one, so I have no choice but to change things up.
It’s the safest option out of the many that popped in my head, less carnage-filled, especially since the man who just sprinted out of our room is meant to be my best friend, not a sex companion.
With my quest for sleep gobbled up by annoyance, I give up on my endeavor an hour in and switch on my Kindle instead.
I get so caught up in the words of a local writer, I don’t realize how many hours have ticked by until the early morning sun peeking beneath the patio doors of my room announces its arrival. I’ve been up all night, and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Lennox since he raced out of here.
I try to keep my frustration about that on the down-low when the main door of our room creeps open twenty minutes later. Lennox tiptoes into our room like his buoyancy on the mound makes his six-foot-three height less weighty.
When the room plunges into darkness from him soundlessly closing the door, I switch off my Kindle and place it onto the bedside table, leaving him to navigate our room without adequate lighting.
I chew on my lower lip to hide my giggle when my vengeance goes off without a hitch. He crashes straight into the desk across from my bed, then curses like a sailor when I switch on the lamp to fake that his groan woke me from a restful slumber.
“Cocoa…” he breathes out in a long breathy sigh when he spots my narrowed gaze and folded arms. “You’re awake.”
“And you’re drunk,” I reply when his leap onto our bed rustles up more than the bedding.
The liquor fumes pumping out of him are so potent, I blame them for my lightheadedness when he places his head onto my lap before nuzzling in deep. “I’ve gotten so used to your nails scratching my head every night, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep without them.” When I stiffen, suddenly uneased that he only returned for the scalp massage I commenced within a nanosecond of his head landing on my lap, he peers up at me with worry-filled eyes. “Am I hurting you?” I’m lost to what he means until he rolls onto his side, bringing his lips to within an inch of my crotch. “Harmony said the tenderness should disappear within a couple of hours, but it could be longer for you since it was your first time being waxed.”
“Oh…”
Yep, that’s all I’ve got.
It’s damn five in the morning!
Cut me some slack.
“I’m fine. There’s no pain whatsoever. I feel great.”
“Are you sure?” Lennox’s heavy exhale is more catastrophic to my senses than his constant bid to ensure I live a pain-free existence. “Because you’re wiggling and shit like you’ve got ants in your pants.”
“I don’t have ants in my pants,” I say while slapping away his hand attempting to check for itself. “I have a vagina that could be packaged as new since it’s so unused, but no ants.” I slip down the bed with a groan when the words I was meant to say inside my head slip out of my mouth. My brain doesn’t function well when I haven’t slept, and this morning’s blunder was a doozy.
“Unused?” Lennox asks as his breathing picks up. “From what I witnessed earlier today…” he must not realize the time, “… it got utilized to the max!”
Usually, I love how well he reads me. Today, I hate it because he extracts the truth from my eyes in a remarkably quick three seconds.
“You didn’t finish.” When I throw an arm over my rapidly inflaming cheeks, he mutters, “Why the hell not? You had everything you needed to get the job done and dilated eyes that said it was a hair’s breadth away.” By ‘it’ he means the orgasm I’ve been desperately chasing the past five-plus years. “Summer Ramsay, I hereby revoke the privileges that come from having a scrumptious smelling pussy since you clearly have no idea how to take care of it.”
Did he just say my vagina smells scrumptious?
I lose the chance to replay the scene in my head when he adds, “Instead, I’m going to show youexactlyhow it should be treated.” A squeal pops from my lips when he flops off the end of the bed before hooking my ankle and dragging me down the mattress.
The image of him kneeling between my splayed thighs already has my head in a tizzy, so you can imagine how insane it becomes when he asks, “Do you want to do this with your panties on or off?”
“Dowhatexactly?” I choke out through an unstifled moan.
The glassiness of his eyes reveals my body shouldn’t be responding positively to his heated breaths battering my pussy, but the lack of slur to his words has the deviated side of my brain ignoring them.
