by Bijou Hunter
TATUM
I have no doubt I’d get lost on the way to Chipper’s house if I weren’t following him. The dark roads he takes are away from the main ones I’ve driven. I suspect these act as a shortcut, but I only know I’m confused by the time we slow for the opening of his security gate. Once we reach the four-stall garage, Chipper opens his window and gestures for me to take the last empty spot.
The entire time I drive, I never consider the reality of moving into Chipper’s home. Once I turn off the van’s engine, the silence alerts me to how I barely know this man and I’m terrified of sex. Should I have taken this insane leap of faith?
Chipper appears at my door and leans down to my window. “Are you stuck in there?” he asks.
Yes, I’m insane to take this leap of faith, but Chipper’s more than worth any downsides that might come along.
Once I exit the van, he grabs my suitcase and then my hand. We leave behind the garage as the doors close. Inside his massive lodge-style home, I’m hit by the heat and yawn without thinking. The place feels cozy even if I can’t remember how to get back to the room I slept in.
Chipper walks upstairs, still holding my hand. “I love this house,” he says in a softly seductive voice. “I picked nearly everything inside, but I’ll change anything to make it feel like your home.”
“I don’t need you to change anything.”
“You say that now when you’re tired and feeling grateful. Soon, you’ll have shit in every bathroom, slept in every bed, and dropped food on every floor. Once that happens, you’ll think of it as your home, and you’ll need it to reflect your personality.”
“I’m not ready to think that far ahead.”
Chipper rests my suitcase on the bed before walking to the small dresser. “Dump it in here while I put your hair and tooth shit in the bathroom.”
I watch him walk away and then return, but I don’t move from the spot he left me. Drained of energy, I’m overwhelmed by every breath. This fatigue hasn’t stopped dragging me down since Mom died.
“Do you have something alcoholic to drink?” I ask as he dumps a pile of my clothes into the open dresser.
Chipper takes another armful of clothes and adds it to the first pile. Once he’s finished unpacking my things, he turns to me and grins. “Just call me Mister Booze,” he says and plants a tasty kiss on my waiting lips.
I grip his sweater sleeve and wish I could crawl into his lap the way the mini-twins do with Poet. I want to feel the kind of safety only Chipper’s arms provide.
Studying me with his hypnotic dark eyes, Chipper whispers, “Let’s head down to my stash of liquid goodies and see what will wet your whistle.”
I don’t let go of his sleeve, even when Chipper takes my other hand in his. We walk down the grand wooden staircase, past the massive family room, and into the expansive kitchen.
“I’ll need a map to get around this place.”
“In a few days, you’ll maneuver it perfectly even when drunk off your pretty ass.”
Chipper stops in a room I think is called a wine cellar. “This here is my booze bodega. I have everything from whiskey to wine to the ingredients to make any number of cocktails. So what will it be tonight, my sweet Breezy?”
Gripping his sleeve as if I might fall without its support, I shrug. “How about the moonshine you talked about at Cricket’s? The peach one.”
“Peach Pussy is what you want.”
I don’t know why the name sends me into giggles, but I’m laughing long after he pours two mini jugs full of orange liquid fire. One sip kills my laughter.
“Caca,” I mutter, unsure if I should vomit what I’ve already swallowed or drink more to pacify the scorching beast in the back of my throat.
Chipper grins at my reaction. “It’ll make your pubes grow thick and hot.”
“What?”
“That’s what Peepaw Earlham said when he gave it to me.”
“Who is Peepaw again?”
“Poet’s stepmother’s grandfather.”
“Sounds about right.”
“He’s from West Virginia. I explain everything weird he does by remembering he grew up listening to banjos. That can’t have been good for his brain.”
Chipper and I walk into the living room and relax on his plush couch. I lean against him, sip the booze again, and nearly barf on Chipper’s black sweater.
“How do I get this to stay down?” I ask, causing him to wiggle free.
