Otterly Scorched

by Tara Sivec

  I’m clawing at his back as our kiss gets harder and more desperate, when one of his hands smacks against the wall next to my head. His other hand goes under the skirt of my dress to grab tightly to my ass, pulling my body forward and helping me roughly rub against him until I have to yank my mouth away from Dax’s so I can breathe.

  His head immediately drops back down to that spot between my neck and shoulder. When he bites down and then sucks at the same time he jerks roughly between my thighs, the slow burn that has been creeping through my body all night turns into an explosion.

  And let’s be honest here, this slow burn has been slowly burning for five years. That’s a long time to wait for an orgasm from a guy you’ve always had a thing for.

  Before I can even brace myself, I’m panting and moaning and chanting Dax’s name, locking my ankles together tightly behind his back, dry humping my way through an orgasm that arrived in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

  “Holy shit,” Dax mutters, removing his mouth from the side of my neck to look at me, my chest heaving and my hips still jerking a little against him, wanting more, even though I should be a little mortified right now. “That was so fucking hot. I mean… Jesus.”

  He peppers kisses along my cheek, and I forget about being embarrassed when I can feel it between my legs that Dax is even harder than he was before.

  “Bedroom. Now.”

  Dax’s mouth crashes against mine again, and he immediately complies with my order, pushing us away from the wall and walking us toward my room. My legs are still wrapped securely around his hips, and he grips tightly to my ass with both hands while I grip tightly to the back of his head. He carries me through my dark house, our lips never parting until we’re in my room and Dax is standing right at the edge of my bed.

  “Are you sure? We can Netflix and not chill. I’m totally fine with that,” he whispers.

  Running one of my hands through his hair and pushing it back out of his face, I clutch onto a handful and kiss the tip of his nose this time.

  “I’m sure. Take your pants off.”

  I let out another shrieking laugh when Dax suddenly tosses me onto my bed.

  And then let out an actual shriek of fear when the moonlight shining through my bedroom window suddenly makes it possible for me to see a whole hell of a lot of beady little eyes staring at me.

  “Holy shit, what the fuck?”

  I’m still shrieking and screaming as I scramble backward up the bed until I get to the headboard and can reach over and turn on my bedside table lamp. When my room is filled with the soft glow of the lamp, the freaked out look on Dax’s face at the foot of my bed from all my screaming turns into a look of absolute humor. He throws his head back and laughs while I let out a frustrated huff.

  Dax leans over my bed and picks up a large wooden box filled with entirely too many dead turtles and holds it up.

  “Oh look. Your dad also left a note with his cock-blocking box.” He laughs, reading the note taped to the top out loud. “Pretend the twenty turtles in this box are actually sea turtles and not ones I found in Kevin’s pond. Fun fact about sea turtles, Harley: Sea turtles eat jellyfish, and the poison inside the jellyfish doesn’t harm them but intoxicates them much in the same way as marijuana. Isn’t that fun? Love, Dad.”

  Dax turns the box around when he finishes reading the letter so I can see again that my father has made me a box of horrors filled with turtles smoking tiny joints, wearing tiny shirts that say different things on them like It’s Always 4:20 Somewhere, and Don’t Panic, It’s Organic.

  I let out a groan, throwing my hands over my face so I don’t have to look at it any more.

  “It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind about me,” I speak behind my hands, hearing the sounds of Dax moving around my room, hopefully hiding the damn box somewhere. “Ridiculous things like this will never stop happening around me. It’s a lot. I’m a lot.”

  I’ve never even shrieked going down a roller coaster, but I do it for the fourth time in less than a half hour when Dax wraps his hands around both my ankles and yanks me back down the bed closer to him. I open my eyes again just in time to watch him take off his vest and toss it to the floor then unbutton his white dress shirt, pulling it off and throwing it down with the vest.

  Scars? What scars? There are scars under all that hot, beautiful artwork covering his washboard abs and muscular chest?

