The doctor checked me over and told me there was no serious damage, just a small puncture wound. It didn’t penetrate the sack, meaning my boys are still intact. Thank fuck. I had feared at one point that I was going to be leaking cum out of the wrong hole.

The doctor just said to take it easy for the rest of the day, so Alex drove me back to the hotel. Then, he left to run some errands.

God, that seamstress—wardrobe assistant, whatever the hell she is, I can’t believe she stabbed me in the balls.

When I first walked in on her twerking her ass off, I thought she was funny. Cute.

Okay, she’s hot.

And, when she was on her knees at my feet…yeah, there was a lot going through my mind at that moment—right before she stabbed me in the balls, that is.

She might be hot, but she’s a danger to cocks everywhere.

Reaching the door, I check the peephole. Never can be too careful. I might go under a pseudo name in hotels, but the fans always seem to have a way of finding me.

Nope, not a stalker fan. Her. Ball-Sack-Stabbing Chick.

I swing the door open. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“Oh. Hi. I spoke to your PA, Alex. He told me where to find you.”

Alex is so fired.

“What do you want?” I frown.

“To…um…” She shifts nervously, biting her lip. Her lips are glossy and painted red. She’s dressed in a different outfit from earlier as well.

It’s surprising that I remember what she was wearing earlier. But I do. I remember because I liked the way her tits looked in the top she was wearing.

Now, she’s got on one of those jumpsuits that women seem to like wearing nowadays. It’s short, showing off a gorgeous pair of long legs. She has heeled sandals on her feet. I notice her toenails are painted red, like her lips. Lifting my eyes, I see the necklace she’s wearing has fallen into her cleavage.

I instantly have dirty thoughts about putting something else between her cleavage.

My dick pokes his head up.

Whoa. Down, boy. Crazy lady who tried to take one of your boys out, remember?

“Well? I haven’t got all day.” I’m being an ass, which isn’t like me. But then again, I’ve never been stabbed in the junk by a chick before.

Anger flashes in her eyes, but it’s quickly gone, and I’m oddly disappointed.

I kind of liked arguing with her earlier even if I was in pain. Arguing with her felt like foreplay.

“Can I come in?” she asks, her voice a little more pronounced than before.

I sigh and then stand aside, letting her in.

As she passes me, I get a whiff of raspberries and vanilla. It makes my head spin.

I shut the door and follow her into the living area.

“Nice place,” she says, her eyes taking in the space.

“It’s okay, I guess. So, what can I do for you?” I ask, folding my arms, leaning my ass against the back of the sofa.

She presses her hands together in front of her. “I came to apologize again, Mr. West. And, also, to thank you for not having me fired. I want you to know I appreciate it. Really, I do. And I shouldn’t have yelled at you; I was totally out of line. And what happened earlier”—she nods south, at my junk—“has never happened before. I swear, I’m a total professional, and I really am good at my job.”

“Opinions vary.”

She sucks in a breath, anger flashing through her eyes. Then, she blows out a calming breath.

A sick part of me is enjoying this. Watching her squirm.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like someone stabbed me in one of my balls with a pin.”

She grimaces. “I honestly don’t know what happened.”

“I do. You weren’t paying attention to what you were doing.”

Her mouth opens, but no words come out. Very slowly, she closes her mouth.

“I brought you something.” She reaches into her oversized bag and pulls out a parcel wrapped in brown paper along with an envelope.

She hands the envelope over.

I open it and pull out what appears to be a homemade card.

It is a homemade card. A little old-style film camera, a clapper board, and the Hollywood sign—all made out of different fabrics—are glued to the front, and written in glittery gold pen at the top…

“Get West Soon.” I lift my eyes and brows at her.

“It was a play on well and your name, West. I thought it sounded cute at the time, but…yeah, it’s pretty lame…” She trails off, looking at her feet.

It’s not lame. It is actually kind of cute.

I’m being a dick.

“You made this?” I ask.

Her cheeks turn pink, and she smiles. She has a great smile. It lights up her whole face.

“Yeah. I like to make things. Clothes mainly. But I like to make cards; it’s more personal than buying one, you know.”

I wouldn’t know. I haven’t bought a card in years. It’s not like I can pop out to the shops to get one. Not without a bodyguard at the very least. Alex always buys them for me.

“Is that for me as well?” I gesture to the package she’s still holding in her hands.

“Oh, yeah. It’s…well, it’s just something I made. I thought it might help, but you don’t have to use it. And I’m sorry about the paper. It was all I could get.” She hands it over.

I put the card and envelope down on the sofa and unwrap the package.

Staring down at the unidentifiable black object in my hand, I toss the wrapping paper onto the sofa behind me. “Um…what is it?”