Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 136048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
A second orgasm creeps up on me, and I groan, needing to grip the edge of the couch as my knees give out. My eyelids flutter until I have no choice but to clench them and do what little I can to breathe through the intensity.
“Oh God.”
My hips jolt, and my knees shake and tremble, and just as I finally come down from the wild high, frantically gasping, the vibrator shifts inside me, turning at an awkward angle and feeling as though it’s about to tear straight through my walls.
“Oh no,” I gasp, pausing every tiny movement, not wanting it to move any more and put me in the hospital for the fourth time. Because fuck, I thought presenting at the hospital in front of my colleagues with an imaginary stalker was bad, but if I show up with an industrial-strength vibrator lodged sideways in my coochie, I’ll never live it down.
I’m stuck in an awkward bent position, my knees facing opposite directions as I lean against the couch, the buzz of the vibrator the only sound in the room.
This is fucking humiliating. But more than that, it kinda really hurts.
Seeing the empty box left on the floor beside the couch, I carefully try to reach for it. There’s got to be some kind of trick on how to birth this thing out of me, or in the very least, a step-by-step guide explaining what to do if the devil vibrator takes on a mind of its own and lodges sideways inside your cooch.
I do what I can to ignore the constant vibration, but it’s almost impossible, and my body is far too sensitive after coming twice already. I focus on the box, tearing into it and yanking out the papers inside as my hands tremble, and I hastily start unfolding it, my gaze sweeping over the text until I find a warning in big, bold letters—WARNING. NOT FOR INTERNAL USE.
“What? WHAT! NOT FOR INTERNAL USE? Noooooo. Fuck.”
Who the hell crafts a vibrator and shapes it like every other fucking internal device on the market? Is this some kind of sick game? Are the creators keeping a tally of how many women they hospitalize? Shit! Though come to think of it, had it been meant for internal use, there would have been some kind of handle or gripping point, right?
Maybe this one is on me.
Panic pulses through my chest, and I take one last-ditch effort to try and free myself, my fingers diving deep into my vag and blindly feeling around like fucking octopus tentacles, but it’s too high up, too deep, and my fingers don’t stand a chance.
I’m screwed. In every term of the phrase.
Then, as the pain and vibration become too much to bear, I release a heavy sigh. “Siri,” I call, hoping like fuck that my phone is still in the living room. “Call 911.”
12
HARPER-RAYN
What the actual fuck is my life?
I lie on the couch, my back half propped up against the armrest and my feet braced in the birthing position as tears well in my eyes. This isn’t the most comfortable position, and now the mix of the vibration and the pain of the awkwardly situated vibrator is doing nothing but causing me more unforgettable hell.
This goes far beyond any kind of pleasure. This is nothing but pure torture.
The minutes tick by as I wait for the paramedics to arrive, and when I finally hear them stomping across the front porch, the tiniest ray of relief pulses through my veins. That, and an extreme amount of embarrassment. I don’t doubt this will be the most interesting house call they’ll make all week.
I hear them at the door, trying the locked handle, but after telling the 911 dispatcher that I’m pretty much stuck, they’re left with no choice but to kick down the door. And not a moment later, I’m cringing as the door of my home splinters into a million pieces, the sound deafening.
“Over here,” I call out to the paramedics from my awkward position on the couch, my cheeks bright red, knowing that the moment they glance my way, they’ll get an eyeful of my overstimulated pussy.
“Harper?” A panicked tone comes from the door as two large men barge through, the splintered wood cracking beneath their feet. There’s something familiar in the tone, and I arch up, trying to peer over the back of the couch, only to find Ace and Diesel staring back at me.
“OH FUCK NO!” I panic as they race toward me, fear in their eyes. “DON’T COME ANY CLOSER.”
Too fucking late.
The two boofheads all but propel themselves over the back of the couch to get to me, their eyes just as wide as mine, and as they find me spread-eagle on the couch, my vag out for the world to see, humiliation floods me.