The Chance Encounter
One would think the first thing to have caught my eye would have been the two full grown geese and half dozen or so baby geese, wandering around in circles in the middle of the road.
Or maybe it should have been the makeshift ‘traffic cones’ that were in all actuality a pair of red high heeled shoes placed in the middle of each lane.
Then again the open red golf umbrella perched on the double yellow lines on the other side was pretty eye catching too.
But apparently not eye catching enough because it wasn’t that or any of the others that had caught my eye first.
Instead it was the most perfect ass I’d ever seen.
I wanted to marry it.
Among a variety of other – less wholesome things – I wanted to do to it.
But it was all I could see since its owner was doing some sort of weird yoga position on the side of the road that looked as though it involved folding in on yourself and causing complete strangers to idly muse about loving, honoring, and cherishing your ass for as long as you both shall live.
I was oddly fine with that.
Her ass was that great.
The fireman in me wondered for a moment if there really was something wrong with her, that made her ball up like that, while the pervert in me wondered if all she needed was a stiffened part of me to help straighten her out.
Either way, I was more than willing to help her out.
There wasn’t any other traffic on the road, but I parked my car diagonally across both lanes, just in case anyone came along, and turned my hazard lights on before getting out of my car.
And that was when I figured out three things in quick succession.
One – Nothing appeared to be wrong with her in a medical emergency kind of way.
Two – I would likely never know the joys to be had by holding onto her ass while I fucked her from behind, because:
Three – Karma had just fucked me in my own not so perfectly formed ass.
Because it was only then, when I could see the face of who owned the most perfect ass I’d ever seen, that I realized who she was.
Jason Stackhouse’s sister.
Her name was a mystery to me, but her lineage wasn’t. A descendant of a long line of men in blue, she was as blue as I knew my balls were going to be when I would eventually have to walk away from her.
But seeing her trying to reach for something in the storm drain had me walking towards her instead, while I called out, “Is everything okay?”
I’d vaguely registered the sounds of another car coming to a stop, but I didn’t look up because I was so close to reaching it.
If only my arms were just a wee bit longer.
My arms, which were now covered in muck and god knows what else, making me not only late for my blind date, but disgustingly dirty to boot.
At least I hoped that brown sludge was just dirt.
But the fact I was okay with being late and possibly shit covered to boot said a lot about how excited I was to be going on this blind date.
I already had a bad feeling it was going to be a shitty night anyway, so why not get a head start while I was at it and cover myself in it?
But looking over at the sound of a man’s voice, I sat up on my knees and did a quick head count of the other baby geese before looking over at the owner of said voice.
Come to mama…
I recognized the poppy immediately of course. Even if he hadn’t still been wearing half of his uniform – with the yellow stripes circling the hem of his pants, and the suspenders dangling from his sides – being nearly as tall as one of the ladders on the fire truck I’d seen him driving on occasion, it was impossible to not recognize him.
It was also impossible to not spring a leak seeing him up close for the first time.
So it was a good thing geese could swim.
I was about to flood the road with my lady lake.
“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to peer down into the storm drain as he got closer. “Did you drop something?”
Do my panties count?
How about my inhibitions?
Because all I wanted to do now was to stop, drop, and roll all over him.
I didn’t know what his name was, nor did I have any way of knowing whether or not he knew I was a Stackhouse. Not for nothing, but our family was well known in our town for being a part of the police department.
For all intents and purposes, I was staring back at our arch enemy.
Daddy had even not-so-jokingly joked that he’d rather the bar burn to the ground than call the fire department.
And up until that very moment, I had agreed with his illogical logic.
Now I wanted nothing more than to get a good look at his hose and find out firsthand if he knew how to wield it.
Or if I could swallow it.
I was suddenly feeling mighty parched.
But rather than embarrass myself by throwing myself at him – and having my brother show up to arrest me for sexual assault – I stood up and looked up – and up – at him and gauged his sense of humor by teasing, “I was in the middle of a lightening round of Duck Duck Goose when this one decided to make a run for it, but I refuse to be bested by a gosling.”
Beautiful and a sense of humor?
God really did hate me.
It would be blaringly obvious to her I was the mortal enemy, since I hadn’t bothered changing at the end of my shift, with me just wanting to get out of there. I’d had a particularly difficult twenty-four hours and had been driving around aimlessly, trying to clear my head before I went home.
Now I just wanted to know if I could convince her to go home with me.
My other head was suddenly in need of clearing too.
