Taking Sex Toys to Amsterdam Read online

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2017 Larissa Vine

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-155-7

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Katelyn Uplinger

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Mark, my beloved.

  TAKING SEX TOYS TO AMSTERDAM

  Larissa Vine

  Copyright © 2017

  Chapter One

  Freya lay on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. A crack about a foot long ran from the light fitting toward the window. She frowned. Was it new? Or had it always been there but she hadn't noticed it before? It would be a nightmare if the ceiling fell down.

  Her gaze moved from the ceiling to the top of Simon's mousy head. It was between her legs. Oh God. He was still licking her. She'd been so preoccupied with the ceiling that she'd forgotten about his special birthday treat to her.

  She made a noise, a breathy "Oh."

  Simon kept on licking.

  "Mmm," Freya said with more volume.

  What was the name of that film that she'd seen ages ago? The one where the woman had faked an orgasm in a restaurant? Ah, that was right. When Harry Met Sally. Speaking of films, well of TV shows, she bet that the X Factor was about to start. They needed to get a move on.

  "Mmm," she moaned with more insistency.

  Simon stopped giving her kitten licks and began to lap her like an Alsatian.

  Freya changed things up at bit.

  "Ah," she said. "That's right, baby."

  She gave a scream. Then she stiffened, perhaps over dramatically, before letting her whole body go limp.

  There was a pause. Simon's face appeared from between her legs. He got up from his knees and walked around to her side of the bed.

  "Happy birthday, Pumpkin," he said.

  Tears pricked Freya's eyes. Was that it? Was that seriously as good as it got? Then she remembered the X Factor and sat up.

  Simon held out a hand. "Wait."

  Freya suppressed an eye roll.

  He rushed out of the room in his Y fronts. Then he returned with a box that was wrapped in candy pink paper. Whoever had done the wrapping had done a very neat job.

  He sat on the edge of the bed with his paunch resting on his thighs.

  "So how does it feel to be twenty-three?" he asked.

  "The same as twenty-two," Freya said.

  Simon laughed. "Go on. Open it."

  A tingle went through Freya. She knew that it was wrong to be materialistic but she loved getting presents. She wondered what was inside.

  The box was too big to contain an engagement ring. But perhaps Simon had thrown her off of the scent and had put the ring box into a slightly larger box. Then he'd placed that box into an even bigger box and so on.

  And if it wasn't a ring, it was probably something frivolous. A wrap-around cardigan made from cashmere. A handbag in buttermilk-soft leather. A booklet of poems penned by Simon. Although she was sure that he'd never written a poem in his life.

  She dug her fingernail into the end of a length of tape and peeled back the paper. There was a pause. The silence seemed to stretch all the way up to the cracked ceiling.

  "Well?" Simon asked.

  Freya hadn't taken the gift out of the box yet but she already knew the contents. The box had a photograph of what was inside. It was a Magimix cake mixer‒the dullest, most unromantic gift on the planet.

  "It's—lovely," she managed.

  Simon gave a loud exhale. "Ah, good. And what about the color? A you sure about the orange? It is kind of wild."

  "Orange. Grrr." Freya gave a tiger growl.

  Simon raked a hand through his thinning hair. "You don't like it, do you?"

  "Of course I do."

  "No you don't. I can tell by your face. Choose something else. Anything you like and put it on my credit card."

  He reached across Freya and picked up his phone from the nightstand. It was a clear signal that the conversation was over. She watched him get up from the bed and trek out of the room. He was heading for his study so that he could start working again.

  And it was fine, she told herself. At least he'd remembered her birthday. And now she could get to watch the X Factor in peace.

  Chapter Two

  Freya sat in the Ground Up cafe waiting for Kat to arrive. She'd ordered a chai latte to cheer herself up. It had been three days since her birthday and for some reason that she couldn't pinpoint, she'd been in a funk.

  The cafe door jangled. Freya looked up from her drink. Kat waltzed into the room with her tasselled skirt flowing around her delicate ankles. She moved with the confidence of someone who knew they were hot. And she was pretty. Freya had always thought that her older sister looked like Snow White.

  Freya resembled Snow White too. But Snow White lite. True, her eyes were blue and her skin was as white as snow because she hated suntanning. But her shoulder-length hair was brown instead of black. And she wasn't princess thin. She was curvy.

  Kat came up to the table, bangles jangling on her wrists.

  She leaned down and kissed Freya on the cheek. "Do you want a drink?"

  "I'm fine." Freya gestured to her latte.

  She reached into her purse and got out a five pound note, which she handed to Kat. Her sister was an actress and was perpetually broke.

  Kat took the money and floated up to the counter in a slipstream of scent. Several of the customers turned their heads and watched her. But she didn't seem to notice. She was used to having attention.

  When Freya had been growing up, Kat had been the golden child of the family. Freya's parents had sent Kat to private school but they hadn't been able to afford to let Freya go too. They'd bought Kat the best clothes, so that she would blend with her rich private school friends. And it had been Kat, not Freya, who'd been given the university education.

