Bender (Vegas Venom Book 4)
Bender: Chapter 17

The Venom’s next game is an away game. I don’t usually watch every single game due to my own schedule—and I hear enough about hockey from my brother and my boyfriend, thank you—but Sienna comes over to watch Marco play while I cross all my fingers and toes. I’m hoping they win this time, if only because he was so sad after the last loss. Seeing my man so despondent hurts me just as much as it hurts him. Despite what he thinks, I know my hockey. The Venom played flat last game, and Marco should not be shouldering the entire burden for that tick in the ‘L’ column. However, the blogs are starting to turn on him a bit, reading him the riot act about his game. Apparently, he’s not improving or adapting to the American style of play as quickly as Dante wants. Silas has played plenty of bad games over the years, of course, so I know how much pressure players put on themselves and how much they’ll harangue themselves over the smallest mistake. It can’t be as bad as everyone is making it out to be, but I haven’t seen every single game he’s played since signing. I also don’t know that much about defensemen, and what makes them great. Or not great.

To my dismay, the away game in Dallas doesn’t go much better. Sienna munches on the nachos we made as she frowns at the screen.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she says, “but is he doing okay? I don’t know a lot about hockey, but he just let that other guy get away from him again. It’s almost like he’s not even trying. Or is he just that slow?”

I nibble my fingernail as the camera zooms in on Marco’s scowling face. He looks like he can’t decide if he wants to scream or collapse on the ice in defeat. Even the announcers are commenting on it, especially the color man whose comments are extra ‘colorful.’ My heart bleeds for him.

“Yeah,” I admit as the camera pans to Coach Brenig pacing behind the players on the bench, waving his arms and shouting, “that’s not great. And it seems like his coach is pissed.”

Somehow, the Venom manages to win the game, but that’s not what I care about. I’d rather see them lose and Marco feel content with his performance than watch from afar while he beats himself up over not being better. I’m the first one to understand that a professional athlete can get so far up in their own head when they’re in a slump that they go into a depression.

It’s almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

And if that happens to Marco, I’m not sure I would be enough to help him deal with a real mental illness.

Sienna stays long after the game is over, catching me up on what’s going on with Mare and Lara.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t been around much,” I tell her. “I’ve been busy with work, and I’m spending most of my free time with Marco. Ever since Julie started with the sponsors, my calendar has been out of control. And like my mom always told me, make hay while the sun shines. I don’t want that one opportunity I turn down to be the one that would have helped me reach all my goals.”

Sienna shrugs one shoulder. “It’s not a big deal. Lara and I have been super busy anyway, and our schedules haven’t really lined up with Mare’s either. Besides, you’ve got a gorgeous hunk of man at your beck and call, you know? We’re all living vicariously through you. You’re good, Mads. We’ll have another girls’ night as soon as things slow down.”

I know she means it, but my stomach keeps clenching every time I think about Marco’s game. Is spending too much time with me impacting his performance? Then again, I don’t want to pump the brakes on our relationship. If anything, I’m in full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes mode.

Chatting with Sienna is a nice change of pace and a reminder that I have a lot to be excited about in life beyond Marco. Between my love life and my career, it feels like all my dreams are coming true at once. And that brings a few twinges of guilt rising to land on my heart because Marco is headed in the opposite direction right now. When he returns to Vegas in a few days, I have to figure out a way to help him get back on track.

* * *

After a Netflix binge I shouldn’t have indulged in, I stayed up too late and collapsed face-first into bed without even taking off my makeup. I wake to the sound of my alarm, and a text.

Marco: See you soon, bellissima! ❤ xoxo

Today’s the day of my runway show at Caesar’s for one of Vegas’s hot new dress designers. Marco’s home now, so he’s coming to pick me up. It’s already nine, and I haven’t dressed or showered. The first model walks at one, and I have a call time creeping up on me. I should have set the alarm for earlier, but after causing my own mess with my lack of self-control, I just wanted to get as much sleep as possible to avoid those damn raccoon eyes.

Time to haul ass.