But I wasn’t a complete dick, even if the ultimate prize would be getting my dick completely inside of her at some point in the future, so I walked over and dropped down on my knees in front of her to get a better look.
At her legs.
And then the baby goose.
Like I said, I wasn’t a complete dick.
The grate of the storm drain was bolted in place, so I couldn’t pull it off. But looking around, I spotted a long stick nearby and was about to grab it, when I heard her say warningly, “Kate…”
“Kate?” I asked, trying to see passed her – a feat, considering I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from her ass again – only to see she was the only thing standing in between me and a rather intimidating mother goose.
Who knew they could look so mean when they weren’t wearing a bonnet and reading nursery rhymes?
But rather than admit I was intimidated by Scrooge’s Christmas dinner, I chuckled, “How long has this game of Duck Duck Goose been going on that you’ve had the time to name them?”
Holding her arms out at her sides, she made some sort of weird flapping motion and giggled, “I didn’t name them. TLC did. Jon and Kate plus eight, if you count Runaway Ryan trying to flush itself down the drain.”
“Ryan?” I asked, not knowing if one of their eight kids had the same name.
Or even if the baby goose was a male.
How in the fuck could you tell the difference?
“Gosling,” she laughed again, still facing the mother goose and moving her arms as though she was trying to balance on a high wire. “He’s really gone downhill since The Notebook. Literally.”
I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to laugh or be jealous that she’d once – and maybe still – considered another man to be ‘uphill’, which was just as ridiculous as my reply when I heard myself say, “Their last name was Gosselin.”
Turning to face me with wide amused eyes, her tone was that of a schoolyard taunt when she said, “I can’t believe you know that.”
“And I’ll deny it to my dying day if you tell anyone I know that,” I smiled in return. Feeling my cheeks heat up, I quickly deflected with, “Are you doing some sort of chicken dance mating ritual?”
“Well, you’re the chicken, when it comes to the branches of civil service, so you tell me,” she playfully taunted. “Do I make you feel like mating?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?” I heard myself say.
Or maybe it had been my dick that had answered her.
It was hard to tell – in more ways than one – when we had both been thinking the same thing.
God…when did it get so hot out here?
And when in the hell did I turn into such a hussy?
Seeing him take a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow with his forearm was enough to remind me when.
Those forearms could make a nun renounce her vows.
And I hadn’t been to church since I couldn’t remember when, so I was barely a catholic anymore.
I didn’t stand a chance.
But I didn’t have a chance to answer either way, unless my shriek counted right before I answered his arched eyebrow with a yelped out, “I just got goosed by a goose!”
“Lucky goose,” I thought I heard him mumble at the same time I turned to face Mother McGoose-my-caboose and admonish, “Bad Kate. Bad!”
She honked in reply and spread her wings out, charging at me and making me yelp again, as I jumped backwards and grabbed onto my umbrella.
Using it like a shield, I moved closer to my future baby daddy and crouched down beside him giggling, “I’ll protect you, Chicken. She’s pissed they cancelled her show.”
“My heroine,” he smirked and added, “But if she manages to take us out, do you think they’ll suspect fowl play?”
That was so not fair…
How much was a girl expected to resist?
All I wanted to do was hug him and squeeze him and fuck him until death do we part.
Was that asking too much?
But rather than admitting I was two seconds away from rom-com-cumming all over him, I only grinned and said, “Hopefully. It would serve her right – and probably a dinner party of eight – if her goose gets cooked.”
His throaty chuckle tickled its way across my ovaries and down my hatch, making me do a quick check to make sure I wasn’t squatting over the pile of eggs I was keeping warm just for him.
He was gonna make pretty babies.
And if I had my way, we were going to have a whole gaggle of them.
Not only was her ass perfect, but she – as a whole – was fucking gorgeous.
I would bet my life she could only look better if I was in the middle of fucking her.
And I probably would be gambling with my life if I’d given in to my urge to kiss her right then. With the way she was crouched down beside me, the umbrella made it seem like we were in our own little bubble.
But our bubble was popped before I could do anything, when a tiny sound of protest rang out from the grate beneath us.
“No wonder they cancelled your show,” I groused, looking down at the ugly little shit staring up at me.
So I wasn’t watching and only heard the distinct sound of something hitting the umbrella, just as she tumbled into me and the honking protests started reverberating all around us.
“You’d think she’d have more patience, being a mother to so many,” she giggled, while trying to right herself at the same time and using the umbrella to hold back the goose, before she added, “But I’m losing mine, so do you think you can reach it?”
