Page 25 of Sacred Vow

“Tell me about it,” I mutter, striding toward her and snatching the wine bottle right out of her hand, lifting it to my lips, and taking a long swig.

The bitter taste makes me cough and scrunch my face.

This shit is disgusting. Chloe only buys the fancy shit.

Me, I like the cheap stuff that gets the job done faster.

“What the hell is this? It tastes like rotten asshole mushed up.”

“Of course you’d know what that tastes like,” she quips, snatching the bottle right back.

“Okay, what gives? Why are you in a pissy mood?”

She lets out a heavy breath and flops back to the couch, taking a swig of her shitty wine. “You know that B minus I got in Professor McAsslesschaps’ class last week?”

I nod as a stupid smirk pulls across my face at the ridiculous nickname, remembering the photo Chloe and I stumbled across of Professor McKnight at a frat party at this very college over twenty years ago.

It was clearly a very wild night, and judging from the state of Professor McKnight’s ass in those assless chaps, it was more than clear that the guy used to work out. Used to being the operative words.

“Well, apparently Professor McAsslesschaps likes to golf at the same country club as my father, and they ran into each other.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yep. The guy had the audacity to tell my father that if I only applied myself a little more, I could have a real future in anthropology.”

“What the hell? That B minus was the highest grade McKnight has given in over three years.”

“That’s what I said, but apparently that’s not good enough for the Whitmore name. Besides,” she adds with a scoff. “I’m not even interested in anthropology. I only took the course out of pure curiosity.”

“That’s shit,” I say, striding toward her and taking the shitty wine out of her hand again. “You know what we need?”

Chloe glances up at me, her brows arching as if waiting for me to solve the world’s problems.

“We need to get fucked up, and not on this shit,” I say, shoving the wine aside. “We need the good stuff.”

Her eyes widen as she gets to her feet. “The good stuff?” she asks, excitement brimming in her honey-brown eyes.

“Oh yeah,” I say, skipping into the kitchen and reaching for the highest cupboard above the fridge and reaching in. “The good stuff.”

Pushing up onto my tippy toes, I reach right into the back of the cupboard and blindly feel around until my fingers brush the cool glass. I grab hold of the bottle and pull out our most beloved bottle of cherry vodka. I even feel happier just looking at the pretty bottle.

“Find the shot glasses,” I announce.

Chloe hurries around the other side of the kitchen counter, immediately scrambling through our cupboards. We have a billion shot glasses, only when it comes time to find them, they all magically disappear, and we end up using glass tumblers instead.

“Okay, got them,” Chloe says, bringing back the biggest shot glasses known to man. They’re practically buckets, but I’m down if she is. “But while we do this, you have to fill me in on the Zephyr and Caesar situation. I’m still trying to decide if it’s zesty or incesty.”

I laugh and go to shrug her off when I recall a very particular moment on the dining table that was interrupted by a certain silver fox, and while it’s definitely not considered incest in my book, it’s definitely enough to bring me pause. “Zesty,” I finally confirm. “Definitely zesty.”

I launch into my rundown of the past few days, and an hour later, there’s not a single drop left of our beloved cherry vodka, and I’m proud to admit that I can no longer feel my lips—or my toes, for that matter. My fingers are a little questionable, too.

Demi Lovato’s ‘ Cool for the Summer ’ booms through our small apartment as we dance around, singing into my big, pink silicone dildo as though it were a microphone.

I spin around, having the time of my life as I shout out the lyrics, hoping like hell that our neighbors are enjoying my wonderful rendition.

“Okay. If you can suction it to your head and spin around ten times before making it in a straight line from the kitchen right through to the bathroom, then I’ll let you drag me back to Vixen for round two with Massimo.”

My jaw drops. “Nu-uh. Don’t get me excited like that.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Chloe laughs before an almighty burp tears out of her that’s borderline vomit.

I spit into my hand before holding it out to her. “Shake on it,” I say, two seconds away from making a blood oath.

Chloe doesn’t hesitate to spit into her hand and slap it against mine, and as spit splatters across both of our faces, we finally take a second to realize what the hell we just did, which only has us both doubling over with laughter.

“Okay, okay, okay,” I say, recovering a moment later before gripping the big pink dildo by the shaft and slamming it against my forehead. “Ahhh, fuck.”

My head immediately aches, and as the dildo falls straight to the ground, I stare at it, completely bewildered. “How did that happen?”