  Freya was fine about this. Long ago, she'd given up feeling bitter. She was used to settling for second best. And in a way, second best was better. It had none of the glory but none of the expectations.

  Kat returned with a mug of herbal tea and sank down into the opposite chair. "So, how was your birthday? About your present. I will buy you one. I'm hoping to hear back about that Freezies commercial. My agent's sure that I've got the part. What about Simon? What did he get you?"

  "A cake mixer."

  Kat clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh my God. Really?"

  "It's orange."

  "Oh, so that makes it all right? No, don't frown at me like that. You're twenty-three not fifty-three. What was he thinking?"

  Freya sighed.

  She pulled a napkin out of the dispenser and pleated in into folds. She'd had the same thought herself but somehow it had seemed worse when Kat had said it out loud.

  "He did say that I could buy something else," she said. "And stick it on his credit card."

  Kat gave a shriek.

  "I've got it." Her blue eyes were wide. "I know exactly what you should do. Why don't you book a mini-break for the two of you?"

  "That's a seriously expensive gift."

  "Nonsense. Simon's been creaming the overtime. He can easily afford it. And anyway," Kat continued, "don't think of it as an expense. Think of it as an investment fo
r your relationship."

  An investment. Freya felt a tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach. Around her, the colors of the cafe seemed brighter. She was starting to feel excited.

  “I know. I've got it,” she said. ”We could go to Paris. To the city of love.”

  Kat pursed her rosebud mouth. "No, not Paris. You sap. Take him to Amsterdam. The city of sex."

  Chapter Three

  Freya sashayed into Simon's study with the hem of her nightgown brushing against the floorboards. She'd bought the nightgown in the January sale. It was made of white silk and had panels of lace around the shoulders. It made her feel bridal and she imagined wearing it on her wedding night. That's if Simon ever asked her.

  She walked across the rug to the desk. Then she stood behind Simon, who sat at his computer. Code filled the screen. Mysterious squiggles, backslashes, and punctuation marks were set against a background of green. Beside him by the keyboard lay the remains of the curry that she'd made for them. Grains of rice were hardening in a congealed pool of tikka sauce.

  She stepped closer and coiled her arms around Simon's neck. He continued to stare at the screen. His shoulders had a dramatic hunch. He was acting like it was war time and he was trying to decipher a code that had been written by the enemy.

  Freya took a breath. She'd been psyching herself up all evening to ask him about the Amsterdam trip. She felt bad about making him pay for a holiday. But as Kat had said, it was an investment in their relationship.

  "—Simon," she began. "You know you said that I could choose another birthday present?"

  Simon made a noncommittal mming noise and continued to stare at the computer.

  "Well," Freya plowed on. "I was thinking—we could go to Amsterdam. It's supposed to be lovely in the summer. And do you know what people call it?" She dropped her voice to a husky tone. "They call it the city of sex."

  There was a pause. Freya kept her arms entwined around Simon's neck. No doubt he was thinking about the implications of what she'd said. He was weighing up the cost of the vacation against the idea of them having a much-needed break. Coupled with the titillation of them going to the city of sex.

  The silence dragged on until Freya couldn't bear it any longer.

  "Well?" she prompted.

  Simon gave a whoop.

  "Gotcha. Get in!" he said.

  Freya smiled at him. "So you're fine for us to go?"

  He turned in his swivel chair and stared at her. "What's that, Pumpkin?"

  "To Amsterdam."

  He blinked. His mouth hung slightly open.

  "Amsterdam?" he repeated.

  A tide of heat rose up inside Freya's chest. He never listened to her. All he cared about was his stupid work.

  "That's right," she snapped. "To Amsterdam."

  He flinched. "Well, when do you want to go?"

  "Next week."

  He smiled. "Well, I guess we should celebrate. It's such a relief that I've finally fixed the bug."

  ****

  Freya left Simon's study and hurried into the living room. She took up her spot on the couch where she sat alone most nights. From the side table, she picked up her phone and opened up the Internet. Then she started to look for flights to Amsterdam on the following Friday. She knew that she had to act fast in case Simon changed his mind.

  All of the flights on the cheap airlines like EasyJet and Ryan Air were full, she discovered. Amsterdam was clearly a hot spot in the summer. But there were still some seats left on British Airways flights. They were expensive—two hundred pounds for a return. But to hell with it, she thought. Their relationship was worth it.

  She hurried back to Simon's office. He was firing off a triumphant email to the project manager telling him that he'd worked out the code.

  "Si—mon," Freya said. She hated the wheedling tone in her voice. "Can I borrow your credit card for a minute?"

  He stopped typing and reached for his wallet which lay by the plate of curry. For a second, he hesitated. Then he pulled his card out of the front section. Freya felt like lunging forward and snatching it out of his hands. But she made herself stay calm.

  He handed her the card. "Now, don't go crazy."

  She smiled at him sweetly.

