A Million Dirty Secrets (Million Dollar Duet 1)

Milk and syrup back to the refrigerator, cereal box back in the pantry, and I was on my way.

And then the phone rang.

I looked around the kitchen and finally spotted it hanging on the wall next to the stove, but there was no way I was going to answer that thing. Firstly, because that would mean I’d have to leave my sugar haven. Secondly, because I had absolutely no idea who it could be, and it wasn’t my house. Plus, how would I explain who I was or why I was answering Noah’s telephone?

Um, hi. I’m the piece of virgin ass for whom Mr. Crawford paid two million smackeroos to have his dirty, dirty way with. In fact, he just fucked my mouth last night, but that was after I nearly bit off his dick and before he finger-fucked my whore of a pussy into oblivion this morning. He’s not here right now, but I can take a message if you want.

Yeah, that conversation was not going to happen.

So I ignored the incessant ringing and dug into my goodies.

As much as it was irritating me, the sound of the phone did remind me that I needed to call Dez and check in with her. I had stashed my cell phone away in my things, hoping whoever purchased me wouldn’t do something like take it away and forbid me to have any contact whatsoever with the outside world. Noah hadn’t said I couldn’t, so I assumed it would be okay.

Not that I really gave a rat’s ass what he said. I’d sold him my body, not my humanity.

Once I’d scarfed down my breakfast, I rinsed my dishes, put them in the dishwasher, and then I stood there like an idiot. I had no friggin’ clue what I was supposed to do with the rest of my day. I thought about going upstairs and finding my cell to call Dez, but I’d just eaten a Jethro Bodine–sized portion of Cocoa Puffs, so that would be too much like exercise. In an epic light bulb of a moment, I decided to hunt down a television set and get my Maury on instead.

After I had roamed around for what seemed like an eternity, and was really wishing I had left a trail of bread crumbs to find my way back, I finally found what was obviously an entertainment room. It was like a testosterone-filled playground for men. Video game consoles, air hockey table, a massive stereo system and dance floor, theater seats and a leather sectional, a poker table, a wet bar, and the biggest television I’d ever seen. Well, it was more like a wallevision. Seriously, it took up a whole wall.

I wondered if Noah ever sat in here with his hand shoved down the front of his pants in a classic Al Bundy pose.

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.