Tousle Me (30 page)

“But this isn’t his story,” I complain, sulking. “It’s my story. And it’s finally my time to do
it
.”

Hunter chortles to himself. “Okay, okay. I can take a hint. Make yourself ready, gosling, and remove your clothing. For in just a few short minutes, you will experience the might of the WOMOC.”

Now that’s what aaaaahm talkin’ about.

I hurry to shed my leggings, t-shirt, Uggs and underwear. You’d think I’d be nervous, being naked with a man for the first time, but you’d be forgetting that I had a half bottle of vodka around an hour ago, and that kind of thing makes the sex flu take over. I’m done with fear and panic. I’m paging Dr Penis, right about now, and my virgin alarm is blaring so loud that there are probably bats in Transylvania with blue balls.

Hunter takes the opportunity to pull off his boxer shorts. The WOMOC bounces free, disturbing gravity somewhere in the universe, and subsequently altering space and time in a pocket dimension where Juniper Armenseabass writes the foreign policy and hobbits are sold as slaves.

“Somebody’s been using his helmet polish,” I breathe.

He puts his hands on his hips and inspects his girth palooza. “How sweet of you to notice. Now.” He crawls forward to give me a kiss. “I shall ready you as is custom for our times.”

“Oh Hunter.” I whimper into his neck. “Two minutes of basic fingering?”

“You took the words right out of my dirty, dirty mouth.” And then he kisses me.

Mmm. Mmph. I mean, I can’t breathe through his tongue too well, but it sure feels nice when he puts a little force behind it. Not sure why he’s flicking my nipples; they aren’t dominoes. Ouch. But hey, now his fingers are going down to—OHMYGODTHEYREINMYHOOHA.

“You have the tightest little pussy I’ve ever had the pleasure of fingering for two minutes,” Hunter says, his voice tinged with caveman lust. “In fact it’s a hundred percent the best vagina I’ve ever looked at, ever ever ever. I used to think I’d had some nice fanny, but just one look at this stunning contraption and I see how wrong I was. The rest of them are shit.”

I don’t say anything, mainly because the feel of his fingers in my hundred-percent-perfect hooha is enough to turn my sex flu into, like, sex cancer. Or maybe sex AIDS.

“Okay.” He pulls his digits out and wipes them on the blanket. “That’s your lot.”

“I love my lot,” I cry, desperately. “I want more, Hunter, show me more!”

“Oh, I’ll give you more.” He climbs over me again, his WOMOC settling at the gaping wet mouth of my snatch. “So much more. Tell me…have you ever had relations with a tube of Pringles?”

“No,” I pant. The fuzz of his balls is quite tickly, and I’m struggling not to giggle. “But I imagined that it would be just like that with you.”

“What flavor were the Pringles, when you imagined?”

“Uh…I don’t know.” I stare at the roof of the tent, blinking furiously as if it will make me think of an answer. “Sour cream and chive?”

“Oh baby. Oh gosling. That’s it, here we go…”

So this is losing my virginity. This is sex. I’m all braced for action and currently, it’s like slapping a moist chorizo against my right nostril. Doesn’t have to go…in? Or is that just one of those lies they tell you, like how anal sex can’t get you pregnant? (It totally can). I shift my hips around while Hunter grunts and furiously bashes the WOMOC against my pink palace. I wonder how long this lasts for, or if I’m supposed to be feeling, like,
more.
I wonder—

Oh SHIT

SHIT

UNEXPECTED ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA!

“Bloody balls cor blimey twat wank bastard tits!” Hunter moans like an animal in pain as he rams himself in and out of my weeping chasm. “Noncey pansy fuck fuck turd mangle teabag!” He grips a handful of my hair. “Oh, gosling. Oh GAWD.”

I lie beneath him, feeling confused. And in pain, but also feeling quite nice, and wondering about the thin line between pleasure and pain all the books talk about, and whether this is it or that my thrush results are just wrong and I’m absolutely infested. With disease, that is. Not cock. Although technically I am currently infested with cock.

Hunter stares down at me expectantly and then gives one of my nipples a flick.

“Oh!” I make myself cry. “Uh…do it to me, big boy!”

“Oh yeah. I’ll do it to you,” he growls.

“That’s it, big boy,” I go on, my confidence growing as my jelly bean begins to throb pleasantly with each thrust. “Biiiig boy. Sean-a Paul.”

He pauses. “Whuh?”

“I…uh…I want it all,” I moan. “Give me every last inch, you filthy fucking fuck!”

