Split or Swallow, page 1
Split or Swallow
Lindsay Straube
Lucky Lemon Books LLC
Copyright © 2024 Lucky Lemon Books LLC
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and events in the book are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and not intended as accurate representation of real incidents or people, living or dead.
Cover Art: Chalice of Saint John the Evangelist, Hans Memling, c. 1470/1475
Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington
All rights reserved.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact:
luckylemonbooks@gmail.com
Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
ISBN: 979-8-9912590-1-9
This book is for anyone who has ever wanted more.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
CHALLENGERS
PRAISE FOR SPLIT OR SWALLOW
“Guaranteed to make you orgasm, unlike men.”
— @montes_cathyy
“Invest in towels. Trust me.”
— @emmieonfire
“Your nipples will be hard the entire time.”
— @theaudthought
“A forking good time.”
— @elizabeth.m.cox
“If you weren’t an ophiophilist before, you will be now.”
— @iamortiz12
“It’s got something for the whole family.”
— @snkngnhg
“Get ready to have a thing for snakes!”
— @allisonkhenson
“This is feminism.”
— @thealiplante
“I never knew I was into basilisks before this. Split or Swallow has opened many doors (and legs).”
— @hellomarianallen
“Will have your boyfriend asking: ‘Do you wish I was a basilisk?’ after sex.”
— @abbyrose71
“There is NSFW, and then there is Split or Swallow.”
— @patriciafdavidson
“I never thought I’d be attracted to snakes, but here we are.”
— @thelostmitten
“Absolutely not safe for work, but so addicting you’ll read it in the break room anyway.”
— @bookbiche
“I had to pray the rosary before and after each chapter.”
— @ktgroberts
“Too hot to read in one sitting, pace yourself.”
— @michaela.whitney
“Grab a bucket and a mop…”
— @sparrowjay
“100% horkable, so open wide, ladies.”
— @squashingtondc
“Lindsay Straube will make you bust a nut three times in one chapter.”
— @rhian_kempf
“This book will slither its way right between your thighs and into your heart.”
— @geenareena
“Keep extra batteries by your bed…you’re gonna need them!”
— @hannahisastud
“You’ll forever be wishing you could be railed by a basilisk.”
— @spicy_bookcorner
“Forget bat wings. It’s scales for me.”
— @toril
“Did someone say forked tongue?”
— @shipshapesmithy
“This book made me want to have sex with a basilisk.”
— @winnielovesahsoka
“Do not read at your desk at work…or do!”
— @shannon.olinger
“Sex, snakes, and chicken shit. What more could you ask for?”
— @natashawnsl
“I’ve never horked a book down so fast in my life!”
— @amb.patel
“I’ve found this to be the perfect book for my corporate lunch breaks!”
— @mcfadden
“Be prepared for quivering parts.”
— @lexolunag
“Keep your vibrators ready.”
— @carsoncodi
“So you’re thinking, ‘A basilisk? Really?’ The answer is YES. REALLY. This book changed me.”
— @katiec
“Ditch your job and read this.”
— @bridgiebaboo
“Better than a baguette.”
— @manicpixiespacegirl
“A wild ride.”
— Lindsay’s mom
“What Lindsay’s mom said.”
— @girly_pop_00
ABOUT THIS BOOK
I’m told it’s best to go into this book with absolutely no knowledge of its contents. As such, you’ll find no blurb or summary here. Instead, I will leave you with some sincere advice: buckle up. Split or Swallow is unlike anything you’ve ever read before, and you may not read anything like it ever again.
Say goodbye to the person you were before this book. And once you’ve read it, hand it to your friend so they can read it too.
LINDSAY STRAUBE
Lindsay Straube is a writer living in Portland, Oregon. She drinks tequila with lemon and watches TV with subtitles on. On any given Tuesday, you can find her at the movies.
Come say hi:
Instagram: @oxfordlemon
Website: www.oxfordlemon.com
CHAPTER ONE
“You’ll never guess what happened to me last night,” Vera whispered.
Tem sighed. She had come to the bakery to deliver eggs and had gotten gossip instead. It was always that way with Vera.
“What happened?” she asked.
Vera leaned over the counter so only Tem could hear:
“Jonathan took me under the bridge.”
Tem’s mouth fell open. Everyone knew what happened when a boy took you under the bridge.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes,” Vera smirked. “I saw his—” she glanced over her shoulder, then back at Tem, “—cock.”
