Frost (EEMC)

by Hunter, Bijou

  Kissing up to Jena or Amity makes no sense, but I’m used to playing that game when I worry about ending up homeless. I used the same tactics with Immee’s family when they opened their home to Needy and me. You’d think I was a Holly Homemaker with how much cleaning and cooking I did without being asked. I was desperate to prove my worth to the people paying the bills. That’s how Needy acted, and I followed her lead.

  But it’s never enough. Cleaning and cooking become expected. It’s just who you are. To keep proving your loyalty and gratitude, you must do more crap for free. Babysit, yard work, errands, keeping your mouth shut, marry nerds from Bismarck, the list goes on. Until, eventually, they sell you out completely.

  “I’m nervous about the test result,” I tell Conor after he finishes eating and stretches his long, muscular body. “What happens if it’s negative?”

  “Your mom was here when she claimed to be. That math is solid. If Lowell’s sperm didn’t do the deed, it was someone in the club.”

  “You aren’t even a tiny bit worried that it’s your father?” I ask, wrapping my sandwich up in the to-go paper the waitress brought.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “My father had strong genetics and a very specific look. If you were his, you’d look like him.”

  “But it’s just you, right?” I ask, certain Conor is in denial. “How can you be sure his genetics didn’t hit the lottery with his one kid?”

  Conor studies my face while his remains unreadable. “I’m not his only kid. He had one before me with a girl from high school. That son is a less sexy version of me.” When I smirk at his wording, he shrugs. “My mom is hotter than the other guy’s mom. It helped smooth out a few things, you know?”

  “Okay, but you’re both dudes. Maybe if he had a daughter, he’d—”

  Conor stops me with a headshake. “He cheated on my mom plenty. I have a younger half-sister living in Missouri. Her existence is a well-known secret. Aja’s mom was a bunny. Now, she’s a biker’s old lady. Anyway, my sister has the chick version of my father’s face. Like I said, Billy Jessup had him some strong-ass genetics. His sister and brother looked just like him, and they all resembled my dead grandfather, who apparently set a man on fire. I come from an attractive yet fucked-up bloodline.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with your evidence. I guess that means we can go back to my apartment and fuck.”

  A lesser man might react physically to my words. Conor just says, “No. I’m thinking of heavy petting. At most, a hand job. We’re dating. You know that, right? This isn’t me biker man, you bunny lady. Fucking isn’t expected. I’m looking to make you my girlfriend, Monroe. That’s why I told none of the guys to nail your sweet slit. I didn’t want you to think of me as another cock in a long line of tattooed ones.”

  “Wait, is your dick tattooed?”

  “Keep taking me out to eat, and I’ll let you find out,” he murmurs and wiggles his eyebrows.

  “Fine, we’ll go back to my apartment and dry hump like horny teenagers.”

  Conor slides out of the booth and sighs. “I need to be romanced, Monroe. Be sure to compliment me a lot. Talk about how thick my hair is and how my muscles are big. Make me fall for you.”

  I grin at his teasing, relieved to have a distraction from worrying about the blood test. I message Amity during the drive to make sure she isn’t around. She says she’s at Anders’s house, helping to plant a tree. I know she likes the giant’s hippie family, who are very affectionate. Anders’s wife, Pixie, also doesn’t mind that he fucked the bunnies.

  “Fucking is what people do when they want to have sex,” she said once at a community party when another club lady gave the bunnies attitude.

  I feel as cool about Amity and the other bunnies knowing Conor’s dick. Jealousy isn’t something I’ve ever had the luxury to suffer from. In Minton, all the best men had already fucked my cousin Zella by the time they showed interest in me. That’s just how life worked, and I’m more interested in comfort than starting drama.

  On the drive over, I ask Amity to give me an hour or two alone with Conor. A few minutes later, she says she was invited to stay for dinner. Afterward, she’ll work a shift a Bambi’s Bar & Grill.

  “Consider clothes optional until at least two a.m.,” she texts with plenty of winking emoticons.

  Sitting at a light, I find myself worrying I’ve gotten too attached to her. Will I still be in Elko in a month? Or even a week? Wouldn’t it be best to keep my heart protected from more pain? Yes, it would be smarter to keep everyone at arm’s length.