This was a rescue.
Not a Nicholas Sparks movie.
Not that I would admit to knowing what those were.
Taking hold of the stick, before I ended up blurting out movie titles that starred Hugh Grant or Julia Roberts – or both – I laid down on top of the grate – grateful I hadn’t bothered to change at the end of my shift – and used it to coax the little shit up towards the side of the drain where I could reach it.
I had just managed to get my hand around it when she said out of the blue, “I don’t suppose you’re running incredibly late for a blind date, are you?”
“What?” I asked and then answered, “No, why?”
And then I heard another tiny sound of protest – coming either from my throat or the bird in my grip – when I heard her sigh out, “Oh, so I guess that’s just me.”
Loosening my grip on the bird before I inadvertently squeezed it to death, I pulled it out of the grate and shoved it under the umbrella towards its mother, before looking back at the girl who’d just flushed my dreams down the drain and said, “Oh. A date, huh?”
“A blind date,” she nodded, looking a little put out. “Blind, as in I’ve never met him before. Not blind, as in Stevie Wonder. But I do have a soft spot for singers, so…”
Her words trailed off, but it didn’t matter since I’d stopped listening and was already imagining her willing to put out for her blind date if he could sing.
And I could admit it was completely insane to feel like I’d just been kicked in the blue balls.
She was My Cherie Amour.
Only she wasn’t.
“So what does he do for a living?” I heard myself ask.
Like it was any of my business, whether or not he was in the music business.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “He’s the son of a friend of my Gran’s, so I only agreed to go out with him to get her off of my back.”
Now really wasn’t the time to be imagining getting her on her back – underneath me – so I forced my face into a neutral expression and peered around the side of the umbrella saying, “It looks like the Gosselin family is heading off in search of a new network, so I think the coast is clear.”
Slowly closing the umbrella, like she was afraid Freddy Krueger would jump out at her any second, when she saw them all waddling away, she turned back to me and smiled, “I do love a happy ending.”
I’d love one too.
However, she had a blind date to get to, so that wasn’t in the cards for me tonight.
But remembering who she was – a blue blood through and through – helped to ease some of the sting, knowing I could never really be with her anyway.
I didn’t care about that one way or the other, but knowing of her family – and having dealt with her brother on several occasions – I doubted any of them would be happy about it.
So I stood up and was about to hold out the lesser of my dirty hands towards her to pull her to her feet, but she’d already stood up when I did.
It was probably for the best.
If I touched her, all bets would be off.
Other than the one where I was gambling with my life.
That bet would be so on.
Everything suddenly felt a little awkward now that the geese were gone – which was weird in and of itself – so I just nodded when she said, “Well…thanks for all of your help. I don’t know how long it would’ve taken me to reach the little fella. I’m pretty sure I stopped growing when I was in my early teens, so my arms weren’t going to get any longer.”
“Glad I could help,” I smiled softly in return. But catching the flash of red in my peripheral reminded me she had somewhere to be, so I pointed at her shoes still moonlighting as traffic cones and added, “You should probably get going if you’re already incredibly late.”
Her lips pursed to one side, which only made me want to kiss them happy again, so before I could make that epic mistake, I started heading back towards my car, only to stop and turn around, when she called out, “Hey! I never got your name.”
I’d give her more than that.
Although Jason Stackhouse’s Sister Northman was a bit of a mouthful.
“Eric,” I called back. “Eric Northman.”
“Well it was nice to meet you Eric Eric Northman,” she smiled. “And thanks again for your help.”
I was waylaid watching her bend over to retrieve her shoes – that ass would be the death of me, I was sure of it – but when she slipped them on and began walking away, I called out, “Hey! I never got your name.”
She was clearly pleased when she reached the corner and turned back around, looking back at me with an amused – if not challenging – expression when she called back, “Sookie. It rhymes with cookie.”
Then she disappeared around the corner, leaving me with a sudden sweet tooth.
And cookies weren’t the only thing I was craving.
The Broken Heel
Stupid, stupid, STUPID!
Stupid for not just canceling the blind date.
Stupid for agreeing to go on it in the first place.
And epically stupid for bringing up the fact I was late for a blind date to my future baby daddy.
We could be fertilizing our future goslings right now, if I’d just kept my trap shut and my legs open.
Instead I’d been sitting at a table for the last hour, with the most boring man in the history of boring men, while my mind was still in the gutter.
And on the man who’d been in there with me.