I spend the first twenty or so minutes frantically tidying up the apartment after last night’s rosé-fueled festivities, then bolt for the shower. I don’t have to worry too much about my makeup since someone will be doing that at the show, but I do need to be clean, smelling good, hair-free, and presentable. By the time I’ve shaved, blow-dried my hair, and hustled to the bedroom, over an hour has passed.

Which is when I discover that I have no clean underwear.

Dammit, I knew I should have done laundry yesterday!

“Oh, no,” I groan, digging through my sock drawers in vain. Marco and I have a date tonight, which means that whatever I wear to the show is what I’ll be wearing out into the world. Wearing jeans without underwear is a nightmare for chafing-related reasons, although I suppose I could switch my whole outfit… at the last minute…

My mother’s voice echoes in the back of my mind: What if you get in a car accident and you have to go to the hospital? What will the EMTs think? Logically, I suppose that a lack of panties would be pretty low on my list of concerns at that point, but it’s not like I have options. I imagine the EMTs and emergency room doctors judging my fat, panty-less ass. Unless—

My eyes drift to the sparkly-penis-emblazoned gift bag on the nightstand. The vibrating panties are still inside, they’re a nude color, and they’re clean. Which makes them perfect in a pinch.

I dig through the tissue paper and extract them, along with the remote. I leave it on my dresser since it’s not like I’ll need it for the show. Maybe we can play around with it later, but for now, I need to get dressed. Vegas traffic can be unforgiving, and I don’t want to be late for hair and makeup. I yank the panties on just as the front door opens.

“Madison?” Marco calls.

“In the bedroom. You can come back here.” I snap on my bra about two seconds before Marco peers into the room.

“Oh oh.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “This is what you are wearing today? Very nice, very nice.”

“I’m wearing clothes, too, goofball.” I blow a kiss at him as I reach for my jeans.

He shakes his head as he sits down on the edge of the bed. “Such a pity.”

“I saw your away game,” I say as I wiggle into my shirt.

Marco’s face falls. “Ah. Si. Everyone has been kind, but I have not looked at the fan page. Last time I looked at the blogs, I got sick to my stomach. Like I swallowed a rock.”

“The fans love you no matter what,” I assure him. “Because you’re very lovable and you always give it your best effort.”

“Perhaps, but the pity makes me sad.” Marco’s shoulders droop. “I have had five bad games following each other. They are starting to call me Bender. Can we speak of something else?”

I hear the regret sitting on his tongue. “Of course. We should get going anyway. Got everything?”

Marco picks up his keys from the dresser and gets to his feet. “Let us go, principessa. Your chariot is awaiting.”

* * *

To my delight, Mare is my makeup artist for this show. I’m only wearing one piece today, a diaphanous silk gown that flows around my legs and makes my cleavage, if I may say so myself, look amazing. The material is hand-dyed in orange and purple, like a sunset, and Mare does my makeup to match.

“I can’t believe they make a dress like this in my size.” I run my hands over the material. I should send Phoebe a picture. She would love this, and she would totally rock date night with my brother. If I gave them a helping hand, I might actually get the niece I’ve been pining for. I imagine us playing ‘model’ as soon as she can walk and all the frou-frou dresses I can buy her.

“I can’t believe that you and Marco are official and you didn’t tell us.” Mare purses her lips in an exaggerated duck-face.

“I’m not…,” I stammer, my breath hot as it passes through my lips. “I mean… I guess…”

I guess we are, but I haven’t had to discuss what that actually means. Yet.

“Uh, excuse me.” Mare leans back, removing her brush from my cheeks. “He was backstage with you. He’s taking you out after. He may not have said the words, but he’s your boyfriend. It’s all over the blogs, my dear. Everyone’s talking about how you two are so sweet together you’re giving them a toothache.” Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I smile at her enthusiasm. “You may find this shocking, but with a brother like Silas, I haven’t had a lot of serious boyfriends.”

“Well, you’ve got one now.” She drops her fake-annoyed act and smiles as she adds the last of my blush. “He’s a dream. I’m happy for you, Mads. Go get ‘em.”

“Thanks, I—” I’m cut off by a buzz from my lap.

Mare whistles. “Dang, does that dress have pockets, too? I want one.”