  However, I still plaster myself against Conor as he climbs off his Harley in the apartment’s parking lot. He owns an effortless strength and confidence that I want to siphon off for myself. Conor understands his place in the world. I have no idea where I belong. For a short time today, I’ll pretend to have my answers as long as I’m with him.

  I’ve never been a particularly shy person, so making out in the elevator doesn’t bother me. Conor’s lips are so soft, yet his hand wraps imposingly around the back of my neck. I’m free to pull away, but not really. When my fingers slide across his nipples, he jerks me closer. His casual coolness slips, revealing how much he needs what I offer.

  I appreciate Conor being obvious about his feelings. I’m too wired about life in general to play guessing games. That’s why once we’re inside my apartment, I toss my purse on a chair along with my shirt. After kicking off my shoes and sticking the leftover sandwich in the fridge for Amity, I don’t ask if he wants a drink or to clean up or any other wasteful questions. We both know why he’s here. I’m unsure if he’s serious about the over-the-clothes stuff. Either way, I’m ready to forget about the world for a while and zero in on Conor’s hot body.

  “Don’t forget to smooth-talk me,” he says, flopping down on the couch dramatically. “I need to feel how much you respect my inner beauty.”

  “I’m going to shut you up now,” I say and straddle him before covering his lips with mine.

  Silence is very much golden once Conor’s tongue gets involved. His hands slide up my bare back, teasing at my bra straps, before wrapping his arms around my shoulders to keep me pinned against him. I have no clue where he thinks I’m going. Dissolving into his warm touch is what I’ve needed after too long of feeling alone in a wide fucking world.

  After a few minutes, I’m an overheated mess. “I want you inside me,” I groan, feeling his cock’s thickness through his jeans.

  “Of course, you do. But there’s something called pacing ourselves.”

  “I need relief,” I whimper when he sucks at my throat and his rough fingers tease my nipples through my bra. “Please, fuck me. I’m literally begging for it.”

  “I can’t fuck you until you’ve bought me dinner. I’m too much of a gentleman to go against my code,” he says, mercilessly teasing my nipples while playing hard to get.

  I think of his hard cock in my hands, the head tickling my tongue, the shaft filling my mouth.

  “Let me suck you off,” I say, sliding out of his grip despite him trying to hold my nipples hostage. “I want to taste your cum. You owe me, Conor. I did pay for your lunch.”

  His aloof demeanor nearly cracks at my using a guy line on him.

  “Come on, baby. Don’t you want me?” I taunt while stroking his still-covered erection with my cheek. “I could make you feel so good.”

  “Swear to me that those lines never worked on you.”

  “I’ll tell you whatever you want, baby, as long as I can wrap my fat lips around your fatter cock,” I say, wiggling my brows at him.

  “Only if I make you come first.”

  “Are you going to fuck me, then?” I ask, licking at his bulge through the jeans.

  “Not exactly,” he says and pats the couch. “Stretch out for me.”

  I’m too flipping horny to say no. In fact, if he insists on butt action without lube, I’ll just accept how walking normally for a few days is overrated. Conor’s ho
tness has overloaded my brain.

  Stretched out on the couch, I grin as he slides off my jeans before sighing at the sight of me in only my bra and panties. Conor kneels next to the sofa. Like any self-respecting man, he zeros in on my boobs.

  “Do you play with your tits when you masturbate?” he murmurs while giving my nipple a lick through the fabric.

  “Well, duh.”

  His lips curve into a smile. “You’re terrible at pillow talk.”

  “I’m sorry. Oh, yeah, my titties and me get all hot and bothered together while I’m rubbing one out. Ooh-la-la, now licky-licky and maybe flick my clit so I can come. Then, I can taste your cock.”

  “You started strong but flopped at the end, Monroe,” he says, sliding my bra straps down my shoulders. “No man wants a woman licking his cock. That was just a terrible visual.”

  Despite giggling at his teasing words, I’m way more focused on his taunting fingers tugging down the right cup of my bra. He looks at my bare tit and exhales in a weird, hungry way. My pussy clenches at the thought of his sexy lips on my hard flesh. Then, I imagine his tongue, and the heat between my legs becomes unbearable.