Eric Eric Northman.
No wonder he was a fireman.
He’d probably spent his lifetime putting himself out.
He was that hot.
“So,” Boring Bill began, in his newest attempt at boring me to death. “Do you have any other aspirations above working at your family’s tavern?”
“Higher aspirations?” I questioned.
Did having my kitty getting stuck up on top of Eric Eric Northman’s tree trunk count?
But I couldn’t help taking offense – nor did I try to hide that fact.
I was sure my expression looked like he’d just dropped trou and left a steaming pile of shit all over my future livelihood.
“Yes,” he nodded. “Surely you don’t plan to spend the rest of your life as a waitress or bartending, unless of course you’re just biding your time until you get married.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, wishing I hadn’t left my umbrella in the holder by the door.
If I didn’t use it to shield myself from the shit spewing out of the asshole underneath his nose, I could always use it to beat him to death.
“I meant no offense,” he offered, with his hands held up and quickly backtracked by saying, “It’s noble to work in your family’s business.”
“Uh huh,” I glared. “Noble…like not throwing my drink in your face?”
If my glass wasn’t empty – my figurative one hadn’t even been half full before this date had even begun – he would see just how noble I’m not. I’d ditch him here and now if it weren’t for the fact his mother and my Gran were church buddies.
She would be mortified to hear I’d shown my ass on a date she had set up.
And then she’d take a switch to mine.
But since he seemed to be stuck in the land of The Cleavers, I stood up – thereby taking my beaver with me – and meant to offend him when I said, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go take a leak.”
I’d known my night would be shitty, but I never thought I’d be stuck on a dysentery date.
So it was only appropriate for the shit to pile on when I stomped away and the heel of my shoe gave way, sending me toppling into the guy sitting at the end of the bar.
I knew karma was just having a grand old time fucking me in the ass, when I walked into the bar and grill around the corner from my place and saw my sweet tooth sitting at a table in the far corner of the room.
Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine…
She didn’t appear to notice me – or to be having a good time – so I couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing.
Not noticing me and/or not having a good time.
And then I decided it was both, depending on how I wanted to look at it.
But I’d been making a herculean effort to not look over at her once I sat down at the end of the bar, which was how she managed to blind side me.
I’d barely registered the squeaked out, “Shit!” right before she fell against the back of my left shoulder, with that same arm automatically reaching out to grab onto her.
But it decided all on its own to pull her onto my lap.
“We have to stop meeting up like this,” she giggled and then winced when she tried to stand up.
Not that my arm was having any of that nonsense, so I pulled her back against me and teased, “I disagree. But if this is you falling for me, then my only complaint is I don’t want you hurting yourself in the process.”
“Sometimes a little pain goes a long way to adding to the experience,” she smiled.
My dick agreed.
It was in pain and happy about it.
But glancing back towards the real – and just as irrational – pain in my ass, I sized up her date and asked, “How’s it going with Stevie Wonder?”
“He’s blind to the fact we’ve entered the 21st century and is acting more like a wannabe Ward Cleaver. But he can just leave my beaver alone,” she growled.
It was adorable.
And only turned me into even more of a smitten kitten.
“Finally,” I smirked. “Something we can agree on.”
And I had no issue with cleaving the hands from his body if he even attempted to touch her beaver.
Using his hand to run down the length of my leg, he said in a low voice, “Let me see.”
While I tried to figure out if I was enough of a hussy to comply – and another part of me calculated the low light to lower lips visibility ratio – I found out I truly was a hussy when I was disappointed to find out he’d been talking about my ankle.
And I knew he mistook my noise of disapproval to mean something else when he added, “Did you twist it?”
Does my twisted sense of propriety count?
“Does it hurt?”
I wouldn’t call the throbbing in my lower half painful, but I was in pain just the same.
“Can you bend it?”
He would be amazed at how well I could handle his balls.
And I would definitely agree to be his beck and call girl.
I guess that really did make me a hussy.
At least I would be for him.
My beaver, which had been sitting up like a meerkat hearing a whistle when Eric Eric Northman had said my name, immediately dove for cover hearing the mangled version coming from Boring Bill.
Unable to not turn around – because I was a natural blond and stereotypically it would be me to go looking in the basement of a haunted house on Halloween night to find the cause of the noise that turned out to be Michael Myers – I confirmed I’d somehow managed to straddle the line where wet dreams and nightmares came true, when I saw Boring Bill cautiously approaching as he asked, “Is this cad bothering you?”
