Kiss the Girl (Naughty Princess Club 3)

I gasp in disgust, and Eric makes a gagging, dry-heaving sound.

“Okay, now that’s just wrong. Derrick! Stop it! Stop it right now, you disgusting ball licker!” I scold, removing my hand from Eric’s shoulder to point at the cat.

That ugly fucker just keeps right on licking and looking at us, without a care in the world.

“Ariel! Ariel, are you down there?”

A shout from above deck has me looking away from the nightmare happening on the couch to stare at Eric with wide, panicked eyes. I quickly scramble off of his lap when I hear footsteps moving across the deck towards the stairs, yanking my T-shirt down over my boobs.

“Honey, are you home?”

Another shout echoes down to us, and Eric gets up from the chair in confusion.

“Who the hell is that?” he asks, watching me run over to a mirror hanging next to the couch to check my reflection and make sure I don’t have orgasm face.

I don’t know exactly what orgasm face looks like, but I’m pretty sure it’s my face right now.

Eric comes up behind me and I glance at him in the reflection, whirling around and pointing to his crotch.

“Oh, my God! I thought you got rid of that thing!” I shout in horror when I see he still has a major tent in his pants next to a huge wet spot.

“It doesn’t exactly have a fucking on-off switch! It takes a few minutes!” he argues, throwing his hands up in the air. “Why are you freaking out? Who the hell is that?”

Footsteps are thumping down the stairs right now, and I glance around the room frantically.

“Why the hell aren’t there any pillows or blankets on this fucking boat?!”

I run over to the couch and grab the only thing I can. I scoop up the fucking ball licker, run over to Eric and thrust him in his hands.

“Here, use Derrick.”

“Use Derrick for what? Jesus Christ what is happening right now?”

Moving next to Eric, I do my best to smooth down my messy bun, which isn’t just messy after Eric clutched it in his fists. It’s a hot fucking mess.

“Right now, we are three seconds away from my dad getting to the bottom of those steps and seeing your dick trying to Hulk-smash its way out of your fucking pants!”

Eric’s face goes white as a sheet and his mouth drops open just as my dad emerges from the stairwell. I give my dad a big smile and out of the corner of my eye, I see Eric’s arms quickly drop as he positions Derrick Alfredo over his crotch.

Chapter 15: C King

“WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON DOWN HERE?!” my dad bellows at the top of his lungs, standing at the base of the stairs with his hands on his hips.

I see Eric’s entire body jerk in fright next to me and glance over to see him hugging Derrick so tightly to his crotch that I feel bad for the damn thing when he lets out a yowl of displeasure.

My dad can be a pretty intimidating guy when he wants to be. He’s around six feet tall and still pretty muscular, even at the age of sixty-five. He started going grey at a really young age and decided to just embrace it. He has a full head of white hair now, which he pays a ridiculous amount of money to have styled at a fancy salon, and he uses more hair product than I do to keep it all slicked back away from his face. He also has a full white mustache and beard that he keeps meticulously neat and trimmed. He kind of looks like Santa Claus. If Santa Claus had muscles and tattoos up and down both of his forearms from when he was in the army.

“Dad—”

“DON’T YOU TAKE THAT TONE OF VOICE WITH ME, YOUNG LADY!” he shouts, crossing his arms in front of him and widening the stance of his legs as he glares at Eric.

“Dad—” I try again, immediately getting cut off. Again.

“NOT ANOTHER WORD!”

“That’s the only word I’ve said so far. Jesus Christ, Dad, give it a rest,” I mutter with a roll of my eyes.

After a few quiet minutes of my dad continuing to stare Eric down and Eric probably ten seconds away from pissing himself, my dad’s face breaks out into a huge grin and he throws his head back and laughs.

“I’m just shitting with you! Oh man, you should have seen the look on your face,” my dad chuckles, uncrossing his arms sides and hurrying across the living room with his hand outstretched. “Michael Triton, Ariel’s dad. But you can call me the C King.”

“Dad,” I groan as Eric nervously removes one of his hands from Derrick and holds it out for my father to shake. “No one calls you the C King.”