  Conor kisses my nipple. Tenderly, really. His gaze lifts to mine, and he asks in a raspy voice, “Do you want me to lick you?”

  Shivering at the look in his eyes, I nod.

  “Do you want me to suck you?”

  Nodding again, I reach for my wet panties, needing relief. He pushes away my hand and shakes his head.

  “My turn. You can be bossy later.”

  “Please,” I finally whimper, never this horny before.

  Conor leans over to suck at my lips. I instantly moan at the feel of his fingers sliding my panties aside and exposing my overheated flesh to the cool air. His lips leave mine and suck at my nipple like he did to my lips.

  My hips buck when his knuckle scrapes my bare clit. I’m already on the edge of coming. Conor has been in my thoughts for weeks, and I’ve enjoyed many masturbatory sessions with him in mind. I’ve fantasized about him caressing my clit and sucking at my nipples. Now, Conor is actually touching me. Not sloppily, either. Or in a rush to his blowjob. He touches my body like a man wanting to see me come apart.

  And he gets his wish.

  CONOR

  I’m starting to wonder if the women in my past were faking their orgasms. None of them got so flushed or moaned so loudly with so little effort on my part. Or is Monroe the one faking it?

  “I want to suck you,” she says, reaching between my legs and stroking my cock through my jeans. “My turn now.”

  “Did you really just come?” I ask, suspicious of how easily this woman orgasmed. “I barely did anything.”

  “You’re just really sexy, and I have a sensitive clit. If you didn’t want me to come so fast, you should have paced yourself, stud. Now, let me see your cock. I’m curious about that tattoo rumor.”

  “I don’t know,” I mumble, despite letting her tug me onto the couch while she slides onto the floor in front of me. “I’m self-conscious now since my dick is inkless.”

  “Don’t be shy,” Monroe murmurs. “I don’t even care if it’s tiny. It’ll fit easier in my mouth that way. Come on, baby. Let’s get sexy and stuff.”

  “Your pillow talk is getting better.”

  Winking at me, she glances down at how her tits remain out of her bra. She gives a shrug and then pops the button on my black jeans.

  “Compliment me,” I say, oddly nervous about how quickly she orgasmed minutes ago.

  “You’re like one of those fancy sandwiches at Harvie’s Sub Shop. You let me try a bite of yours, and there were so many layers to the flavor. That’s you, Conor,” she says and tugs my jeans down my hips. “The men I’ve known in the past were blocks of cheese. Not awful, but one note. You’re never bland.”

  I search her words for a dig at me. I’m leery suddenly. She’s moving too fast. I should be the one pinning her down and begging for a taste. Why is she so horny? Yeah, yeah, I’m sexy as fuck. But I didn’t get hotter in the last twenty-four hours. Why was she so patient until today?

  Then, Monroe tugs down my black briefs and smiles at my hard cock. I think to tell her to stop. Well, until she licks her puffy lips, and my brain shuts down. Now, my dick is in charge, and it does not want anyone interfering with the nice lady wrapping her soft fingers around its hard flesh.

  Monroe does what I’ve been fantasizing about for weeks. My dripping cockhead disappears between her sweet pink lips. I groan with both approval and relief. Her tongue teases the slit, nearly making me jizz seconds into the blowjob. She smiles at my approving sigh.

  One of her hands strokes my shaft while the other disappears under my balls. Her soft wet lips suck at the first several inches. Then, her wily pink tongue darts along the head before giving my balls a few loving licks. After so little stroking, licking, and sucking, Monroe has me blinded with pleasure. I come hard, gripping at the couch fabric to avoid losing control and grabbing at her bobbing head. Monroe keeps sucking, drinking down every drop.

  “Don’t tattoo your dick,” she murmurs with her lips pressed against my cockhead. “It’s perfect without any decorations.”

  “I should say something effortlessly romantic right now. Except my dick is running the show, and it has a small vocabulary.”

  “Can we fuck now?”

  “I just came, woman. I’ll need several hours and a few protein shakes to be ready again.”