“Cad?” the unicorn I was sitting on snorted.
He had to be.
Only something so pretty could be one.
And I was even more convinced, since I was pretty sure I was sitting on top of his horn.
Now, if only I could figure out a way to ride him.
Leaning closer at my side, I could smell the aftershave he was wearing and from the torrential downpour it caused down below, a rainbow shot out of my pot of gold, when he whispered, “I think you overshot saying he was from the 1950’s. 1850’s…maybe…”
Maybe I could cum just from the sound of his voice.
God knows I was close to finding out.
“Are you cold?” I asked her, pointedly ignoring her date, when I felt her shivering in my arms.
The air conditioning was on, but it wasn’t ice cold in the bar.
“Nope,” she replied, even as I watched the goosebumps rising up on her flesh.
But then I figured she might not have been answering me when she added, “I’m fine Bill. Eric and I are old friends. I just ran into him when the heel broke off of my shoe.”
I guess for a moth that only lived for two days, a two hour friendship would be considered old.
God knows I was attracted to her flame.
And her ass.
I’d been mapping it with my thighs from the moment I’d pulled her onto my lap.
So maybe I really was a cad.
If only I was a CAD.
Because if I had the ability I would make a computer aided design 3D image of it to save for all eternity.
Future generations should know just how great her ass is.
Christ…when did it get so hot in here?
“Oh,” Dockers Dickface uttered, with his eyes moving down to see her broken shoe lying on the floor. And then he grimaced when he said, “I didn’t realize the floor was so dirty.”
If he could’ve read my mind he would know what dirty really was.
But not being a mind reader myself, I glanced down to see what in the hell he was dickfacing about, and not seeing anything on the floor, I realized he must have been talking about the bottom of Sookie’s foot.
Still dirty from when she’d been playing Duck Duck Goose.
I suddenly felt more conceited than I had any right to, knowing something about her that he didn’t.
How her feet came to be dirty.
And I felt something other than conceited, thinking of her as my dirty girl.
But she wasn’t my girl.
She wasn’t even my date.
She was his date.
And she was Jason Stackhouse’s sister.
So it was that final thought that made me finally release her from my lap and set her back down on her feet.
Why was he putting me back on my feet?
My unicorn ride wasn’t over!
Did you hear me yell Yee Haw?
Then standing up himself, he kneeled down on bended knee in front of me.
So help me God, I almost shouted YES!
In that moment I would have agreed to anything he asked of me.
I wanted the whole kit and caboodle.
And my tongue wanted to doodle its way all over his body.
But instead of asking for my hand in marriage – I would’ve settled for giving him a hand in getting undressed or even a hand-job – he gently took my ankle in his hand and lifted it up before sliding my broken heeled shoe back onto it.
Then smirking up at me, he took my other ankle in his hand and said, “Give me your other shoe, Pisa.”
You wanna Pisa this?
God knows I was willing to give him a hell of a lot more than just a piece of my ass.
He could have the whole damn thing.
But instead of saying that, I did as he asked – because who could say no to a unicorn? – and watched as he slid my other shoe off.
And then broke out those nun renouncing forearms of his when he broke the heel off of that one too.
God help me…
Slipping it back onto my foot, I felt like Slutterella, but Walt Disney was a lying mother fucker because my Prince Charming stood up and then retook his seat on the bar stool, saying, “There. You’re a little shorter than when you first walked in here, but at least you can walk now.”
I was shorter because I lost all sense of decency the moment I laid eyes on him.
But since his eyes had gone back to the beer in front of him, I had no choice but to retreat with a mumbled out, “Thanks.”
I’d been wanting a whole lotta something.
Because I’d felt a whole lotta something going on in the depths of his jeans.
And instead of sticking a whole lotta something in me, he turned and twisted Michael Myer’s butcher knife to kill what was left of my wet dreams, by saying, “Enjoy the rest of your date.”
I’d forgotten about Boring Bill.
Who was still standing there.
It was useless to want something I obviously couldn’t have.
Unicorns were hard to come by for a reason.
Cumming with one was just a silly fantasy.
But it was just as useless to continue on with my charade of a date.
Bill wasn’t a unicorn.
Hell, he sounded more like Foghorn Leghorn.
So it wasn’t very long before I Porky Pigged my way out of there and called an end to my horrible night, with a, “That’s all folks!”
As soon as I stepped outside, the forecasted rain made its appearance, falling in buckets from the sky. It was why I’d brought along my umbrella, but instead of letting the gloom get to me, I decided to let it cleanse my shitty night away.
