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I groan, quickly covering it with a cough when I realize I accidentally let the sound slip free. Fred is giving me an odd look. Oh, shit. He asked me a question!
“I don’t have any clothes here,” I practically squeak out. He shifts me, reminding me I’m still in his arms. Releasing one end of my sheet, I grip his bicep to steady myself. I may or may not squeeze his yummy, squishy flesh. “You can put me down now.”
“No.” I blink at his quick response and he clears his throat, walking us toward the bed. He sits down, circling me against his chest. “I mean, I like holding you.”
“Same!” I practically shout, then cringe at my eagerness. I blush like a ketchup bottle at a barbeque. “I mean, I kind of like it too.”
His dimple pops as he smiles down at me, and damn, there go my ovaries acting up again. What I wouldn’t give to pop out a litter of his follicularly challenged babies.
“Not that I don’t love what you’re wearing. It’s giving Greek-Chic, but…” He trails off, his eyes sliding down my body. Fred shifts his legs as if uncomfortable. It’s then that I realize my sweet little cue ball is packing quite the woody womb pecker. My nubbin throbs. Yummy. “Where are your clothes?”
It takes immense effort not to rub myself all over his steely erection like a kitty in heat. I toss a thumb over my shoulder, toward the door.. “I, uh…” I blush all over again. Fuck stick, this is so awkward. “I had a dress and stuff, but it’s in the hall.”
Because I stripped myself while Bud was in the bathroom, knowing no man can turn down a shiny pair of patti-cakes. Bud may not have been my type, but I was eager and slightly drunk.
And, okay, super horny.
When are you not horny, hussy?
Truth.
Fred gently settles me on the bed and I quickly shift to my hip, relieving the pressure in my sphincter. I watch him walk toward the hall, bending to gather scraps of clothes as he goes.
Shoes, a cardigan, dress, two socks, and then…
Oh, no! Is he seriously going to pick up my bra? My panties?
“Fred!” I cry out, but it’s too late. The red lace is already in his thick fingers. He lifts…lifts…lifts…
Then my undergarments disappear from sight.
His back is blocking my view of his face, but I don’t miss the way he hesitates, practically turning to stone. A rumble fills the air between us, vibrating me to my bones. Holy hell. That sound was born in the pits of hell and forged just for my pleasure.
Did he just…?
Did he…?
Surely, he didn’t just sniff my thong. I suck in a horrified gasp, remembering that not so ladylike shart I let out at the bar. Crap. Double crap!
“Ah, shit,” he murmurs, spinning to face me. “Afraid the emergency crew destroyed some of your things.”
He lays a torn bra down next to me, followed by the rest of my things. I sift through it, cringing when I notice the black wheel marks across my pretty white dress. There’s even a rip along the back. Damn. I guess I can’t get upset. The first responders rushed in here, guns and fire hoses drawn, ready for anything. Of course, they wouldn’t be concerned about my stuff, but hell, I loved that dress.
My brows lift when I don’t immediately catch sight of my panties, but before I can ask about them, Fred is distracting me. My mouth drops open as he deftly unbuttons his uniform top, exposing a fitted, plain white tank top.
“I know it’s not much, but I don’t want you to be cold when I check you over,” he says, his voice a strained rasp that speaks directly to my wanton beaver.
“Check me over?” I ask absently, unable to tear my eyes away from his newly exposed flesh. Fiddlesticks, he’s so perfect.
Fred drapes his shirt over my shoulders, helping me to slide my arms through the stretched out holes. It’s too big for me, falling past my wide hips loosely. A smile spreads across my face. No men's clothes are ever too big on me. The collar is still slightly moist from his sweat and I bring it to my nose, inhaling deeply. My shoulders drop as my pussy gushes. So, so good.
That’s a smell I could get used to and never give up.
This time, it’s not the worms that are speaking, it’s my heart. It’s the poor, deprived and abandoned organ that likes to hide in the shadows, only poking out when she feels safe. Why is she here now?
I smack a hand to my chest, grunting in pain.
Get back in your hidey-hole, bitch. We don’t need you here. I’m perfectly content with a slut-mentality and a horny vag that’s got an, I can fix it mantra.
