As if I can turn away now.

Suds slips off her white sandals and moves like some kind of sexy goddess as she hoists herself to sit on the edge of the ring, and then twists slightly to place one foot on the ledge, spreading her knees apart. She giggles, carefree as anything as she climbs inside. With a swivel of her hips, she grips the edge and turns her back on her friends. She leans back, showing off how fuckin’ incredible her tits are as her upper body hangs upside down off the edge and she balances like some kind of kinky yoga teacher with her toes reaching for the sky.

I palm the front of my jeans. I don’t know why I had to physically confirm that I’m hard as a hammer.

“You tease! Hurry up and ride that animal,” April shouts.

“We need more champagne,” Vicky squeals at a passing waitress.

Suds pulls herself up and then throws a leg over the machine and wiggles her hips until she settles into position. She gives a nod and then the bull starts to move.

With each roll and twist, Suds sways her body, holding her left arm high in the air and pushing her chest out when the time is right. She’s in control. She makes it look as if she was born to be a bull rider, but more than any of that, she’s hot as fuck.

“Here’s your Coke,” Jones says, and holds the tall glass in front of me. I choke. On what, I’m fuckin’ baffled. As I scull down my drink, the bubbles itch inside my nose with each gulp.

“Will you look at that?” Nathan says from beside me. “What I’d give to have that beauty ride me. Holy hell. The way she rolls her hips …” The bull turns so her front is facing us. “Those tits are frickin’ superb.”

Suds has now gained the attention of a large crowd of guys, who are milling around the edge of the ring. I hate that they’re watching her. Everyone in here is ogling at my …

“We should go,” I bark out. I’ve got a right mind to haul Soph over my shoulder and drag that sexy arse out of here. It’s not my place, and she’s not my girl but fuck, if only.

Why am I thinking like this? Is the desert air doing something to my brain?

“Um, yeah. Drink up boys,” Jones announces. “We don’t want to disturb the girls on their night out.”

****

The two strippers hover over Jones as he lies flat on his back in his Calvin Klein jocks where the coffee table was just minutes before. Stone, Billy, Nathan, Steve and Brett sit around the neighbouring couches, and I perch on the arm of a chair in the corner. Stone looks more interested in the label on his beer bottle than the main attraction in front of him. The other guys look like salivating dogs ready for their next meal.

The end of “Wet” by Snoop Dog blares through the portable speakers. Thank fuck the song is nearly over.

Every other man in the room is transfixed on these women as the ginger-haired girl takes a can of shaving cream and starts shaking it. As she performs this simple act, her bare oversized boobs jiggle. They’re big, but her skin looks stretched to almost bursting point. Those nasty surgical scars underneath her tits leave no illusion as to whether they’re fake or not. It makes me wanna vomit.

When they said they did tricks, I had no idea what that entailed, I just said they needed to keep it clean. Nothing that in any way shape or form would lead the bride-to-be to inflict grievous bodily harm on me, or more importantly, on the groom. I hope to fuck they stick to the plan.

“This’ll be cool to start, honey,” the dark-haired waif says as she squats over him in a black string bikini. She might as well be wearing nothing, because the top is more like putting two discount stickers on a pair of watermelons.

“You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC kicks through the speaker and instantly my mood sours. Suds. This is something she’d listen to. I’d give anything to be with her now, rather than be witnessing this freak show.

The waif squirts shaving cream across Jones’s chest, down his torso, and then finishes off with a smiley face over his cotton-covered cock. Ginger girl kneels at Jones’s head and then open her legs and kneels on all fours, giving Jones prime view of that leather thong that’s parting her rounded cheeks. She clutches his wrists out to the side in a typical sixty-niner pose.

She glides her tits down his chest, mewling and squealing like a porn star as she spreads the shaving cream between them, making sure she gets her pussy close enough for him to smell her. I check the wall clock. We’re only at half-time.

“Lick that puss,” Brett yells, knocking an empty beer bottle off the coffee table. Lucky for him it doesn’t smash, but rolls aside.

“Fuck you, Brett,” Jones mutters, his eyes closed. My bet is that he’s probably waiting for some kind of natural disaster so this will be over.

The song finishes and Ginger rises to her feet, grazing her long pink fingernails up the length of his chest.

“Time for some fun,” the brunette says with an evil glint in her eye. “It’s Getting Hot In Here’ by Nelly fills the room.

“Jesus,” Jones says, lifting his head to look down his body, which has remnants of cream everywhere. The brunette rubs it off with a black towel and then applies a thick layer of cream to his chest in the shape of a star. Then she makes a circle around it.

Ginger tosses her a small box.

Nelly keeps on telling us how hot it is.

A lit match is tossed at his chest. The cream sets alight, the flames dancing around the pattern until the entire star is on fire. I gasp and take a few steps closer, watching as my friend becomes some kind of pagan sacrifice.

“Shit, that’s freaky,” Brett says, in a creepy low voice.

“Shit,” Jones curses, his jaw tight. “Is it supposed to be this hot?”

“Feel it, baby boy. You look so hot.” The brunette places her heel-clad feet either side of his head and draws in long breaths of the dark smoke rising from his body through her nose, as if she’s getting high off it. Her head lolls about as she slips her hand inside her G-string and fingers herself. Is she fuckin’ high?

“Fuck, that’s burning!” Jones roars, flailing his arms about.

The smoke detector goes off. Its piercing cry triggers panic. Everyone is out of their seat. Nathan starts yelling at the ceiling.

The groom curses as the smoke continues to swirl into the air. I snatch Jones’s T-shirt from a nearby chair and swipe the flaming cream off his body, which is now blotched with shades of dark pink. “You okay, bro?” I fan the shirt towards the ceiling, trying to clear the smoke.

“What the fuck just happened?” he asks, confusion clouding his blue eyes.

“I’ve got no fuckin’ idea,” I grunt out. I usher the girls to the side of the room, but watch on as Billy stands on the arm of the lounge and bashes the alarm.

“Sit the fuck down, Billy,” I shout. The blaring alarm continues, and Nelly is still fucking whining.

“I’m pretty sure settin’ my friend on fire was not part of the fuckin’ plan,” I roar at the girls. My jaw ticks as they stare at me and dismiss my comment as if I just told them a joke.

“That was hot,” the brunette says and pouts. “I thought Aussie boys would totally be into it.”

“Get dressed and get the fuck out,” I yell.

They scramble for their clothes and head for the door. If I hadn’t paid them already, there’d be no way they’d get a cent out of me for this fuckin’ show.

Billy roars and rips the smoke detector from the roof.

“Billy, I said get the fuck—”

A ceiling tile smashes over Jones’s head, dropping him to the floor like a sack of shit.

“Fuck me dead,” I mutter as I rush to Jones’s aid.

It’s a fuckin’ madhouse in here.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

SOPHIE

Sunday