So I kicked off my ruined shoes and decided my feet would be the first part I would get clean.
But knowing it would take a hell of a lot more to cleanse Eric Eric Northman from my mind, I pulled out the big guns.
Gene Kelly style.
The Red Umbrella
I forced myself to not turn around to see how their date was going and just focused on finishing my beer. I’d planned on grabbing a bite to eat while I was there, but I managed to lose my appetite.
It was easily done, when what I really wanted to sink my teeth – as well as other parts of me – into wasn’t something I could have.
I felt like a diabetic in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory after my sweet tooth walked away.
But I wasn’t the owner of a golden ticket.
Or a pair of pleated Dockers.
So I kept reminding myself she was a Stackhouse. As much as I was willing to cross a whole host of lines with her, having seen for myself her brother’s distaste for my kind, I was sure it wouldn’t be pretty if I tried to make any moves on his sister.
I couldn’t date her.
I couldn’t anything her.
And while she seemed perfectly friendly towards me, her teasing taunts about my chicken civil service job told me she was well aware of the rivalry between our two sides too.
I didn’t think I was imagining the chemistry between us and sure, she’d flirted with me, but that didn’t mean anything.
Maybe she was just a natural born flirt.
I wanted to know if she was a natural born blond too.
But thinking with my dick would get me arrested.
By her brother.
But ultimately, it didn’t matter.
Because no matter what my intentions were – I was too mixed up to even know what they were or would turn out to be – what I did know was that ultimately it would never work out.
I highly doubted I would ever be welcomed over by her family for Thanksgiving Dinner.
Or even a Christmas goose.
But I was also quickly coming to learn I didn’t have much willpower when it came to her, so it was only a few minutes later, when I found myself turning around to see her.
I could look as long as I didn’t touch, right?
Again, that is.
Both looking and touching.
But instead of finding her where I expected her to be, I only found an empty table.
They were gone.
As irrational as it was, thoughts of them heading out somewhere to dance cheek to cheek – or worse – in between the sheets made me decide to call it a night.
Throwing some money down on the bar to cover the one beer I’d ordered and didn’t even manage to finish, I stormed outside only to find the thunderstorm – the one I only now recalled being in the forecast – had made its appearance.
I’d walked to the bar, not knowing how many beers I would be having that night, so I wouldn’t be tempted to drive home.
Hunching forward, I was already soaked through by the time I reached the corner and was just about to turn my trot into a full-fledged jog, when I saw it.
The red umbrella.
And then I saw her.
No Dickface in Dockers in sight.
But instead of holding the umbrella overhead to keep the rain off of her, she was twirling it off to the side, while she swung herself around the pole holding up the street sign.
Was she singing?
My singing in the rain was interrupted by a chuckled out, “What are you doing?”
I know my mouth was still hanging open because I’d just reached the, “Raaiinnn…” part of the chorus, but seeing the unicorn standing there, I figured my night couldn’t get any worse.
Until I realized I looked like a drowned rat right about now.
And I know I sounded like a drowning cat when I sung.
When Gran had brought up the blind date she was looking to arrange on my behalf, she’d caught me on a day when my defenses were down and my glass had been half full. And besides that, it wasn’t just her pecan pie recipe that made her a ringer at every bake sale.
She could sell a glass of water to a drowning man.
So the night’s festivities had been sold to me as some decent food and light petting.
So I my half full glass and my longtime empty naughty parts may have added on that last part, but the closer the day came, the more I started to dread it.
Probably because Gran had oversold herself.
She should’ve quit while she’d been ahead, instead of going on and on about what a nice man he was.
I didn’t want nice.
I wanted naughty.
But Eric Eric Northman had already made it perfectly clear that while he was willing to get in the literal gutter with me, he wasn’t interested in letting me take a ride on his naughty parts.
So I decided I had nothing to lose and let him see the full tilt crazy he’d managed to avoid, when I just shrugged and continued on, singing out, “I’m SIIIINGING in the rain…I’m siiiinging in the RAIN…”
But when I finished my spin around the 8th and Main pole, I ended up slamming right into the front of his body, with his hands wrapping around my waist, so the next line came out as a breathy whisper.
Even so, it was all too true.
“What a glorious feeling…”
That’s all she wrote.
I couldn’t think of anything else but what a glorious feeling it was to be pressed against him.
“Where’s your date?’ he asked, holding me tighter in his arms.