  Monroe grins at my comment as her tongue lazily licks my cock. Despite my complaint, I’ll be hard again soon if she keeps teasing my dick. I gently reclaim my cock and hide it in my briefs. Monroe gives me an annoyed duck-face frown.

  “Why?” she asks while shoving her tits back into her bra and sitting a foot from me on the couch.

  Ignoring her bad mood, I lean over and kiss her lips. She doesn’t respond to my affections, though.

  “I’m sticking with you all night,” I say, moving my lips to her throat and inspiring a quiet moan. “This is one of those extended dates, where I won’t leave and you need to call for help to remove me. Let’s order in and watch a movie. Or go out and watch a movie. In fact, let’s drive to Cincinnati and go dancing at a discotheque.”

  “Is Amity a good lover?” Monroe asks, flashing her claws.

  “Look, I’m not wholly against a three-way with your roommate. Amity is hot and very focused on making a person’s toes curl. However, seeing you making out with her would inspire intense jealousy in me. It’s too early in our relationship for me to throw a fucking tantrum.”

  “I bet you flailing around like a toddler would be a special kind of sexy,” Monroe says after her attempt at troublemaking flamed out. She yanks on her shirt and pouts. “I feel as if today is my last day on the planet, and I want to go down swinging. Except no one is attacking me, so I’m just screwing with you for no reason.”

  “Yeah, that’s real crazy of you, Monroe,” I say while tracing her belly button through her shirt. “But just remember how I’m not your enemy. We’re on the same team.”

  Monroe’s lovely lips purse and pout despite her nodding. So, no, she doesn’t trust I’m fully on her team. Of course, it’s only been a few hours, and I haven’t really unleashed the full force of my charm on her yet. With another day, I’ll have this wary woman swooning under my every smile.

  MONROE

  My orgasm ought to act as a chill pill, calming me after a wild twenty-four hours. Instead, I’m even more anxious after Conor and I find pleasure. Now, I’m filled with questions. Who is this man? Why did he call dibs on me? Did he know who I was? Why didn’t he do more than kiss me for a month? How can Conor act so silly and sweet while also exuding darkness?

  This final question is probably why I’m so agitated. After all, Uncle Clive can be fun and even charming. He could also randomly lash out. Conor doesn’t look or sound like Clive, but I’m nervous he could suddenly turn on me.

  My foot begins tapping wildly as I realize I might be in
enemy territory. Yet, my biggest ally is a man similar to the one trying to marry me off to a middle-aged nerd.

  After ten minutes of cuddling on the couch with Conor, I squirm free, flop on the ground, and scramble to freedom.

  “You want me so bad,” Conor teases, still stretched out on the couch. “It’s kinda embarrassing.”

  Laughing at his sarcastic taunting, I walk back and forth from the door to the kitchen.

  “I can’t stop thinking.”

  “Let’s go for a ride,” Conor says, standing. “We’ll drive to Cincinnati and catch a movie. It’ll waste a few hours. Then, we’ll hit Bambi’s restaurant and leave Amity a big fucking tip, so she feels indebted to us. By the time we’re done with all that, the day will be mostly over.”

  “Don’t you have work?”

  “No. With my stellar organizational skills, I get all my shit done in forty-five minutes.”

  “Is that true?”

  Conor flashes his bedroom eyes at me and asks, “Why would I lie?”

  “To impress me.”

  “But I already made you come today. I also let you buy me lunch. Shouldn’t I be dialing back the charm at this point?” he asks while checking his phone. When I don’t respond, he smirks. “No, it really takes me less than an hour to finish work. So, do you want to grab a jacket for the ride?”

  Conor refuses to get flustered while I feel so overwhelmed that I could decorate the apartment with stress-induced barf. Why shouldn’t I trust him? He clearly has his shit together while I feel as if I’m drowning.

  Grabbing my tan leather jacket, I think back to what the bunnies shared with me about Conor. Their inside insight often felt contradictory. He’s both an easygoing goofball unfit to lead a dangerous organization or a calculating cold-blooded killer looking to live up to his father’s impressively violent legacy.

  What Amity told me last week feels the most spot-on. “I enjoy spending time with Conor, but I’m never sure he enjoys spending time with me.”