I assume Chipper’s fleeing my dry heaves, but he returns quickly with two cans of soda. “Here’s how I built up my booze endurance. One sip of booze followed by one gulp of soda. Eventually, you’ll finish the booze and feel the buzz. Oh, and you’ll definitely need to piss. If you’re anything like Cricket and Bianca Bella, you’ll spend a whole fucking lot of time fucking pissing. I’m unsure the exact size of a woman’s bladder, but I think it’s as small as a kernel of corn.”
“Doesn’t it seem,” I say and gulp the soda, “like you’re doing a lot of work just to drink booze?”
“Booze is worth the effort, but I was like you once and didn’t see that truth. I believed booze wasn’t my friend. Then I got my heart broken and not just regular broken either. I’m talking teenage heartbreak which is like normal heartbreak taken to the one-hundredth insane drama degree.”
“Who broke your heart?” I ask, instantly jealous and on the verge of violence. “Is the bad woman around for me to punch?”
“Damn, that moonshine works fast,” he says, caressing my throat.
Taking another sip of moonshine, I lean on the couch and snarl at him. “Who’s the whore?”
Chipper laughs for like twenty minutes—or possibly my drunken rage distorts time. His knuckles caress my cheek, but I’m mad that a mean woman pussy person broke his heart because that means she owned his heart and I don’t want some fancy hoochie’s sloppy seconds.
“Why weren’t you good enough for her?” I ask, burping up Peach Pussy before Chipper hands me the soda can. “Did she break you and now I have what’s left? I don’t accept that. Or maybe I do. Am I broken too? Are we broken together?”
“Next time, we need to fill you up with more food to soak up the booze. It’s hitting you fast.”
“Was she better than me?” I ask, digging my nails into his hand. “Will you dump me if she comes back to you?”
“Tatum, I’m not talking about Chevelle when you’re clearly buzzed. I will say she’s not better than you, and I have no interest in being with her. The dirty details can wait until you’re sober enough to understand.”
“I hate booze,” I mutter, even while taking his jug and gulping down more moonshine.
“No need to badmouth booze. The devil’s brew brings such joy to people’s lives.”
“It makes people act stupid. Look at me right now.”
“Acting stupid is great. Without booze, I’d never have danced in the rain or gotten my tattoo.”
I let him steal back his jug of moonshine. “Do you have a tattoo of that fancy—? Wait, isn’t Bonn’s daughter named Chevelle?”
“Want to see my tattoo?”
“Is it her name?”
Rolling his eyes, Chipper pulls up his sleeve to reveal a colorful tat. I run my fingers over the inked flesh on his forearm.
“Why Bugs Bunny?”
“How would I know? Ask Mister Booze. The world is different when booze runs the show. Freer.”
“Dumber,” I say, pouting at my earlier outburst.
Chipper wraps one of his strong arms around my shoulders and has me rest my head on his chest. “Stupidity gets a bad rap. Sometimes, people need to be dumb and let off steam.”
“Is that why you drink?”
“I like feeling buzzed and laughing at how hilarious the world is while I’m drunk. I thought I might become an alcoholic, but addiction to booze never happened. Some things aren’t meant to be.”
“I should thank booze for making me too drunk to kill Howler. That’s how you met me and
then all the stuff that happened afterward that I can’t remember anymore.”
Chipper turns on the TV. “Booze brought us together, so it will be the best man at our wedding.”
“What about Poet or your brother?”
“They’ll be the other guys in suits. I don’t know what their purpose is, but whatever. Let’s watch TV while we wait to see if you puke up all that Peach Pussy.”
“I’m glad I met you,” I whisper, looking up at him as I cuddle closer.
“Me too, Breezy. Now, what would you like to watch?”
“Are there any ‘House Hunters’ on?”
“Oh, I’m sure we can find an episode.”
Smiling, I rest against him and think about tomorrow. I’ll meet his parents and little brother. I’ll start my job as his assistant. Oh, and I’ll lose my virginity. That last bullet point is totally on my list whether Chipper’s ready or not.
