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My breath comes in staccato pants as I try to gather myself against the absolute flurry of emotions attacking my system.
Holy shit, I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.
I’m going to have a penis in my body. Like, inside. All the way.
Holy, holy shit.
He looks up to meet my eyes as his lips touch the skin under my belly button, and it’s all I can do to stay standing.
I’ve never had a role on a medical show, but I’m pretty sure I’m on the brink of cardiac arrest.
“You’re beautiful, Rocky,” Harrison whispers, the tiny flutters of air from his words tickling the skin of my belly and sending my stomach for a ride up into my throat.
They’re words I’ve heard a million times, but when Harrison says them, my hair wet and face fresh from the shower, for the first time in a long time, I actually allow myself to believe it.
He moves his lips from my stomach downward, over the bone of my hip and following the line of my thigh all the way to the inside.
My knees start to shake, but if he notices, he doesn’t make a big thing of it, for which I’m eternally grateful. I don’t want to think too hard. I don’t want to get so lost in the details of how momentous an occasion it is that I forget to enjoy myself. I deserve this. I deserve this night for me and no one else, and by God, I’m not going to let myself ruin it.
I close my eyes and get lost in the sensation of his lips on me. Warm and sure, they show affection to each inch of my skin with equal and devoted attention. His hair feels soft in my hands, and he hums appreciatively at each new part of my body.
When my legs grow so weak that the tremble can no longer be ignored, he picks me up with an arm behind my knees, swings me fully into his arms, climbs to standing, and carries me to his bed as though I weigh nothing.
I wrap two tight arms around his sculpted shoulders and hang on as he settles me into the plush comforter and steps back again to push his pants down his legs.
I swallow hard as his cock goes from a foggy bulge in his pants to an undeniable thing of majesty. Thick, long, and veiny, it screams its arousal with impressive attention.
Dear God, I was not prepared for a penis of this magnitude.
This penis is king of the pride of penises on the most magical wild safari.
This penis is Mufasa.
“You okay?” he asks, climbing onto the bed in front of me and spreading my legs with sure but gentle hands.
I nod before blurting, “I just want you to know I wasn’t planning this. This is unexpected but welcome, and I…I think you’re great.”
His smile takes over his entire face as he falls to his stomach on the bed and looks up at me from between my parted legs. I have to actively work at not passing out. “I wasn’t expecting this either. And I think you make great look bad.”
“Gah. Is someone scripting these lines for you?”
He laughs with a shake of his head. “I’ve never been in show business, but if we were in a movie, I’d just be a secondary character.”
I lift a brow.
“You, Rock. You’d be the star.”
Raquel
Hand over the damn keys because it’s time for me to drive.
When light bleeds through the curtains over the balcony doors of my bedroom the next morning at the sound of my alarm, it’s as if I can feel it shining straight into my soul. Clarity—the kind I haven’t felt for a frightening amount of time—sits at the front of my mind and begs me to set my life to rights.
I can’t let myself feel so out of control anymore. I can’t let myself be a passenger in the stupid fucking van I should be driving, and I shouldn’t allow anyone to make me feel like I should be. I have to take responsibility for my choices—good and bad—and handle them in the way that brings me the most peace of mind.
Sure, I’m successful to a degree, but I’m also a woman without a family to fall back on, no friends of my own making, and a puppet on a very large stage. And in the grand scheme of life, that doesn’t make me so successful at all.
Eager to start setting things straight, I jump out of my bed with the spright of a far less pregnant woman and charge into the bathroom with determination.
I brush my teeth with vigor, run a brush through my hair, and do a quick scrub of my face that serves as even more symbolic ammunition. I’m a clean slate in many, many ways, and it’s up to me to put the makeup on the canvas. Or…something.