If those forearms would be the death of me, then his biceps would be my resurrection.
God knows my entire body felt like it was coming alive.
Or maybe I was just cumming?
I couldn’t really be sure.
I didn’t really care.
But he’d asked me a question.
One I couldn’t really recall the answer to at the moment, so I heard myself say, “What date?”
I don’t know what in the hell it was about her that had me so captivated, but watching her singing and dancing in the rain – wild and carefree – like she didn’t have a care in the world, it only made me want her more.
And Dickface was obviously a Dumbass to boot for letting her leave all by herself in the middle of a torrential downpour.
But hearing her casually dismissing his entire existence, it was all I needed to hear for me to lose all sense – and all sense of control – when I found myself leaning down and kissing her.
If she meant to slap me, she missed because her fingers got tangled up in the wet hair at the back of my head and held me tighter, while she used her bare feet to easily scale the wet denim covering my legs before wrapping her legs around my waist.
And then I remembered how well she could do yoga.
It made me wonder what other positions I could bend her into.
And I only realized she was still holding the umbrella in her other hand when the rain disappeared over our heads.
Or maybe the gray skies had cleared up.
If I didn’t have my tongue down her throat, I was sure I would be wearing my happy face.
But remembering where we were – who she was juxtaposed against who I was – made me break our kiss long enough to ask, “Wha…what are we doing?”
I had been the one – for all intents and purposes – who had pounced on her.
So it would be my face on the mugshot and my name on the Sex Offenders Registry, if this all went south.
“What I’ve wanted to do since the moment I laid eyes on you,” she replied, with heated eyes before crashing her lips back against mine.
As long as we had that cleared up.
Having already gotten a glimpse of her ability to work a pole, it wasn’t all that surprising to feel her working my body in the same way.
Only now she’d switched things up, grinding against me instead of twirling.
It was giving me ideas.
Ideas that would end up with me being a registered sex offender and I heard myself repeat, “What are we doing?”
“If you don’t know,” she growled. “I’m doing it wrong.”
And with that, her hand not holding the umbrella slid down my body to cup my raging hard-on over my jeans, stroking against it as she said, “It’s called foreplay and it ends with you inside of me. So you can either take me home and we can finish there or you can put me down and we’ll finish right here.”
Now that that was cleared up…
Since the sidewalk didn’t look all that inviting, I stared back at her and asked in a hoarse voice, “Where do you live?”
Leaning away from me, she looked adorably confused and looked around for a moment before she dropped the umbrella from her hand, so she could point in opposite directions, saying, “That way?”
“Right,” I grinned and brought her body back to being flush against mine. “My place it is.”
How in the hell we managed to make it there, I’ll never know, since we hadn’t come up for air the entire way. But eventually her back made it to my front door, with me holding her there with my body, while I fished my keys out and unlocked it.
Kicking it shut once we were inside, I didn’t waste any time and carried her back to my bedroom, intentionally falling with her when I laid her down on the mattress.
My lips refused to leave hers, so it had been unavoidable.
That being the case, it made it really difficult to undress her.
Not that that was going to stop me.
I was a fireman.
A trained professional in the art of facing difficult and even dangerous situations.
But pulling away long enough to rid her of the flirty little sundress that had been taunting me for hours and laying eyes on her mostly naked body for the first time, I realized the real dangers I was now facing.
One – I was going to want more than one night with her.
Which led me to danger number two and came out in a strained, “Your brother is going to kill me.”
Well, I guess that answered the question as to whether or not he knew I was a Stackhouse.
And he was also right.
Jason would kill him – and me – if he found out I was fucking the enemy, but I sure as hell wasn’t about to stop now and said, “I’ll just claim the SODDI defense.”
“What?” he asked, looking both confused and turned on.
But everything about him turned me on, so I went to work on getting rid of those pesky clothes covering my prize, while I replied, “Some other dude did it.”
It was a very popular defense, according to all of the guys laughing about it at the bar.
“Bullshit,” he hotly declared.
And he looked smokin’ hot, when he leered back at me and said, “I’m the only dude doing it to you.”
Did I mention he was hot?
So it was my baby maker doing all of the talking for me when I replied, “More doing. Less talking.”
He took direction very well.
Very well because the next thing I knew he was all over me.
Hands. Lips. Teeth. Tongue.
I became well acquainted with all of them.
Christ…I didn’t even know his middle name and yet I knew he was packing a bazooka.
It made me want to blow him until he popped.