CHIPPER
The moonshine hits Tatum fast and nearly knocks her into sleepy-time. I keep waiting for her to upchuck, but the booze settles into her system around a half hour after the first drop tangos with her tongue. Soon smiling, she runs upstairs before returning in a donut-covered pink nightgown.
“I’m more comfortable now,” she says and relaxes against me on the couch. “I want to see your tattoo again.”
“It came out pretty good considering I chose it while drunk.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Probably. I was too wasted to feel most of it.”
“Tattoos scare me.”
“I never planned to get one, but Mister Booze had other ideas. I can’t believe I was drunk enough to stay buzzed for the five hours the damn thing took. Then I had to stay buzzed for the next few days while dealing with the pain. It was actually a great week.”
“Were you alone when you got it?” she asks, giving Bugs a quick kiss.
“Naw, Cricket and Bianca Bella were with me. We were celebrating B’s birthday in New Orleans. Big mistake. That city offers too much great booze, food, and music for a person not to end up sloppy drunk for a few days.”
“I’ve never traveled or done anything wild.”
“You moved in with a guy you’ve only known for a few days. Oh, and you went on a suicide mission to kill a hardcore biker. Fucking badass if you ask me.”
Stretching out her long, pale legs, Tatum laughs. “Yeah, I’m living on the wild side.”
“If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?”
“No idea,” she says and turns to kneel next to me. Her fingers stroke my hair, reminding my dick how a very sexy woman is nearly naked inches away from us. I summon all my willpower to keep from finding out what she’s hiding under her nightgown.
“We’ll likely go to Colorado to ski this winter,” I say, studying her face while she tenderly wraps my hair behind my ear. “You’ll need to buy snow clothes.”
“And learn to ski.”
“It’s easy,” I say, standing up in a swift movement despite my painfully hard dick. “Let me show you.”
I gesture for Tatum to stand with her back to me. Pressing against her, I move our hips in gentle motions from side to side in the way I ski down a slope. Of course, with my dick screaming for acknowledgment, I suspect this teachable moment comes across as if I’m trying to dry hump her butt.
“We’ll start you off on the bunny slope with the mini-twins. I’ll act as your instructor,” I murmur and then step back. “I promise to be professional,” I say and adjust my pants. “Mostly because you won’t be nearly as naked and I’ll be surrounded by my family.”
Tatum turns around and looks up at me with her green, boozy eyes. “What’s an erection feel like?”
Snorting, I try to find the words to explain something so natural to someone with so little experience. “Do you masturbate?”
“No. I mean, I have before, but I don’t do it often,” she says, drunk enough to no longer edit herself.
“You know how it feels to be aroused, right?”
Tatum’s fingers trace the lines of my sweater, having lost interest in our conversation. I let the silence hang in the room while she grows more fascinated by my shirt.
“What were we talking about?” she finally asks.
“I’m going to teach you to ski.”
Tatum smiles. “What if I can’t ski for caca?”
“Well, first, I’ll teach you to say shit. Then I’ll suggest you hang out at the lodge with my mom and Cricket who can’t ski for shit either. They drink booze-laced cocoa and enjoy the view. I think they also get massages, but I’ve never paid that much attention to their routines.”
“I think I’d rather watch you ski than drink cocoa.”
“You say that now,” I whisper as my hands gently grip her waist, “but wait until it’s cold and you’re bored. That boozy cocoa will sound awesome. Plus, you need girl time. I know no one will replace your mother, but I also know my mom will love you.”
“What if you’re wrong and she hates me?”
“She won’t.”
“But what if there’s just something about me that rubs her the wrong way? What can you do then?” Tatum insists.
“I’ll force her to live with her bad taste. She knows what it’s like to be with someone everyone else hates.”
“People hate your father?”
“My stepdad, Hayes, yes. I don’t know about my bio dad, and I honestly don’t care. But with Hayes, people fear and hate him. He’s a jerk and doesn’t care how people feel. His attitude is a million times worse than Cricket’s and mine. He’s just the most awful man ever, but she loves him. She sees what others can’t, or won’t. I’ll tell her I feel the same about you so she can suck it.”
