Can someone please tell me why I suddenly envisioned shoving my own hand down his pants?
Double Agent Coochie smiled knowingly and nodded at me in answer.
“Shut up. You are out of control, missy,” I mumbled to my crotch.
Anywho, I had no clue how to turn the monster of a television on, but I did manage to find a giant remote control on the bar. I picked it up with both hands and sat in one of the theater seats to study it. The thing had a gazillion buttons on it and not a damn one of them was labeled.
This should be fun.
I closed my eyes and did that thing where you swirl your finger around in the air and just let it drop down on a button and hope it’s the right one. Nothing. I opened one eye and looked around, finding rainbow sparkles reflecting off the walls as they spun around the room. I looked up and … He had a disco ball in his man cave? I giggled to myself and tried again. This time Eminem started blaring out of the surround-sound speakers at a decibel level that was probably going to cause me to go deaf in a matter of minutes. I tried to turn it back off, but of course I’d had my eyes closed while I was pressing buttons, so I had no clue which one it was. That probably wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had.
By this time I was frantically pushing buttons, trying to find the right one to stop the insanity, but only causing more insanity instead. I kid you not, the dance floor started rotating, lights were flickering on and off in a multitude of colors, the seat I was sitting in started vibrating and giving me a massage and … What the hell? Was the blender seriously controlled by the damn remote?
One more button and the bastard of a television finally clicked on.
I threw that remote across the room and sank back into the molester seat with the super friendly fingers because, as shot as my nerves were, I could really use that massage.
“Calgon! Take me away!” I shouted at the top of my lungs so that I could hear myself over Eminem’s “Not Afraid.” “Screw you, Slim Shady! I am afraid. Very afraid.”
“What the hell is going on in here?” someone’s voice yelled.
My eyes shot open and I lurched forward, my heart nearly pounding out of my chest in shock. There stood Noah in the doorway with a look of utter confusion on his face.
“Make it stop!” I yelled back.
He walked across the room, picked up the remote from the floor where it had landed, and expertly pushed a few buttons until there was finally silence and my molester chair stopped feeling me up. Well, that part hadn’t been so bad, and I sort of wished he had forgotten to push that button.
“I’m sorry!” I yelled, because apparently my brain hadn’t quite processed the fact that I didn’t need to anymore. Noah raised a brow at me. I lowered my voice and started again. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to watch TV … and who uses a remote with no labels anyway?”
“It takes some getting used to,” he said, putting it back on the bar.
“What are you doing home? I thought you said six.”
“Yeah, well, having never done this sort of thing before, I may have forgotten to go over some details with you, and Polly will be here today.” He opened his suit jacket and pushed it back to put his hands on his hips.
I wanted to bite his belly. Obviously Double Agent Coochie had taken over my brain, traitor that she was.
“And please,” he continued, looking sexy as hell with that red silk tie, “don’t play with shit if you don’t know what you’re doing. We wouldn’t want there to be another mishap, now would we?” He seriously petted his Wonder Peen through his pants as if he was consoling it. I wanted to grab that sexy tie of his and strangle him.
“Pfft, that was soooo yesterday,” I scoffed. “Get over it already. Besides, I kissed it and made it all better for you last night.”
Those words did not seriously come out of my mouth. And that quick, I was thinking about him coming in my mouth. Jesus, Lanie! Pull it together. You hate him, remember?
Him. Not the Wonder Peen or those orgasmically long fingers, which he was currently drumming on his lick-me-right-here hips.
“Fuck you! I hate you,” I said and then gasped immediately, covering my mouth. Not because I was afraid I’d offended him, but because dropping the F-bomb wasn’t something I normally did. I also didn’t normally think about fingers in the very sluttish way I had been mere seconds before. I decided to blame the chocolate and sugar overload for my temporary mental breakdown.
“Oh, you are going to fuck me.” He stalked toward me. “A lot. Just not right now. We’ve got shit to do. Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
He grabbed my wrist and hoisted me up and away from my super-duper molester chair, keeping me in tow as he led me out of the room.
“I’m taking you to your appointment.”
“What appointment? I don’t have an appointment,” I said, trying to pull free from his grasp.
“You do now. It would be quite irresponsible of me not to have you checked out by a physician before I pillage that sweet little pussy of yours, wouldn’t it?”
I stopped dead in my tracks, forcing him to as well.
“You’re taking my kitty to the vet?” I asked, insulted.
“I don’t know you well enough to trust that you are everything that you say you are.” He pulled me roughly against his chest and cupped my ass. “I bought a virgin, and I intend to make sure I got what I paid for. Plus you’ll need birth control, because when I finally do get inside that tight little gold mine you’re sitting on, I want to make sure I can feel everything.”