Page 106 of Gin and Lava

I don’t even know who’s talking, but I can see Trifecta in the corner smiling like this is something he just voo-doo conjured from the bathroom. I wouldn’t put it past him.

“I’m fine!” I growl, batting away female hands that are groping at my shorts—again, not how that fantasy was supposed to play out. I’m not fine, but the last thing I want is to pull out my coffee-blistered cock. It’s not that bad, of course, but half the room is acting like it melted off. “I just need a minute—” I hiss, grabbing the pillow and pressing it between my legs as I stand up. Lumbering toward the door, Trifecta bites back a grin and points to the bathroom.

“Lavatory’s that way, chap,” he says.

“Lavatory, chap?” I toss back at him. “Who says that shit? Oh right, doctors with little dicks.”

“Oh? You want to compare right now?” Trifecta asks, ready to throw down.

“Trust me,” I growl. “Even limp and blistered, I’m still bigger than you.”

“Stop acting like children!” Naomi snaps, silencing us both. “Mason’s got an excuse.” Naomi glares at Sam. “But you don’t!”

“What? Mason can say whatever he wants, but—”

“Be better, Sam!” Naomi snaps, grabbing my arm and pushing me through the living room. She was yelling at Trifecta, but it feels like I got slapped. It’s not as painful as boiling coffee on my dick, but it’s definitely not pleasant.

Naomi escorts me to the bathroom, but the last thing I want is her walking in with me and playing nurse. Especially after thatbe bettercomment. Is this all she expects from me? Disappointing bullshit?

I wrangle my elbow from her grip. “I can do this myself.”

“Are you sure?” she asks kindly, not realizing she insulted me a second ago.

“Oh yeah,” I grumble. “One-on-one cock shit is my bread and butter. Please stay out here with thebetterhalf. I wouldn’t want to lower your standards with my broken cock. I mean, I’m not really worth much if it doesn’t work, so—”

Naomi stares at me slack-jawed. That was mean. I didn’t say it loud enough for anyone else to hear, but Naomi got the message loud and clear.

“Mason?” she whispers, a twang of hurt in her tone, but my dick is throbbing—and not in the good way—so the last thing I care about is consoling her.

“Burnt cock,” I remind her, shutting the door in her face.

Not my proudest moment. I get that.

I’ve said a lot of crazy shit in my life and I haven’t given two fucks about it. But saying the real truth about me and Naomi’s “relationship”?

Yeah, that one hurts like a motherfucker.

31

NAOMI

Mason decides to bail on the rest of Shauri’s long list of activities—kayaking, the botanical gardens, the Polynesian Cultural Center. He blames his coffee-broiled cock, saying he can’t walk around for hours without it swelling to the size of a coconut. I offer to stay behind and hang out, but he says he should go to work.

“I can stand behind a bar and mix Mai Tai’s without taking four steps,” Mason claims. “And if my burnt pecker acts up, I’ve got an ice machine I can fuck.”

That earns him a wince from all the men.

I politely excuse myself from everyone and walk Mason to his car, a tension growing between us that’s thick as frosting.

“Are you okay,” I ask, watching him throw his duffle back in his back seat. “It’s not really that serious, is it?”

“Consider this a good time to finish all your vision boards,” he replies with a frown.

“Should we call a doctor?”

“You’ve got a doctor in the beach house.” He points behind me.

“Someoneotherthan Sam,” I bite out.

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