Prick Tease (Tangled Desires Book 1)
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Authors: Misti Murphy
Prick Tease copyright © 2015 by Misti Murphy
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This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review. If you have not purchased this book from Amazon or received a copy from the author, you are reading a pirated book.
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Edited by Tami Lund
Cover Design by Clarissa at
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Claire
We have five weeks until the House to Haven charity ball where Henley and I will finally announce our engagement to the public. The whole thing will be televised, from the moment we make our annual speech with the engagement story woven through, to the minute we marry six months later.
Of course I’ve been wearing the ring for the past week, but with how busy I’ve been organizing the annual ball that brings in forty percent of the funding it takes to run House to Haven, the media hasn’t noticed it yet.
Letting myself into Henley’s house, I hang my handbag on a hook in the hallway, kick off my shoes and tread along the cherry oak floor, clutching the box of pamphlets he forgot to pick up from the post office. He’s been so stressed with all his media commitments, the least I can do is drop them off to him on my way to meet Olivia, my second in charge at House to Haven, for a pre-dinner meeting.
Henley’s place is this gorgeous, old, three-story red brick house. It’s been in the family for generations, but his parents prefer to stay at their estate, so in seven months and one week I’ll be calling Travis House my home. It’ll be a huge change from my tiny apartment on the other side of town. “Henley are you home?”
His voice trails out from the living room so I head in that direction. A series of rhythmic thumps and this weird
uh, uh, uh
noise gets louder as I draw closer. It kind of sounds like an injured animal, or maybe Henley’s moving furniture around and he’s managed to stub his toe on the couch. He sure sounds like a girl when he hurts himself.
Rounding the corner, I notice a black, metal-studded stiletto lying against the skirting board. Adrenaline shoots through me. What the heck is going on? Is Henley some kind of a cross dresser? I’m not the type to judge people’s personal preferences, but if he’s keeping secrets from me… I drop the box, the pamphlets falling like so much confetti to the ground, as I stand in the archway to the living room.
Well, the banging sound is, as I thought, furniture being moved around, but Henley hasn’t hurt himself. Although, by the face he’s making while some wannabe porn star bounces up and down on his naked lap, I can’t actually be certain he isn’t in pain. With her head thrown back like that, her bleached to death platinum blonde hair covers most of her skeletal frame, but I can see her hips rolling while she grinds against my fiancé. His hands are gripping her waist while he grunts, “Take it all, baby.”
I can’t help myself. I just can’t. This should be the worst moment of my life. But when he says that, my first reaction is to laugh. It rolls up from my belly, this crazy gurgling sound.
It’s all too ridiculous. Her obviously man-made tits bounce around like some incredibly bad remake of Baywatch while she makes those God awful
uh, uh, uh
sounds, drawing each one out until they become high-pitched squeals. This woman makes Pamela Anderson look classy.
And Henley? Well, I don’t know which one of us is more surprised.
“Shit.” He pushes wannabe Pamela off his lap in the midst of her grand performance and lurches toward me. “Claire, honey, this isn’t what it looks like.”
I’m pretty sure it is. I can’t help but stare. I’m a virgin, so I don’t have first-hand experience with this side of things, but I’ve seen pictures on the Internet. I mean, they say that a man’s penis is supposed to be three times the length of his thumb, and Henley has long slender fingers, so it should be bigger, right? “It looks like two inches.”
He blanches and cups a hand over his totally inadequate appendage as I spin on my heel and leave him to a woman who can bang him while keeping a straight face. Now that I’ve seen what I’d be working with, I certainly couldn’t.
Maybe it’s the shock of finding out someone I believed in is a complete fraud, but my shoulders don’t stop shaking with laughter even as I’m pulling on my shoes and snatching my bag from its hook. Henley Travis is a lying bastard with a tiny pecker and I will not let him see me sob.
The media is going to have a field day over this. He’s the spokesperson for the Christian and Family Network, for goodness sake. His whole spiel revolves around purity and marriage. It’s why we’ve never done the deed. Not that I’m ungrateful at the moment. I could be wrong, but I’m not even sure being screwed by a two inch prick counts as sex. Thank goodness I’ll never find out. I yank open the door and storm out onto the street, ignoring him calling out after me.
The media
is
going to have a field day over this. Even if we manage to keep the fact we were engaged a secret, the show’s producers are going to be pissed. We’ve already signed the contracts between CFN and House for Haven to secure significant donations over the next few years. I slide into my car, sit behind the wheel and try to catch my breath. All it will take for this whole thing to destroy everything I’ve built is one journalist with a nose for a story.
It’s going to get messy.
