Page 21 of Badd Love
"Oh yes." I picked a recent Sandler release and started it. "You watch this with me and give it an honest chance, and I’ll let you pick the next one, no questions asked."
"You've got yourself a deal," he said.
Which is how I found myself shoving my hand between his legs for the next four hours. For Cool Ranch Doritos, granted, and not his big fat salami, but hey, you gotta start somewhere.
No, no, no—bad girl, Linz. Youdo notwant Dane's big fat salami. Not now, not ever. Off-limits.
As if on cue, while I was scolding myself, he adjusted his junk, reaching down his pants and shifting said girthy kielbasa off his thigh.
Gah, fuck me. Stop thinking about the penis, woman. It's not that hard.
Not yet, it's not. Let me get my hands on it and—
NO.
Bad.
Bad girl.
Spank me, daddy.
FUCK.
I shot to my feet abruptly, inadvertently knocking Dane's wine all over his faded, perfectly fitted blue jeans that had just the right amount of rips, and which cupped his beefy thighs and rock-hard ass like a second skin.
So now he was on his feet, staring down at the red wine stain on his crotch and thighs.
"I…shit, sorry. My fault." I hurried into the kitchen, snagged half a dozen sheets of paper towel, hurried back, and started patting at his groin.
He grabbed my wrists after a second. "Linz?"
I realized what I was doing—rubbing at his dick with paper towels—and leaped away. "Sorry, sorry. Sorry. I'm a spaz."
He indicated the dark brown leather duffel bag on the floor just inside the doorway. “I’ll just change real quick. Maybe Mom can get the stain out later."
“Really?" I asked. "Mama still does your laundry?"
He stuck his tongue out at me. "No, Lindsey. I do my own laundry. But she's better at stains than I am. She can get just about anything out. So if I have a bad stain, yeah, I let my mother help."
"I suppose that's valid." I gestured at the door to my room. "Bathroom is through there."
He rummaged in his bag and came up with a folded article of clothing, vanishing into my bathroom. A moment later, he emerged wearing a pair of gray sweatpants.
Yes, really.
The cruelty is real, I tell you.
Big fat salami? Outlined. Swaying heavily with every step. Was he even wearing underwear? The way that monster sausage of his pushed against the material, I couldn't believe he was.
Why do you hate me, God?
I snatched his jeans out of his hand, took my stain-removing basket from the closet where I kept it, and sprayed the stain with multiple products. I caught his look and rolled my eyes. "I'm not your mother, but I too deal with stains, Dane."
He frowned. "Okay?"
"Period blood? Every woman deals with it, Dane. We're experts at bloodstain removal. That's why you shouldn't fuck with us."
"Oh, right." He shook his head. "You don't have to do that. I'm not worried about the jeans."
