Chapter 6
650 Words
Chapter Six
At first, all the blood in my body rushes to my face. Then, with screeching tires, it makes a sharp U-turn and crashes down into my c**t.
Fuck. f**k. f**k. I prop myself up against the doorframe so I don’t fall as my heartbeat jackrabbits.
The vibes keep attacking my s*x.
Must. Not. Moan. Or show that anything is happening at all.
Also, how weird would it look if I just ran away? More importantly, why does this feel so insanely intense? The vibration is on the lowest speed, but it feels like I have a blender in my pants and a fire in my core.
Is it all the adrenaline coursing through my veins? Or the near orgasm from earlier?
Oblivious to my situation, The Russian tosses me the dance belt. “Wouldn’t want you to forget your keepsake.”
On pure autopilot, I catch the undergarment—and almost bring it to my nose for another luxurious whiff.
“And you’re sure this device isn’t yours?” He waves the remote.
Not trusting myself to open my mouth, I nod.
“Seriously odd.” He frowns at the remote and presses the speed-up button.
Holy c******l stimulation. If I thought this felt intense before, I was wrong. Now I have a jackhammer working on my privates, and keeping quiet is becoming infinitely harder.
Something must show on my face because I see concern in his chocolate eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks.
Instead of answering, I muffle a moan with the dance belt.
He gives me a sharper look. “What’s going on?”
I don’t answer. Between mortification and riding the wave of pleasure, I don’t dare move the dance belt from my mouth.
“Is something buzzing?” He looks at my crotch. “Is your phone on vibrate?”
I shake my head vehemently.
A devious glint appears in his eyes. “So… whatever that buzzing is, it doesn’t have anything to do with this remote, correct?”
I shake my head again.
He pointedly ups the vibration another notch. “Are you sure?”
I can’t shake my head at this point. My eyes roll into the back of my head, my toes curl inside my shoes, and a moan escapes my makeshift gag.
He takes a step toward me, his eyes darkening as they roam over my face. “What if I press this button again?”
I give him a wild-eyed look.
He presses the button.
That’s it.
This is full-blast vibration, and it pushes me over the edge.
The orgasm that crashes into me is a seven on the Richter scale—the ground cracks, buildings collapse, and pipes burst.
He turns off my panties.
I lower his dance belt and gulp in calming breaths. My heart is still racing, and my shirt clings damply to my back.
The Russian folds his muscular arms over his chest. “You came.” His words are a statement, not a question.
I gulp in another breath. Everyone always talks about faking orgasms and never about the opposite—something I’ve clearly failed at. When I trust myself to speak, I say, “That was a seizure.”
His eyebrows snap together. “You’re epileptic?”
“Sure.” Great. Instead of faking a non-orgasm, I’m faking a serious medical condition.
He presses the “on” button on the remote, and I have to bite back a gasp as the vibrations bring on an aftershock. Looking triumphant, he points at my crotch. “There’s a buzzing.” He presses the “off” button. “And now it’s gone.”
My face flames as the sensations recede. “Fine. You caught me. I’m wearing s*x-toy panties. Are you against women surf-channeling if that’s what they want?”
He grins wickedly. “Nope. In fact, feel free to wear your contraption to the dinner. And I’ll bring this.” He pockets the remote.
I have no words.
Zero.
My legs are unsteady as I take a step backward, toward the door.
“I’ll text you,” he says casually, as if we’ve just been on a coffee date.
My words are still nowhere to be found. I take another staggering step toward freedom, and then I turn and sprint as if the evil sorcerer from Swan Lake is chasing me.
Which, for all I know, he might be.
- Writer
