Page 17 of Dirty Roxie

“Not so much offensive as trivializing.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Perhaps.”

“This is delicious, everything you picked here.” She gestures to her plate. “I thought it might be something weird, but it’s all normal.”

“And the chef has done an excellent job of preparing it.”

“Nicely done, Mr. Johnson,” she says, using my assumed name.

“Thank you, Mrs. Johnson.” I smile, finding I enjoy referring to her as my wife a little too much than is comfortable. Or safe.

* * *

If Roxie has noticed there’s only one bed in our suite, she has yet to say anything about it. Though, in her defense, I haven’t mentioned it either. There is absolutely no way we can sleep in the same bed, but I’m not so sure she will see it that way. I will give her the bedroom and sleep on the pull-out in the living area.

It won’t be my best night’s sleep, but I also won’t feel tempted to roll over andaccidentallyslip my cock inside her either. I can’t get the image of her in a bikini out of my mind. Or the way her skin quivered at my touch, how soft she felt, and how I allowed my hands to linger long after I rubbed in the suntan lotion.

How easy would it be to slip into the shower with her right now? Giving me unfettered access to her entire naked, wet, slippery body. If it’s possible, my dick grows harder at the thought. I’ve been trying to will away my hard-on since I first touched her bare skin hours ago by the pool.

A very cold shower is in my immediate future. Followed by a quick tug, short and quiet, just to take the edge off. I can take my time pleasuring myself later when she is shut behind a closed—and hopefully locked—door, in her own bed with me in mine. And my mind can travel down all the dark and perverse paths it needs to punish her in all the right ways to find my release. Roxie will be none the wiser, and I won’t have to hurt her or make her bleed for my own satisfaction.

She hums some pop-tune while she bathes, intermittently throwing in words. Something aboutfreedomandyou’ve got to give for what you take. It’s not a song I’m familiar with, but Roxie knows all the seemingly never-ending lyrics. It’s hard for me to conceptualize how she remains happy all the time—kind of like a pop song in that respect. Upbeat and peppy, addicting and rewarding, annoyingly stuck in your head, but you kind of like it there anyway.

Because if I’m to be honest with myself, as much as I loathe to admit it, I like having Roxie Stevens around. And having her stuck in my head is even better.