“You’re either going to have to stop screwing me so hard . . .” I smirked at Jake, “ . . . or you’re going to have to buy me a rubber ring. These chairs aren’t good for pussyache.”
“Pussyache?” Jake scoffed knowing exactly what I was doing. “Tell me how you have pussyache when I just fucked your arse into another continent?”
Source: wiktionary
Eyes. Orgasms. Dick.
All were easily forgettable. Right?
Wrong.
She didn’t need this headache. Or was pussyache more appropriate?
Source: wiktionary
Towering in front of her with those fuck-me, chiseled facial features and more muscles than an anatomy textbook. Who the hell did he think he was? Giving her the most confusing pussyache of a lifetime.
Source: wiktionary