We both look very surprised at that one. But hey, I’ve been having sex for like, a minute now. Pretty sure that makes me an expert.

And then I do properly cry out because he takes that
give me every last inch
thing literally, and seems to have even grown a few inches bigger to mark the occasion. With his big wrecking balls bouncing away too, I’m starting to see what he meant by Extreme Pelvic Makeover. I kind of liked my labia though—what I knew of them. I’d prefer to not be split down the middle like a KitKat when all this is over.

“Oh God.” He slows immediately. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry.”

I’m struggling to speak through my rapid breath. “You did. But…it’s strangely alluring.”

The Grin spreads across his gorgeous face. He tosses his damp hair. “I get that a lot.”

“You know,” I mumble into his clavicle as he gets back to screwing me, “I’ll be able to look at your…cock…soon…and…ooh! OOH! I’ll be able to…say…I get that a LOT.”

“Yes you will,” he moans. “Oh yeah. You will, gosling. Honk for daddy now. Honk for daddy!”

I think that means I’m meant to come.

Yeah. Hahahaah. Like that’s going to—

OH MY GOOOOD.

I
am
coming. Von coming. It’s like magic! Like voodoo! Hunter is a very powerful wizard after all.

I’m guessing he’s coming too because he totally gets his Rabies Maddox on and then there’s a pool of love custard dripping down from my engorged girlcore as he pulls out.

Hunter heaves himself along on his arms and checks on his cell. “Aw, hell yeah!” He beats a fist on his chest. “Three minutes forty two! A personal best. Gosling, I swear…you’re an inspiration.”

I sit up, my legs still parted, and peer down between them to survey the damage. There’s some blood, though not the rivers of shame I expected. I look a bit like a red cabbage after someone attacked it with a hammer.

“Are you sore?” he asks, patting my knee.

“A little.”

His lip twitches in disappointment. “Only a little?”

“Uh…” I roll my hips experimentally. “Here and there.”

“Maybe you’ll get some bruises or something on your inner thighs,” he says hopefully. “They’re always nice to look at.”

“I know, right?” I tip my head back and take three deep, even breaths. No more tiny ones in multiples of ten, oh no! “Hunter, thank you so much for curing me with sex.”

He gives a little chuckle. “Paging Dr Penis! You work here is done.” He palms his own crotch fondly.

“Of course, I can always find more work for him to do…”

“Oh really.” He drops a line of kisses along my shoulder, making me shiver. “Could some of that work perhaps be…up your arse?”

“What?”

“Is that a no?” he says forlornly.

“It’s not a yes!”

“But it’s not a no.” His eyes light up like Christmas. “I’ll wear you down with my unpredictably violent and possessive tendencies, don’t you worry.” With that, he gives my aching pussy a little slap, and jumps up. “Get dressed, gosling. I want to present you to the world now I’ve popped your cherry and turned you into a better person.”

I find myself smiling. How can a girl resist an offer like that?

* * *

Hunter leads me through the crowds of jousting spectators. The tournament has long since finished, though he didn’t win in the end; apparently, that’s what happens when you disappear for a boning session after your first round. Not that it matters—the most important thing is that he won
me
.

I do feel fresh and new. Well maybe not fresh, not with a trickle of sperm dripping down my left thigh to pool in the crease behind my knee, but you know, close enough, metaphorically speaking. And I guess it’s just something else for my Uggs to soak up. I feel flushed and giddy and a bit like I don’t have a cervix anymore, and actually, I kind of like it. This is what Enid must mean when she says she gets fuckdrunk. It’s the kind of feeling that makes you want to dance in a field of sunflowers beneath a low-slung and atmospheric moon; the kind of feeling that makes you throw silly amounts of money at lottery tickets, or fall down stairs because your vision’s all blurred. It’s definitely not a feeling that says to me
you should get super pregnant RIGHT NOW
, when I expected it to be more along those lines. Ah, hormones. You so cray.

“Cammie!” Enid waves to me from the medical tent, and I pull Hunter over by the hand.

“How’s Archer?” I ask, suddenly worried for him. I’d thought he just had a little fall; nothing to warrant still being with doctors for this long afterwards. “He’s okay, right?”

She presses her lips together. “Ask him yourself.”

Enid stands aside to reveal Archer sitting up on a stretcher. He’s changed back into his sweats, and is wearing a thick white neck brace. A small cut bisects his left cheek and his black hair is all over the place.

“Hey, Cam-Cam,” he says softly. “How you doing?”