Tem blushed at the word.
“You’ve never seen one?” giggled Vera, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder in haughty satisfaction.
“No,” Tem muttered. Vera knew quite well that she had never seen one, at least not in person. There were plenty depicted in the marble statues that lined the steps leading up to the church, but those were nothing to write home about. They looked like baby carrots. “What was it like?”
Vera leaned in, pursing her lips in a conspiratorial triangle.
“It was firm,” she whispered. “Like a cucumber. But warm, and it fit perfectly in my hand.”
“You held it?”
Vera laughed. Tem resisted the urge to hurl an egg at her.
“You don’t just hold it. You play with it. You stroke it up and down,” she moved her hand to mimic the motion, and Tem memorized it instantly. “Until he finishes.”
Vera giggled cruelly at the look on Tem’s face.
“Oh, Tem,” she whimpered, her condescending tone unbearable. “Don’t worry. You’ll learn tomorrow night. That’s what the basilisk is for.”
Everyone knew what the basilisk was for.
“Of course,” Vera continued. “It doesn’t hurt to have an advantage. After all, the prince is going to pick the most skillful girl. I intend to get as much practice as possible.”
Only Tem knew the painful truth, which was that there was no one she could practice with. The boys her age didn’t talk to her, and if they did, it was only to inquire whether her mother’s farm had any spare roosters available. Gabriel was her only friend, and he wasn’t interested in girls at all. But it didn’t matter anyway. Tem had always known she wouldn’t have a chance with the prince, regardless of what the basilisk taught her. The prince was far more likely to choose an experienced girl like Vera to be his wife.
It was as if Vera knew what Tem was thinking, because she said:
“You could always practice at home.”
Tem looked up.
“How?”
“Touch yourself. If you know how to do that, you can better understand how to touch someone else.”
For once, Tem felt a small surge of victory.
“I’ll try that tonight,” Tem said, keeping her secret to herself.
Her superiority disappeared immediately at Vera’s next words:
“Of course, I was so pleased when Jonathan returned the favor.”
Tem’s jaw dropped.
“He touched you too?”
Vera smiled widely, eager to perform for her audience.
“He didn’t just touch me. He tasted me.”
Tem frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Vera laughed, the sound cutting Tem to her core.
“No, you wouldn’t, would you? You’ve never even been kissed.”
Tem’s embarrassment only deepened. If Vera wasn’t referring to kissing, she must mean the other, more intimate act—the one Tem had only ever imagined, and never expected to experience. Blush rose once again on her cheeks, dovetailing perfectly with her shame.
“What was it like?” Tem asked despite herself. She loathed giving Vera a platform but desperately needed to know the answer.
“Oh, Tem,” Vera giggled again. “You’ll find out eventually,” she paused, and her mouth twisted cruelly. “Or maybe you won’t. After all, who would want a girl who tastes like chicken shit?”
The insult was too great for Tem to bear. It hit her right in her insecurities, confirming every dark, horrible thing she had ever thought about herself—that she was nothing but a farm girl, that she was dirty and unlovable, that no man would ever look at her the way she dearly wished to be looked at. It took enormous effort to keep those thoughts at bay, and just when she’d managed to do so, girls like Vera reinforced them.
Tem had had enough of this stupid conversation.
“Do you want these or not?” she brandished the carton of eggs in her arms.
“Yes,” Vera sighed, clearly disappointed they were no longer talking about her. “One moment.”
She grabbed the eggs and flounced away. Tem used the time to gather herself. She felt ridiculous and pathetic every time she let Vera get the best of her. But it was impossible not to feel inferior when she’d never even kissed a boy. She would never be like Vera with her silky pink ribbons, dangled teasingly in front of the boys at the market. She would always be the girl who tasted like chicken shit.
When Vera returned with Tem’s payment, she sneered one last time.
“Get some rest, Tem. You’re going to need it.”
On the walk home, Tem allowed herself to cry.
She took the roundabout way through the woods so nobody would see her tears, walking along the edge of the wall that encircled the entire village. Twelve feet tall and made of wood, the wall looked nondescript from the inside. But on the outside, it was sheathed in mirrors.