  She floated out of the room and fetched their passports from her sock drawer. Then she went back to the sofa and jumped back onto the Internet. Soon it was done. She'd booked the mini-break. They were heading to Amsterdam next Friday afternoon. Amsterdam, the city of sex.

  Chapter Four

  Freya sat behind the counter in the library wallowing in the mid-morning lull. It was 10 a.m. and no one had troubled her for ages. The switchboard was dead and the place was mercifully free of customers.

  Across the industrial-grade carpet, she could see Miss McAllister. She stood in front of the bulletin board with her legs slightly apart in her tweed skirt. Her bony hands were planted on her bony hips. Light glinted off of her horn rimmed glasses.

  She was checking the posters on the pin board to see that they all had the library stamp of approval. If they didn't, Freya knew that Miss McAllister would tear them down. Even the sweet posters that advertised local handymen or mother and toddler meet up groups.

  Sometimes Freya was scared that she would end up like Miss McAllister. They seemed to be following the same miserable trajectory—an early career in the library, a few minor promotions then days spent scowling at the customers and chasing off the homeless guy who always tried to bed down in the biographies section.

  Freya's phone bleeped on her desk jolting her out of her thoughts. She glanced down at the screen. It was a message from Kat.

  All set? The message said.

  Freya smiled.

  You betcha, she replied.

  She'd taken all of the Amsterdam guide books out of the travel section, all five of them. The most recent one was only a year out of date. And she'd scoured through every page.

  Stop stressing, she typed back.

  Pulsing ellipses appeared on the screen. Then—bing—another message: Where r u taking him?

  Anne Frank's house, Remembrant Museum, a cruise.

  WTF?

  ???? Freya typed.

  Another message from Kat: Stop thinking like a librarian. This is the sex capital. Watch a sex show. Eat oysters. Smoke a joint in the park."

  Freya dropped the phone like it was hot. She whipped her head around, suddenly scared that Miss McAllister had crept up behind her and had read the message over her shoulder. Could she be fired for receiving a text like that?

  But no, Miss McAllister wasn't there. She was still by the notice board. Freya chewed the skin on the inside of her lip, as she thought about what Kat had said. A joint in the park. It sounded so wild. Suddenly, she felt way in over her head.

  She heard another bleeping sound and glanced down at her phone.

  Kat had texted again. Meet you after work. We're going somewhere.

  Where? Freya typed.

  In response, she got an emoticon of a smiley face.

  Chapter Five

  Freya had never been to a sex shop before but Kat had insisted. Now they were walking down the brightly lit aisles. The store was different than Freya had expected. She'd thought it would be gloomy and populated by men in raincoats, who stood lurking in the corners. But the store was airy. Chart music played from the speakers. Couples browsed the shelves, chattering to one another like they were shopping for knickknacks in the market place section of IKEA.

  Even still, Freya felt ickky about being in a sex shop with her sister. She trailed Kat, dragging her heels. Kat stopped by a display of whips.

  "No way," Freya said.

  "Don't be a spoilsport."

  Freya shook her head.

  "How about this?" Kat picked up a ruler from the shelf.

  It was black and gold. A tassel drooped from one end.

  Before Freya could say anything, Kat had dropped the ruler into the basket.

  They hurried on, past loads of hefty-look
ing paddles before stopping at the handcuff aisle. Kat picked up a pair of handcuffs that were covered in pink faux fur and, ignoring Freya's protests, she put them in the basket.

  She held up a blindfold. "What about this?"

  Freya giggled. "No. This one. It has to match."

  She picked up a pink mask. As she deposited it into the basket, Kat shot her an approving look.

  They walked on to the vibrators. Freya's eyes bulged when she saw them. Wow, there were so many of them. And in so many colors. And in such a bewildering amount of shapes. Kat grabbed a small one from the shelf. She seemed to know which one she was going for. It was a lot squatter than a regular vibrator. Its rose gold contours gleamed in the light. It looked like a beautiful object of art, Freya decided, and could have been displayed on a coffee table in someone's living room.

  "Why do I need a vibrator?" Freya asked.

  Kat stared at Freya like she was from a different hemisphere. "Why do you need it? To have fun together."

  Freya blushed.

  Next, Kat picked up some love balls. Then to Freya's relief, she made her way toward the check out. They came up to the till. Freya stared at the automatic doors behind it. She couldn't wait to pay and leave.

  She watched the sales girl pick things out of the basket with her long fake nails and scan them before dropping them into a plastic bag.

  The sales girl held up the vibrator. "You're going for the bullet. Good choice."

  "Why's it a good choice?" Freya asked.

  She saw Kat and the sales girl exchange a glance.

  Chapter Six

  When Freya got home, her apartment was empty. Cool, she thought. Simon hadn't got back from work yet. She'd been dreading him seeing the bag of sex toys and teasing her about them. She knew what to do with the ruler and the handcuffs. Well kind of. But the love balls? What did people do with those bad boys?