Is that why I don’t want to move? Did I subconsciously know Shay was gripping my crotch?
Her hand releases, and the disappointment is instant.
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.” Her hand moves and presses a warm palm against my chest, but then she must realize I’m bare and she lets go, only to crash against me. “Oh my gosh. I didn’t mean to.”
She wiggles, trying to get off me without touching me.
I hold in a groan because damned if I don’t feel every movement of her breasts against me and her knee rubbing my dick.
She gives up, squeezes her eyes shut, and buries her face in my shoulder. “I should’ve stayed in my room.” Her voice muffles against my skin.
I push aside her hair falling over my face. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”
Her head snaps up, those wide eyes locking on mine, and at the same time, noise stirs above.
We both jerk our heads toward the counter.
The suitcase is teetering on the edge. Then the lid falls open, and the goody bags spill out.
At first, it’s innocent stuff. Heart-shaped candies bounce off her hair. Branded lip balms ricochet off my shoulder. But then the penis-shaped pens follow and the sponsored inevitable dildos. They all topple out, raining down on us.
“Oh shit,” she curses. “I can explain.”
“Explain?” I act innocent, but I know what she’s referring to.
These aren’t the fun toys I found tucked in her bag. No, these are my toys. Or the brands that sponsor me. But it seems this moment of embarrassment has shadowed her in recognizing these are hers.
So I’ll play along.
“I mean, they’re not his,” Shay raises herself slightly to untangle, only to land on me again.
Technically, they were mine to hand out.
Again, I don’t say anything.
“Sweetie, whose else would they be?” Jaclyn says.
“They’re mine.” I’m surprised she takes credit so quickly.
“They’re yours?” Jaclyn’s skeptical eyes run over the belongings. “All of them?”
“Yes.”
Vibrating buzzes in my ear.
“It’s not what it looks like.” Shay reaches across me to grab the toy, and in the same motion, her body plops fully against me.
Completely. Flush. Her body smacks mine with no restraint, practically splattered across my chest, and her cheek brushes mine.
I love every blasted second of it.
“It looks like a suitcase raining penises.” Nettie’s cane hits the floor. “Pink penises. Blue penises. Oh, I like that purple penis.”
“Oh heavens,” comes Faye’s low surprise.
Shay props her shoulder on my chest.
I hiss when her elbows dig in, but she’s too busy trying to turn off the toy to notice. And when it slips from her hands, or plays in slow-motion horror, landing—right—on—my—face.