  “You’re really pretty,” I whisper, making one of Dax’s dimples pop out as he looks down at me spread out in the middle of my bed with my dress bunched up around my thighs.

  I forget all about the dead turtles when he leans forward, resting his knee on the bed in between my legs, and runs both his palms up the outside of my bare thighs until they disappear under the skirt of my dress. I’m panting by the time his fingers wrap around the lace material of my thong on either side of my hips, and I lift up so he can slowly pull them down my legs and toss them with his shirt and vest.

  Dax climbs onto the bed and over my body, bracing himself above me with his hands on either side of my head. I have no choice but to run my palms up his bare chest, making sure his muscles feel as incredible as they look. You know, for science and stuff.

  “You’re not a lot. You’re exactly the right amount, and you’re perfect.”

  And I’m about two seconds away from another orgasm, just by having him slowly take my underwear off, look at me the way he’s looking at me, and say the things he’s saying.

  “Can I keep going?”

  Since for the first time in my life I’m completely at a loss for words, I just quickly nod.

  Dax kisses me long, and soft, and delicate, holding himself above me before making his way back down my body. The skirt of my dress is pushed up to my hips, and I don’t even have time to gasp before his face is buried between my thighs. His mouth is hot and wet as it circles and sucks on my clit, and I grip the blankets in my fists on either side of my body, rolling my hips against his mouth. He never eases up, never slows down, just keeps licking and sucking and driving me insane until another orgasm is washing over me, harder and stronger than the first one.

  I’m screaming Dax’s name, and my hands let go of the blankets to grab onto the back of his head while he swirls his tongue around me and pulls every last drop of this orgasm out of me.

  I don’t let myself think about how expertly and swiftly Dax removes the rest of his clothes, my dress, bra, and boots and sheathes a condom in less than ten seconds flat. I don’t think about where, how, or with all the whos he perfected those skills. All that practice he had before me means nothing. What’s happening right now between the two of us is all that matters, and it is glorious and mind-blowing.

  When Dax takes control again, flipping my body over in the middle of the bed and enters me from behind with one hard thrust, I shout his name when he fills me, praising God for all that practice he had to make him perfect.

  Dax pants my name reverently in my ear while he fucks me like a dream, and he makes absolutely certain I know he won’t forget about me after this night is over.

  Now I really am otterly fucked, and I don’t mind in the least.

  CHAPTER 17

  Otterly Dating

  Date 2

  “Harder… harder…. Oh yeah… right there… more, more, more!”

  “If you don’t cut it out, I’m not finishing this shoulder massage.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll behave.”

  “I just wanted to do something nice for you. Even if everything you made for dinner tonight had the word pot in it. Do you and my dad take turns sharing a brain, or is this a fight-to-the-death, winner-take-all sort of thing?”

  “Pot stickers, homemade chicken pot pie, and an Instant Pot chocolate lava cake for dessert. I’m so punny. Also, don’t lie. You only offered to give me a massage so I’d have to take my shirt off and you could gawk at my tattoos. I feel so used right now, and—Owww, fuck! Why’d you have to pinch me?”

  “Shut up and wa
tch the movie.”

  “… ”

  “… ”

  “…oooh yeah… use those nails on me, baby.”

  Date 3

  “A funeral?”

  “A funeral.”

  “You mean to tell me that you guys went to a funeral, and this funeral home had a dead animal party box… as a decoration?”

  “True story. A box of dead squirrels at a funeral home. But not just any box of dead squirrels. Dead squirrels reenacting a wedding.”

  “At a funeral home.”

  “At a funeral home. My dad was taking pictures of it during the visitation. He made up an entire storyline about the dead squirrel wedding box. About how the squirrel groom didn’t really love the squirrel bride and was actually in love with the squirrel bridesmaid. He was telling his story to every mourner who walked by. It got weird.”

  “I feel like this explains so much about you.”

  Date 4

  “This feels strange.”

  “That’s not really something a man likes to hear when a woman has her hand down his pants.”