***
Speeding down the highway toward Reverence, the tears finally start. I brush them away with the back of my hand and order myself to get a grip. I grew up surrounded by the male species. Spent my entire childhood getting into scrape after scrape because of my brothers, and learned the art of not showing any weakness. Now is not the time to cry over a man like Henley.
It’s the time to regroup. My cell buzzes beside me, lighting up with his picture while it vibrates across the passenger seat of my VW. My eyes sting, the road becoming blurry through the windshield. Taking a deep breath, I pull over to the side of the road and tug at my engagement ring. It almost refuses to budge, but I wrench the princess cut solitaire on a platinum band from my finger and toss it out the window.
There’s some palpable relief in that. Almost like the ring had been wrapped around my throat instead of my finger, and I find myself breathing freely for the first time in weeks. I should be devastated. I should be wrecked by his betrayal. I should be a lot of things, but all I can think is I’ve been saved from making the biggest mistake of my life.
When had I gotten so off kilter? The last few months we’d been equally focused on our careers. Even our courtship had been a frenzy of social engagements designed to further our respective reach in the media. When the heck did I turn into this person? House to Haven was supposed to be about helping homeless kids find somewhere to live, a full belly, and clothes on their back. That’s what I care about. Not being in the spotlight. Now I’m going to end up in the spotlight for all the wrong reasons.
Getting back on the road, I ignore the insistent buzz of my cell until the battery dies. I’ll need to talk to him again at some point. I also need to call Olivia about the arrangements for the charity ball, but I can worry about that tomorrow. After I get to my brother Tom’s. Once I’ve had a chance to wrap my mind around what happened, and what will happen when people find out.
My hands start to shake. I was going to marry him. We were supposed to be together until death do us part. On paper, we were perfect for each other. So what if we didn’t hold hands in public, or dance together in the kitchen like I used to catch my parents doing when I’d sneak out of bed. I’d believed we could build that connection with time.
Stands of pines throw shadows over the road in waves, slowly merging into darkness punctuated by the occasional headlights. I wonder when it started. Had this been Henley’s first indiscretion, or just one of many? How many times had he screwed around while we were dating, while he was busy preaching his purity message to me, to the masses? How many times had he betrayed me, not to mention the millions of people who believed in his words about morals, and family, and religion?
Bang, thump, thump, thump
. The car shudders, and I have to use all my strength to keep it from careening across both lanes and instead guide it onto the shoulder. Growing up with brothers, I learned how to cuss up a blue streak, with the firing of a singular synapse. Not that I do anymore. It’s not the image the CFN and I agreed on when they became the main sponsors for House to Haven. But right now I’m beyond tempted. Getting out of the car, I slam the door and manage to catch my thumb.
“Fuck. Mother friggin’ asshole.” Well, I guess my good girl image was going to be as short-lived as Henley’s pecker. My pulse pounds through my injured thumb as I hop from foot to foot, clutching it in my other hand until I can find some semblance of grace. Funny how slamming my finger in the door stings more than catching Henley in the act of revealing who he truly is. I should feel devastated. Instead, I feel relieved.
There isn’t a ton of light from the headlights to see by, but when I walk around the car, I discover that isn’t going to be a problem. The left side tire has blown out, the rubber shredded and hanging loosely around the radial.
“Great.” I stare up at the sky. “Could this day get any worse?”
Huffing, I stalk around to the boot and pop it. I should learn to keep my mouth shut. I should probably get it stapled shut with the way things are turning out. Tears prick my eyes, and I glare at the stupid boxes full of stupid centerpieces for the ball. With a groan I press my palms to my eyes and rub vigorously to shake off my frustration. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Some people say talking to oneself is the first sign of madness, and if that’s the case, I should be locked up by now. At least then I wouldn’t be staring at boxes marked
fragile
, rims of hurricane vases peeking above the edge of the cardboard, and yards of fake ivy, where my spare tire should be. I’d taken out the tire in order to make them fit, with the intention of dropping them at the office after I stopped at Henley’s. Of course, I’d forgotten about it in my haste to escape the city after I walked in on him and that theatrical skank.
Dragging my trembling fingers through my hair, I glance down both ends of the road. I can’t remember seeing any houses while I was driving so my best bet is probably moving forward and heading toward the next town. I grab my phone and toss it in my handbag before fishing out of the backseat the overnight bag I hastily went home and packed after I raced out of Henley’s. Unfortunately I hadn’t remembered shoes, so I’m going to have to cover the miles in a pair of cute red stilettos that are anything but practical. What a complete nightmare. I should have at least called my brother to tell him I was coming, but I hadn’t been thinking. I’d pretty much driven out here on instinct. A move I’m now regretting. At least if Tom had known I was coming he would have come looking for me when I didn’t show up, and I wouldn’t be faced with a long hike into town.