Centuries ago, when humans had arrived in this part of the world, they hadn’t known that the basilisks were already here. The monsters weren’t a problem at first: when they wore their human forms, they looked just like humans—attractive humans. Their sexual influence was undeniable, and it was the main reason the villagers were able to coexist with them for so long.
But when they wore their true form—when they turned into huge, ruthless snakes—they became a threat. The resulting war was bloody. The basilisks had magic that the villagers couldn’t defend themselves against. That is, until they learned that the basilisks had weaknesses: the crowing of a rooster, the smell of a weasel. It wasn’t until a snake dropped dead after looking at itself in a puddle of water that the villagers realized they were also a threat to themselves. They’d won the war with mirrored shields. In exchange for the territory outside the wall, the basilisks agreed to use their seductive talents to train the prince’s future wife to ensure she would bear him an heir. A tentative truce was formed, and the two groups had lived in relative peace ever since.
The small cottage Tem shared with her mother was nestled on the edge of the forest, and Tem felt a wave of warmth when she saw it. It had always been home to her, no matter what awaited her outside its walls.
Her mother looked up from the kitchen table when she walked in.
“How did it go at the bakery, my dear?”
“Terrible,” Tem said.
“With the eggs, or with Vera?”
“With Vera.”
“I told you to ignore that girl.”
“She’s like a gnat. Gnats are hard to ignore.”
Tem’s mother sighed, wiping her hands on her apron.
“You must learn to shut out the noise, Tem.”
“Like you do?”
It was a low blow, and Tem knew it. Her mother was the only person more affected by the town gossip than Tem was. Raising a child on her own in a village that revered fatherhood and idolized male heirs hadn’t been easy. Add to that her occupation as a chicken farmer, and Tem’s mother was a pariah. Which made Tem the daughter of one.
“I’m sorry, mother,” Tem said preemptively.
Her mother pursed her lips, clearly suppressing her hurt.
“Think nothing of it, my dear. I know you’re nervous for tomorrow.”
Nervous didn’t even begin to cover it.
Before she could put her foot in her mouth again, Tem retreated to her bedroom. It was her sanctuary in more ways than one: every time the world seemed too large, she knew she could end the day alone in her bed.
Tem hung her cloak in her wardrobe before laying down and staring blankly at the ceiling. She felt endlessly tired, like the weight of the entire world was on her shoulders. And it might as well have been. If she didn’t do well tomorrow, she would let her mother down. They were humble farmers—people like Vera looked down on them—they had nothing. If Tem were to win the prince’s hand in marriage, their entire reputation could change.
Tem wanted nothing more than to make her mother proud, which entailed getting as far along in the training process as possible. She stood no chance of winning. But if she could make it past the first elimination round at least—maybe even the second, Kora willing—then maybe her mother would forgive her when the prince didn’t choose her. There were matches available for girls who ranked highly in the training, but didn’t marry the prince. She could marry a duke, or a lord of some sort. But even if the prince was impressed with her—an impossibility—she wouldn’t have a true chance with him unless she was one of the final three girls. Those three girls would sleep with the prince, showing off everything they’d learned during the training. The prince would choose his wife after that.
Tem rolled onto her side with a sigh. She stared at the palms of her hands, which were sprinkled with freckles. The tiny dots of pigment trailed from the end of one palm to the other, forming a pattern across her skin, not unlike a constellation.
“You hold the stars in your hands,” her mother had always said, rubbing Tem’s fingers between hers. “Just like your father.”
But when Tem had asked to know more, her mother had grown quiet, and Tem had learned quickly not to dig any deeper. She knew her father was a sore subject. Her mother had left him before she was born, and that was the extent of her knowledge. Tem had often wondered what he could have done to make her mother leave, especially given how difficult it was to run the farm without a man shouldering some of the burden. But it was useless to wonder. And Tem didn’t care to know anyway. It wouldn’t change the way the villagers whispered about them, or the way Vera looked at her like she was some disgusting bug she needed to squash. Things were never to be fair for them. Tem had accepted that long ago.
The only thing that mattered was what would happen in the caves tomorrow.
Vera’s words replayed themselves in her mind: Get some rest, Tem. You’re going to need it. Tem closed her eyes. By the time she woke, it was dinnertime.
Her mother was at the stove, tending a pot of stew. Tem pulled a loaf of bread from the cupboard and had barely begun to slice it when there was a knock on the door. Tem knew from the sound of it—five short, sharp braps—that it was Gabriel.
