Free The Randy Romance Novelist by Meghan Quinn Page B

“Like the folds are so large and mad that they’ve turned purple.” I put the phone on speaker, set it on the arm rest and dove in deeper to the ins and outs of my vagina. “Right now, it’s not as swollen as usual, but post-coitus, it’s usually more swollen. Is that something?”
    “Why am I still listening to this conversation? You lost me at purple vagina and pushed me over the edge with post-coitus.”
    “I’m not kidding, Delaney. I’m seriously concerned. Can vaginas be allergic to dicks?”
    “How am I supposed to know? Search it on the internet. Wait, actually . . . don’t.”
    “What am I supposed to do? What if it gets worse, what if my entire vagina falls off one night? Oh, my gosh, do you think it turns purple because Henry’s penis suffocates it? Do vaginas need oxygen during sex? He is kind of big for me.”
    “You literally have made me speechless. I have nothing to say to you, Rosie.”
    “You’re no help,” I said, spreading the lips on my vagina to get a closer look. Just as I was about to get an up close and personal with my “bean,” from the corner of my eye, I saw Sir Licks-a-Lot charging at me like Braveheart on his horse, one paw in the air, and a meow-like war cry escaping his cat mouth. His sights were set on my exposed area, as if he was just dying to have a pussy to pussy high five with me.
    I screamed bloody murder and stuck my foot out as a force field, just as Henry opened the door to our apartment. Sir Licks-a-Lot was mid-jump when my knife hand connected with the side of his body, deflecting him to the side of the couch, where he clamped onto the water bottle and ran off with it.
    “That demon,” I screamed, legs still spread, vagina still open for everyone to see.
    Confusion was etched all over Henry’s face as he took in the scene before him. “Uh, hey, love. Getting a good look at your pussy for me?”
    “Is Henry home?” Delaney called out over the speaker phone. “I hope so because I am done talking about your purple, heavy weighted, ankle tickling vagina. My best friend duties are over. Peace out, crazy. Call me once you’ve tested out some strippers.”
    Delaney hung up the phone, leaving Henry and me to ourselves. Without saying a word, he walked over to me, kneeled before my spread legs, and asked, “Your vagina has been tickling your ankles?”
    Before I could answer, his tongue was on me, melting me straight into the couch. All my worries and concerns were washed away the minute Henry’s mouth descended upon me.
    ***
    “Henry, the Chinese food is getting cold!” I called out from the kitchen. I was wearing Henry’s shirt he wore to work, sleeves rolled up, of course, and Henry was just getting out of the shower.
    It was Friday night, and instead of going out to the bars like Henry used to, he was snuggling up next to me and watching one of my favorite romantic comedies, When Harry Met Sally .
    Two months ago, Henry could be found at some of the hippest clubs in the city, staying out until two in the morning, only to wake up at six to go to work. Now, he found himself tucked away in our modest apartment near Broadway, eating takeout, and watching sappy movies with me.
    I was one hell of a lucky girl.
    I worried sometimes that maybe he missed his old life, but whenever I brought it up, he always shut down that thought quickly. Pretty sure he was starting to get annoyed with my insecurities over our relationship, but honestly, it was one of the first ones I’d ever had, and Henry was really hot. I told him all the time he was out of my league, which he just laughed at and told me otherwise.
    “Did you get spring rolls?” Henry asked, walking toward me in only a pair of sweats and a towel in hand, drying off his short brown hair. I took a moment to reflect on his well-cut chest and muscular arms, flexing with every movement. I drooled over the small beads of water that dripped off his head and the way his eyes lit up whenever he saw me.
    “Uh,