So maybe his middle name was Joseph?
As in Bazooka Joe?
And wanting to find out if he was bubblegum flavored, I put some of the wrestling moves I’d perfected over the years – my brother would be furious if he knew what his training was doing for me now – to good use and flipped him over.
His shirt was long gone, but his jeans – while opened – were still clinging to his body, so I ripped them off like a wrapper from a Twinkie and went to work, trying to work out his creamy filling.
“Fuck…” he bit out in a strangled gasp, with his hands going to the back of my head, but letting me set the pace.
I may have been sucking his dick less than three hours after I met him, but he was nothing if not a gentleman.
Even if I was in no way acting like a lady.
What with all of the dick in my mouth.
But even with all of the dick in my mouth, there was no way I could get all of his dick in my mouth.
Not without practice.
It only gave me more incentive to want this – whatever we were doing – to happen more than once.
Practice made perfect.
Just like him.
One of his hands disappeared from my head and I heard some sort of banging going on from somewhere beside us. But it wasn’t until I heard the distinct sound of a foil wrapper being crushed in his grip that I realized we had another kind of banging to get to.
Pulling back, I took a moment to appreciate the sight of him at full mast, before taking the wrapper from his hand and ripping it open, so I could slide the baby making barrier onto him.
Too soon to fuck him?
Too soon to make that gaggle of babies with him?
But that was okay.
Practice made perfect.
Just like our babies were gonna be.
I’d only reached for a condom to be ready for the inevitable, but I’d intended on returning the favor – wanting to taste her flavor – once I could get my eyes to uncross.
But it felt like an impossible feat.
At least it was, until I felt her sliding up my body and straddling hers over my hips, before placing my tip at her entrance and softly breathing out, “All aboard…”
Bracing her hands against my chest, mine went straight to her hips, holding on as she slowly worked her way up and down the length of my shaft, until I doubted I would ever see straight again.
If I couldn’t draw disability, I could always volunteer to be her sex toy.
I couldn’t imagine anything better than being inside of her for the rest of my life.
But it turned out my imagination wasn’t for shit because it wasn’t until she had finally worked her way all the way down my shaft that I realized just how much I wanted to stay there.
In my bed.
Inside of her.
“Wow,” she panted, making me uncross my eyes enough to see the smile on her face, right before she giggled, “You really are a unicorn.”
“Is that a good thing?” I asked, hoping it was, but not sure if it wasn’t some sort of insult I was too brain dead to understand.
All of my blood was currently south of my waist and I didn’t think it would be returning to the rest of me any time soon.
“Well…” she smiled and then leaned down, pressing her lips against mine as she ended with, “Let’s find out.”
It turned out the answer was yes.
Yes, it was a very good thing to be a unicorn.
Not only did I find out how flexible she was – very – I found out what it was like to watch her ride me like she was trying to win a rodeo.
I found out she was my new favorite flavor.
I found out my rebound time with her was that of a thirteen year old boy, with his first Victoria’s Secret catalog clutched in his hands.
And I found out my imagination hadn’t done her any justice when I got to experience firsthand what it was like to fuck her from behind.
Her ass really would be the death of me.
I knew it when I came so hard, I would’ve sworn I was having a heart attack at the same time.
It was hours later by the time we took a breather. Both of us looked the worse for the wear, thanks to both the fuck-a-thon we’d just gone through, as well as having been caught out in the rain.
The bed was damp from both the rainwater that had covered us and the sweat and cum we’d added on to it, but I would be damned if it wasn’t perfect.
Just like her.
A fact that was only reiterated when she turned on her side to face me, still trying to catch her breath, with her eyes twinkling as she giggled, “That was as fun as it says on the box.”
God help me…
Why did she have to be a blue blood?
A Stackhouse nonetheless?
I couldn’t for the life of me think of a way this – whatever it was we were doing – could ever work out.
A part of me had foolishly hoped that by finally having her – a bite of the forbidden fruit, as it were – I would be sated. I would have gotten her out of my system and then I could move on.
No harm. No foul.
I was just a fool.
But even knowing no good could come from it, I didn’t even try to resist my next urge and gave in to it immediately, by sliding over and closing the distance between us.
Pressing my lips to hers, I felt like I could finally breathe again.
I was sure I’d figure out a way to breathe on my own again one day.
Then again, maybe not.
Either way, that day didn’t have to be today.
In the meantime I would just enjoy whatever this was we’d just started and pray it wouldn’t end anytime soon.