Heat climbs my neck as the buzzing continues. “No, um. No pockets.”

Mare’s intense gaze scans my body. “Where are you keeping your phone, then?”

“It’s not my phone. I think it’s my panties.” I lift my eyes to Mare’s in horror.

I don’t know how, but the damn things just turned on. Holy shit, they must be malfunctioning! This is the worst thing to possibly happen in this moment.

“Are you wearing vibrating panties to a runway show?” Mare’s eyes widen, and so does her smile. “Kinky. Jeez, Mads, have you been holding out on me with your filthy side?”

“It’s a long story…” I begin, my heart twisting right along with my torso as I meet her amused gaze.

“Madison?” The stage manager peers around the room. “You’re up.”

“I need to take these things off,” I whisper. “This dress is long enough, right? No one will ever know I don’t have panties on?”

The man listens to something in his earpiece. “Madison, are you ready to walk? We can’t have a delay between models or the crowd loses energy.”

“Just do it,” Mare hisses back. “You can take them off after. It might even put a little pep in your step.”

This is a terrible idea, but my options are yanking off my panties in front of everyone while they’re vibrating, or powering through. The vein in my temple begins to pulse as I give myself a pep talk. I’m a professional. I can do this.

Without a viable option, I hurry over to the stage manager and wait for my cue.

It should be fine. The vibration isn’t too intense—more of a slight hum. I take my first couple of steps with all of my usual confidence. No problems at all. I’ve got this. Just chalk it up to a funny story to tell everyone later.

Unfortunately, I barely make it three steps before the vibration about makes my teeth rattle and my heart blips as if it’s been tased.

Marco’s waiting at the end of the runway, holding his keys in his hands as he stares at me and applauds.

Or rather, not his keys. He’s holding the remote to my not-malfunctioning underwear, and every time he claps, he turns up the intensity. And of course, because he adores me, he’s clapping harder than anyone in the room. And shouting. And whistling. And then clapping some more.

As I stare at my man, my normal sashay becomes more of a twisted gait resembling a seizure.

How the hell did he get a hold of that thing? And more importantly, how am I going to make it through this without tripping? Face planting? Collapsing into a moaning heap on the runway? Whoever designed these panties was great at their job. The way the vibrations are molding around my labia and centering on my aching clit is sending my heart rate skyrocketing. My body has taken control of my rational mind. It would only take a few seconds of concentrating and I would come hard in front of all these people.

Instead of staring at Marco, I laser focus on Cash Hale and his permafrown. There, that’s better. As I hold his vapid gaze, I think about serial killers and animal cruelty just enough to keep from combusting, but I can’t think about negative things enough that I scowl and ruin my career on the wings of a moment of bad judgment. So I have to walk the tightrope between looking like Squidward Tentacles or completely losing it. After forcing a smile straight from sheer determination and muscle memory, I just hope there are only five or so settings, and that we’re already on max.

I can’t possibly get worse, can it?

Sadly, it can always get worse. The sex toy design team meant business, and there are a lot of settings. Even before I reach the end of the runway, my already wobbly knees are in danger of buckling. Fuck, these things are effective. I love a good vibrator, and under other circumstances, this would be a five-star, would-buy-again test drive.

“That’s my girl!” Marco says as I sway toward him. “Il Perfetto!”

Even though I’m supposed to head backstage, I can’t. My mind goes blank as I hit the end of the runway with a visible wobble. I try to smile, but I’m sure it looks totally unnatural. Flashbulbs pop all around me until I’m blinded by the lights and my aching clit. God, are people filming this? I have never wanted to be swallowed alive by the floor more than I do right now.

“Stop clapping,” I spit out on a strangled groan, meeting my man’s gaze.

Marco’s hands freeze mid-air. “What?”

“Stop clapping,” I repeat through gritted teeth as I all but collapse into his arms, “and take me backstage. Now.”

It’s too late to salvage this show and my career might end up taking a hit, but I don’t really care about that right now. Between my legs, is a raging inferno that hasn’t stopped just because the vibrations have. I’m going to make sure that Marco finishes what he’s unintentionally started.

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