“And what lesson was that?” I ask softly as he looks up into my eyes.
“You just learned that you are never allowed to do anything even remotely close to that with a customer. Ever.”
Just like that, all of my anxiety melts away, and I tip my head back and laugh.
Chapter 22: I Want to Lick Your Balls
“Well, it’s not a dick in your vagina, but since it was in the general vicinity, I’ll count that as a win for your cobweb-addled lady bits,” Ariel tells me, holding her hand up for a high five, which I ignore.
“Why do you have to be so crass?” I complain, reaching for the stack of printouts sitting between us at my kitchen counter and grabbing an envelope.
“If you’d be crasser, I bet PJ would have spent the last two weeks sticking it in you instead of leaving you high and dry,” she replies, folding one of the printouts and handing it to me to shove into an envelope.
It’s been fourteen days since that afternoon at Charming’s. Fourteen glorious days of PJ taking me to lunch, taking me to dinner, watching movies at my house with me. We ended each evening making out like teenagers on my couch, hoping my daughter didn’t come down for a glass of water or anything. It’s not as if having sex on the one remaining piece of furniture on the first floor while Anastasia was upstairs sleeping would have been appropriate anyway, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering why he hasn’t pushed for more. Don’t get me wrong, I still had two weeks of orgasms from those make-out sessions, each one better than the last, but I wanted more. I just didn’t know if I was the type of person to ask for it. Or to ask him why he hasn’t asked for it.
Jesus, this is all too confusing.
“You need to just come right out and tell him to stop diddling you with his fingers and diddle you with his dick.”
Even with Ariel sitting right next to me, her words send me off into a daydream, remembering what it felt like to lie next to him on the couch with his hand between my legs. Good lord, that man knows what to do with his fingers.
“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with him, do you? I mean, every time I tried to touch him, he wouldn’t let me. He just kept saying this was all about me and I needed to just let go and enjoy it. It all sounded sweet and hot at the time, but now it just makes me worry,” I tell her.
“Well, you already know he doesn’t have a tiny dick, since you rubbed your naughty self all over it, so that’s not the problem. Maybe it’s crooked. Ooooh, maybe your hairy troll vagina isn’t the problem and his hairy troll balls ARE. He’s afraid you’ll get one look at them and need to fire up the weed whacker before you put them in your mouth,” Ariel muses.
“For the last time, nothing on my body is hairy like a troll. And I’m sure that’s not the problem. I just don’t know what is.”
Ariel smacks one of the printouts down on the counter with a huff.
“This is stupid. Why are we printing out flyers for the Naughty Princess Club? Are we really going to walk around the neighborhood and stuff them in people’s mailboxes? That’s got to be illegal,” she complains.
“Well, our website is up and running and we’re only getting like ten hits a day from Google searches, and no one has booked anything yet. Do you have a better idea?” I ask, continuing to stuff envelopes.
“It’s not like it matters even if we did get a booking. I mean, I can probably wing it, but you and Belle? Good lord, no. You have got to get over your stage fright of taking your clothes off for a room full of people. Ripping your top off in your front yard when you’re drunk doesn’t count. You can’t be drunk every time you strip,” she reminds me.
She’s completely right, but it’s not like I haven’t tried. Last night, Anastasia stayed at a friend’s house, which of course got me all hopeful that PJ and I would finally have sex. Instead, he decided to continue with the boot camp by turning on some music and making me dance for him. It was fine and it was going great until he told me to take my clothes off. I completely froze. The man has had his fingers all up in me and his hands all over my body and I couldn’t even take my clothes off just for him. What if I didn’t look sexy when I took them off? What if he didn’t like the way my body looked when I was standing there in my underwear in front of him, and he couldn’t hide the grimace on his face? If I can’t handle it with a guy who has given me multiple orgasms, how am I supposed to handle it with a roomful of strangers?