  “The otters are watching!”

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “It’s bad enough they’re watching. I don’t want them to know we’re talking about them.”

  “I can assure you they do not care. Can you pretty please put your hand back where it was?”

  “We’re supposed to be going over the report my private investigator gave us anyway.”

  “We already went over it. And now we’re celebrating with orgasms that we finally have a solid lead. Although I’m still pissed it’s Ryan and his parents have a condo in Virginia Beach. When you talk to another dude about his masturbation difficulties, there should be a mutual understanding there that you don’t double-cross the other person. This is how the breakdown of society happens. I’d feel so much better right now if you put your hand back down my pants.”

  “Listen to them! They’re being all cute and squeaky, and they’re asking for cuddles. We can’t sit here on the couch and ignore them.”

  “DJ lied. You guys aren’t wingmen. You’re cockblockers; that’s what you are.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Date 5

  “I’m sorry; we’re going where?”

  “Look, I have one vice. Let’s not make a big deal out of this. I just thought, since this is something I do weekly, you’d like to come along. You can participate, or you can join me in a mimosa, sit back, relax, and keep me company, while you tell me how your surveillance of Ryan has been going.”

  “At a… spa?”

  “Why do you think I’m so devastatingly handsome? Facials, sweetheart. It’s all about proper skin care. I’m also almost out of beard oil, and that’s where I get it. If you’d like to continue not having beard scratches in unmentionable places, the appointment is in twenty minutes, so we need to go.”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s it. Just okay? No sarcastic comment?”

  “I know. I’m really growing as a woman.”

  “You’re gonna need me to go out to the car first and give you at least two minutes to laugh, aren’t you?”

  “Oh absolutely. Better make it five minutes.”

  Date 6

  “You’re home early.”

  “I feel really guilty coming home every day to find you in my kitchen, making me dinner.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. It just felt like the mature thing to say. But I do feel guilty you’re neglecting The Backyard by taking care of me all the time.”

  “I’ve told you a hundred times taking care of you makes me happy. And The Backyard practically runs itself, because I have amazing employees. Except for one of them.”

  “Allegedly. I told you, he hasn’t done anything suspicious during my surveillance over the last week.”

  “Well, I’ll know for sure if he has my otters after this weekend.”

  “You are not breaking into Ryan’s home to look for Chris and Lincoln! That’s illegal.”

  “So is stealing my fucking otters. Shhh, try one of the homemade, frosted, blueberry pop tarts I made for dessert.”

  “Distracting me is not going to work when—Oh my God… these are amazing.”

  “Good, right?”

  “You’re still not breaking and entering this weekend.”

  “Why don’t you go have a seat on the sectional, I’ll mix you up a drink at the bar cart, and you can relax until the shepherd’s pie is ready.”

  “I have a bar cart? Yum… Tito’s vodka. I haven’t had a dirty martini in ages.”

  “Breaking and entering is such a harsh way to put it anyway. Let’s go with ‘politely using lock-picking tools so as not to cause any damage and entering.’ I’ll be in and out in a jiffy, and no one will even know I was there.”

  “When the hell did I get a sectional? Wow, this is super comfy. Can you put two more olives in that martini? Is that a new area rug?”

  “So, midnight on Saturday?”

  “Mmmm… pop tarts.”

  Date 7

  “Come on. You can do it.”

  “I already helped you groom all the dogs at the kennel today and went grocery shopping with you. What more do you want from me?”

  “You loved every second of cuddling with those rescue dogs. And I took you to the farmer’s market, then you ate almost an entire wheel of cheese at our picnic in the park, followed by a nap. You’re not suffering in any way. Now, come on. You can do it. Say something nice.”

  “Fine. I guess you aren’t easily forgettable.”

  “And?”

  “And I like spending time with you more than I like not spending time with you.”

  “You are so poetic now that you’re in touch with your feelings.”

  “How you like me now?”

  “It’s kind of gross, actually. Harley Blake the badass being all sweet and lovey with the guy she’s dating. Makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Guess we’ll never know.”