I just got skewered like we were eating barbecue, but it somehow feels wrong to tell him that. “I’m okay. What happened to you?”

He winces. “Didn’t you see?”

“I kicked his arse, gosling,” Hunter supplies with a big side of smuggery.

“Oh yeah. Huh.” I turn back to Archer. “I’m sorry, Archie. About…you know.”

He tries to nod, but the brace gets in the way. So he wriggles about and then tries again. Still no luck. “Stupid freaking thing,” he mumbles.

“We’re still friends, right?” I ask. I couldn’t bare not having him in my life; he’s always been there.

“Still friends,” he croaks. “Hunter…you won her fair and square.”

Hunter nods, and then nods again. Just to show off. “Oh
yeah
, I did.”

Archer’s mouth falls open.

“He means the jousting,” I say quickly.

“No I don’t,” he scoffs. “I mean the sex. The banging. Party time at the Vaj Mahal.”

Archer tries to look away, but he can’t. Poor guy. He gets quite desperate and in the end, he just squeezes his eyes shut.

“Archie.” I tuck a strand of black hair behind his ear. “He’s just being Hunter.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Enid gives me a nudge, which appears to be a hint.

Except I can’t move. A very strange feeling takes over, making the back of my tongue go all rigid and funny, and spreading down into my voice box. “Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

“I…I don’t think I do love you, after all,” I find myself saying. Except I don’t want to say the words. It’s like vomiting when you’re trying to hold it in. What the chips?

“You what?” He snaps up, grabbing me by the shoulders “
What
?”

“I don’t forgive you for what you did to your mom,” my mouth seems to be saying, “and frankly, I can do a lot better than your tousled British ass.”

Even Enid is blinking in shock now. She turns her head very slowly, as if she’s expecting to see a TV crew or something.

“Say you don’t mean that,” Hunter pleads, his voice cracking. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” I manage to blurt. And then my mouth adds, “you suck in bed, you selfish cliché!”

Archer begins to snigger behind me. Enid elbows him in the ribs and he groans in discomfort.

“Gosling, are you okay? Only you look a bit like one of those
Team America
puppets,” Hunter says, his brow furrowed. He shakes my shoulders. “What’s happening to you?”

“I—don’t—know!” Now my entire body seems to be propelling itself away from his, as if we’re opposing magnets. “Hunter, I don’t know what’s happening! This…invisible force…it’s making me…”

His eyes darken in cold realisation. Then he lets go of me—I promptly fall to the floor—and mashes his hands on his hips, staring up. “Author? Bad author!”

“I…” I peer up at him from the dusty floor. “Oh my God! She’s trying to break us up for a cliffhanger ending!”

“And she’s not fucking getting one!” Hunter snaps. He points an accusatory finger at the sky. “You won’t break us, you cynical bitch!”

CAMMIE
, booms a strangely familiar voice. We can all hear it—I see it in the surprise and fear on everyone’s faces.
CAMMIE, YOU DO NOT NEED A MAN. YOU HAVE GOODREADS. AND A PURPLE SPARKLY UNICORN.

“Don’t listen,” Hunter insists. “She’s trying to brainwash you!”

HE BARELY LASTED FOUR MINUTES. AND TRUST ME, IT ONLY GOES DOWNHILL FROM HERE.

Hunter cringes while Archer cocks an eyebrow.

“Four minutes?” Archer says, looking awfully, er, contemplative.

“Three minutes forty two,” I correct. Then Hunter glares and I wish I hadn’t.

WHAT YOU NEED
, author booms,
IS TO GO HOME AND GET ON WITH YOUR LIFE.

“I’m an English major!” I shriek. “I’m not going to have a life! Do you know the employment figures for graduates like me?”

YES
, Author says.
I TOO WAS AN ENGLISH MAJOR
.

“And now,” Hunter snipes, “you’re writing dicks like me for a living.”

I’M WRITING DICKS LIKE YOU FOR A LIVING.

“And me,” Archer chirps, looking perturbed at being left out.

AND YOU, ARCHER. ALTHOUGH FRANKLY, YOU’RE LESS OF A DICK. ON A SCALE OF ONE TO CHRIS BROWN, YOU’RE MORE ON THE PIERS MORGAN END OF THINGS.

Archer gives his brow a little wipe. “Good to know.”

Enid pats his hand with a proud beam.

“Cammie doesn’t need to run away and get on with her life,” Hunter retorts to the sky. “What’s she going to do, blog for a living? I can take care of her with my vast vaults of money.”