“What if Hayes doesn’t like me?” Tatum asks, looking genuinely nervous now.
“He doesn’t like anyone, but he’s loyal to family. You’re my woman, and he’ll tolerate you.”
“What if your little brother doesn’t like me?”
“Cap likes everyone. He’s an honest-to-goodness angel from above and incapable of wrongness in any way.”
Tatum gives me an annoyed frown. “I thought you said he was an annoying teenager.”
“Oh, he is, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t also an otherworldly creature incapable of wrongness.”
Stepping back, so my hands are no longer around her waist, she shakes her head. “My mom liked the beach and watermelon. I feel as if you and I don’t come from the same sort of people.”
“Opposites attract. Unless you and I are similar, then similars attract. I don’t care how we get there as long as I pick the destination.”
Tatum sways back and forth, likely ready to collapse. I sweep her into my arms and walk to the couch.
“Let’s watch TV before you pass out and I’m forced to be alone.”
“I don’t plan to pass out until I get dinner.”
“Your demanding nature is a sexy quality,” I murmur while my lips nuzzle her ear hidden under her hair. “I have leftover pork ribs and slaw if you’re hungry. Or I can cook.”
“I’m a simple girl,” she says, straddling me and making my dick very aware of how little clothing stands between it and her sweet peach pussy. “I need so little to be happy. Edible food, a roof over my head, and Chipper-style kisses.”
Tatum’s booze-induced confidence makes her kisses extra tasty. I wrap my arms around her and soak in the heat of her body lightly bouncing against mine. Every time a new episode of “House Hunters” starts, she throws her arms in the air and wiggles to the theme song.
“Booze is my new best friend,” she whispers before returning to nibbling my throat.
“Where do I fall into the friend equation?”
“It goes you, booze, and finally that lazy cat.”
After a quick glance at Muffin Top who remains in the same spot as when we arrived two hours ago, I groan at how her wiggling hips put her pussy painfully close to my unrelenting hard-on.
The next few hours are some
of the most difficult of my life. Taking Tatum to bed would be so easy. I think she wants me to move our dry-humping action to the bedroom. Her kisses are hungrier than I’ve enjoyed from any woman, and her hands kept sliding further up my shirt. Yes, she’s perfectly ready, but there’s no denying Mistress Booze is calling the shots.
Though Tatum might be one hundred percent ready for my sweet loving, what about me? I worry about her regretting our first time together. How can I enjoy discovering her freckles if my mind is on her reaction tomorrow?
For both our sakes, I keep the evening’s never-ending make-out session dressed and only a little dirty. The cluster of hickeys on my neck is as raunchy as we get.
Around ten, I tuck a barely coherent Tatum into bed. She stares at me in a way I remember from when I was a kid, and I’d gotten way too fucking over-stimulated. I couldn’t sleep unless Cricket climbed into bed next to me. Fortunately, I’m well past the need to use my sister as a blankie.
“I’ll stay here until you’re asleep,” I tell Tatum. “If you need me, I’m down the hallway. Just scream like a horror queen, and I’ll come running. Oh, and don’t worry if something jumps on your bed during the night. Camel Toe sleeps all day and then prowls the house in the dark. She’ll want to check you out.”
Tatum smiles in a sleepy-kid way. “I always wanted a cat.”
“Now you have two.”
“With horrible names.”
“You’ll think they’re much cooler when you go with me to the vet and make the staff say Muffin Top and Camel Toe.”
Giggling, Tatum falls asleep with a grin on her face. I remain in the room for nearly twenty minutes afterward, waiting for my erection to take the hint. When it won’t, I figure a long shower will deal with my problem. On my way out of the bedroom, my black cat nearly trips me. What kind of damage might my erect dick endure if I fell forward onto the hardwood floors?
Deciding the fucking cat needs a bell on her collar ASAP, I make this task the first one for my new assistant.
8—TATUM