“You gotta wet it first,” Chloe says, scooping up the dildo before climbing up onto our sofa bed that we pulled out for some reason I can’t quite remember right now. Though I’m sure it will come to me soon.

She grabs my head before tilting it toward her, and the next thing I know, her tongue is working across my forehead.

“Simba!” she declares before laughing at herself.

“That should do the trick.” Then, without skipping a beat, Chloe smacks the base of the dildo to my forehead, giving it a good squish to make sure it’s really on.

She steps back, hopping down from the sofa bed, and we both hover with anticipation, waiting for it to fall off, but when it sticks and starts bobbing around, we break into another fit of laughter.

“I’m quite literally a dickhead,” I laugh, wobbling my head and going cross-eyed as I try to look up at the silicone cock hanging from my head.

“Okay,” Chloe says, struggling to catch a breath through her laughter as she fumbles with her phone, bringing up her camera to film this for proof of our deal, because when it comes down to it, we both know that if I make it clear across the apartment, she’ll do whatever it takes to try and get out of going back to Vixen. “Get spinning.”

A stupid smile rips across my face as I double-fist the dildo on my head and whip myself around, only remembering to count my turns when I’m already three or four rotations deep.

I spin faster than my counting and end up doing at least eighteen turns before Chloe declares it’s time to start my catwalk across the apartment.

I’m already lost, my head spinning as I try to find my bearings, and it takes me all too long to realize that I’m still standing in the living room when I probably should have started in the kitchen, but it’s too late to care now. All that matters is moving my ass.

Gripping my big, swinging pink cock as though it could somehow stabilize me, I put one foot in front of the other, getting all but three steps when my knee slams into the sofa bed and I crash down against the shitty mattress with a howling laugh.

Only when the bed creaks under my sudden weight, my laugh quickly morphs into a loud squeal, and not a moment later, I’m sandwiched inside the sofa as the mattress closes around me.

“AHHHH!” I scream.

“WHAT IN THE EVER-LOVING FUCK?” Chloe belches before her horror morphs into more uncontrollable laughter.

“Don’t just laugh at me, bitch. Get me out of here.”

I try to shove against the mattress, but it’s no use, and with Chloe bursting at the seams, I realize I’m going to have to get comfortable. I’m going to be stuck in here for a hot minute.

“Holy fucking shit,” Chloe says. “I got that whole thing on camera.”

I laugh to myself, knowing that’s going to be on repeat for the rest of the night, and as I try to move around and get comfortable between the folded mattress, I realize the dildo is still suctioned to my head.

“Hey! It didn’t fall off,” I announce, my words muffled by the million blankets around me.

Quick jolts rumble through the couch, and I can only assume that Chloe has finally started trying to free me, but with each quick jolt comes more laughter, followed by an alcohol induced hiccup. “Uuuhhhh. So, we have a problem.”

“Do not tell me that I’m stuck.”

“You might be stuck,” Chloe informs me. “If you weren’t such a pantry pirate, it might not be so hard to get you out.”

“A pantry pirate?” I gasp. “Are you calling me chunky?”

“Damn straight you notably nourished, buffet bandit.”

I suck in a gasp. We both know there’s nothing notably nourished about me. I’m slim and toned. I don’t even have an ass worth remembering, except for maybe Caesar. Though I’m sure he’ll remember it for different reasons.

“You better watch your back when I get out of here.”

“I wonder how long you can stay in there before you run out of oxygen.”

A stupid smile pulls at my lips, and I attempt to shake my head, but my dildo gets caught on the mattress and keeps me from moving. “It’s not like I’m suffocating. I have air. But I’d prefer more.”

“Oh, look,” she calls, momentarily forgetting about our peculiar little situation. “The Uber driver is almost here with our new bottle of cherry vodka.”

“Oooooh,” I sing, never so excited in my life.

“I wonder how Caesar feels about cherry vodka. Do you think he’s a cherry vodka kind of guy?

” I ask through the heavy cushions, imagining all the things he could do with cherries.

Eating them. Licking them. Popping them.

“I bet he gets down with those cherries.”

“Damn. I need a cherry man.”

“HEY SIRI,” I call, hoping my phone can pick up my voice from inside the sofa bed as I feel Chloe trying to break me out of my sofa prison again. “DO YOU THINK CAESAR LIKES POPPING CHERRIES?”