Page 106 of Sextuplet and the City

ChapterTwenty-Seven

Oh,no. No, no, no!

I flail both arms, the one with the dildo and the one without.

Nope.

I hit the ground with a loud slap, air whooshing out of my lungs.

Skunk.

There are stars in my eyes and a loud boom in my ears.

In a second, the stars stop spinning, but the booming sound is still there. It sounds strangely like a shout asking, “What happened?”

Great question, imaginary shout.

Did I break something?

I scan my ribs and the rest.

No, I think I’m okay.

Wait.

The shouting is louder now, and it’s Art’s voice.

He’s demanding to know if I’m okay.

I inhale some air into my lungs in order to answer, but it’s too late.

Crack!With a violent sound, the door flies off its hinges, and Art’s voice sounds much closer. “Fuck! Are you okay?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Strong arms turn me over, and a panicked Art examines every inch of me thoroughly, like he’s conducting my annual dermatological exam.

Did I hit the floor face first? My cheeks are burning almost painfully.

“I’m okay,” I lie.

I scramble to my feet, unsure of what to do first: hide the toys or cover my naked body with something.

Art grabs my hand, firmly. “Are you sure you’re okay? It sounded like you fell hard.”

Are my cheeks bleeding?

I check in the mirror.

Nope. Just very red.

I can’t believe that on top of everything, I sounded like a sack of potatoes when I fell. What else, universe? Am I about to throw up in front of him? Pee myself?

Frantically, I grab a towel and wrap it around myself. “Okay, since I’m fine, you should go.”

Only now do I realize he’s wearing nothing but black briefs—and boy, they look amazing on him.

Art’s jaw sets stubbornly. “I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re okay.”

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