  “You just wrote Harley said something nice to me in your planner to record this moment and drew a heart around it.”

  “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to judge my organizational planners with color-coded stickers? Who remembered to pay their water bill on time this month because of them? Also, what was the date you hit on me first five years ago? Wanna make sure I get that right.”

  “I did not hit on you first five years ago. Stop trying to make that happen.”

  “Oops! It’s in my planner now. What happens in the planner, stays in the planner.”

  “I’m sorry; what was your name again?”

  “Nice try, sweetheart. I believe you shouted it so loudly an hour ago the neighbors heard you.”

  “I just wanted you to know my inner thighs appreciated the restocking of the beard oil; that’s it. Are you seriously putting that in the planner too?”

  “Should oral be a purple sticker or a pink sticker? Eh, I’ll use both. Let’s go crazy.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Oh Look, A Squirrel!

  Dax

  “So, that’s what’s been going on the last few weeks. We’re officially dating, and everything is great. I’ve opened up to her; she knows everything about me and hasn’t run away screaming yet. And she finally convinced me to start talking to my dad and try communicating with him. He’s done nothing but ask me about otters, but it’s a start,” I finish after giving DJ a quick run-down of what’s been going on lately. “Now, look at these guest bathroom towels and tell me which ones look more welcoming for her place. The yellow or the purple.”

  DJ doesn’t even look at my phone when I hold up the two towel sample pictures I saved.

  “I’m all for making up for lost time and having this heart-to-heart with you about your feelings and shit, but that’s now seven topics we’ve discussed in the last fifteen minutes, while we’ve been
standing out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere at midnight. I left my gorgeous, hot wife alone in bed to meet you here. Maybe you should focus on what’s happening across the road and on finding your otters. You know, since that’s why we’re here and everything.”

  I had to do something to stop myself from worrying that I made a very bad decision by coming here tonight and change my mind about the whole thing. Talking about every topic I could think of except for my huge betrayal with Harley was doing a fine job of keeping me calm.

  I look across the road at the small bungalow where Ryan lives, figuring if we leave now, no harm, no foul, and no one will even know I was here and tried to do something so stupid. And by no one, I mean Harley.

  “She’s going to kill me. This was a really bad idea.” I sigh, sliding my phone in my back pocket.

  The pop tart nirvana I sent Harley to at the beginning of the week only lasted for so long, until she was strictly forbidding me to go to Ryan’s house on Saturday night. I understood where she was coming from. She didn’t want me to get in trouble, and she also had a process she needed to follow. A legal process.

  I continue staring across the quiet, rural road at the dark house, and my heart starts beating faster, wondering if my boys are in there. According to my research, no one is supposed to be home in that house this entire weekend. Ryan lives with his older sister, and he requested the weekend off from The Backyard so they could go visit their parents. I decided against breaking into the home and figured just doing a little peeking in the windows wouldn’t hurt anyone. It helps that Ryan and his sister live out in the middle of nowhere, there are no sidewalks or streetlights, and the houses are so far apart on this road that you have to get in your car and drive to your neighbor to borrow a cup of sugar.

  Doing this while no one is home in a rural area is a wise decision. But it’s definitely a bad idea I lied to Harley.

  “It’s a perfect idea, and she’s never going to find out. She thinks you’re supposed to be at work all night welcoming a new, recently rescued dog to the sanctuary, while she’s out on surveillance. She has no idea they called this morning and rescheduled the drop-off for Sunday,” DJ reminds me, a bullfrog croaking loudly from the ditch running along the side of the road behind us. “You promised her you wouldn’t check out Ryan’s house on Saturday at midnight. You promised nothing about tonight, which is Friday night. It’s all in how you word things, man. Why do you think I didn’t sleep on the couch the night I promised Phina that Shaleh wouldn’t ride down the stairs in a laundry basket? Because Shaleh rode down the stairs in a picnic basket.”