Scratch scratch scratch scratch…
Itch itch itch itch….
I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what in the hell was wrong with me, but for the past week I’d basically scratched my skin raw. Everything itched and I do mean everything. In between my fingers and toes; underneath my nail beds; even my hair felt itchy separately from my scalp and it had gotten to the point I was ready to duct tape socks over my hands just I wouldn’t scar myself for life, but I didn’t have the willpower to deny myself the relief only my fingernails, or possibly a cheese grater, could provide.
I’d never had so much as hay fever before and even though I hadn’t bought any new products lately, I still went ahead and chucked my laundry detergent, bath soaps, lotions, shampoos, and basically anything else I could think of that might have caused my seemingly allergic reaction to fucking air. But nothing helped and it only seemed to be getting worse as I steadily worked towards my death by Benadryl overdose with me popping those things like they were Tic Tacs and I had a hellacious case of halitosis. I didn’t have any health insurance, so a trip to the doctor was out and as a waitress I can say my tips had been suffering because nobody wants a server touching their plates and silverware when they looked like Biff-Blob from the movie Weird Science.
Everywhere I scratched, angry red welts would rise up on my skin, but the only thing that made them feel better was to scratch them again even harder than before. I even scratched myself raw in my sleep. Cold compresses worked for a little bit, but unless I could find a head to toe ice pack I could walk around in, they weren’t the best option. The slightest bit of pressure against my skin from my waistband or bra would leave a red welt outline in their wake, so in a last ditch effort to regain my sanity I went to the local pharmacy with my purse full of my meager earnings, resigned to spend every last penny I had on whatever miracle cure I could find.
Who needed money to eat when my hands were too busy gouging my flesh to hold a fork anyways?
In a town as small as Bon Temps, I knew the local pharmacy had been sold by the previous owner a month earlier to a new younger pharmacist just starting out, but I had yet to meet him and could care less unless he knew the miracle cure to my ails. When I marched through the front door my intention was to walk straight back and, in my desperation, bare my hideous looking skin like it was Fat Tuesday and he held the stash of the best beads in town. That is, until I saw him.
Mother fucker mother fucker mother fucker mother fucker…
I was expecting some nerdy bookworm; glasses; prematurely balding; pocket protector and stack of superhero comic books off to the side, but standing behind the elevated counter at the back of the store was, simply put, a living breathing Michelangelo, while in my pair of flip flops stood a special effects reject from a B-rated horror film. I may have been willing to try and use a potato peeler to slice away the itchiness, but I wasn’t willing to bare my nastiness to Mr. Perfection standing underneath the harsh fluorescent bulbs making him look like he had a fucking halo above his glorious blond head.
No. Fucking. Way.
When I saw that head lift up, no doubt looking around to see who caused the fucking bell that was hanging on the front door to ring, perhaps because thanks to my entrance he now had his fucking wings, I ducked down like any worthy robber and skulked over to where the assorted skin creams were with a basket in my hand.
Benadryl cream; Hydrocortisone ointment; Aveeno lotion; I grabbed them all. Lamisil for jock itch; Tinactin for athlete’s foot; Vagisil for minor feminine irritation; I wasn’t choosy and loaded up. I didn’t care so long as it had the power to make the itching go away.
Eczema? Poison Ivy? Itchy anus due to hemmoroids?
I didn’t think so; probably not; and please dear God, if so, what did it say about me that my entire body itched. Did that make me one giant asshole? At this point, I’d tattoo Preparation H on my forehead if I thought it would help and I grabbed a box of Tucks medicated wipes thinking they could potentially become my new favorite makeup remover. As soon as I cleared the shelves of everything I thought might possibly do away with my own personal purgatory, I skulked back towards the front with my basket of hope only to stand there for several minutes with no cashier in sight. I let my hand hover for several minutes more over the little metal bell where the ‘Ring for assistance’ sign was on the counter knowing it could draw Clarence’s attention in the back, but eying the nice sharp edge of the countertop and already envisioning myself rubbing up against it like a cat in heat, I bit the bullet and tapped the bell.
Just call me fucking Zuzu.
I knew it was pretty bad when I spent the majority of the time these days, when I wasn’t scratching myself to death, eying every surface as a potential scratching post, so I was too busy gauging the ahh-factor of the metal rod with a dozen Chapsticks attached to it knowing it could reach that one elusive spot my hands couldn’t get to on my back, when Gabriel himself came walking up to the counter with his white lab coat wings flapping behind him.
Mother fucker mother fucker mother fucker mother fucker…
“Excuse me, Miss? I’m the only one here at the moment, so I’ll have to ring up your purchases in the back,” he said with his sinfully angelic voice. Various body parts of mine were crying out Hallelujah while my mind was screaming Nnnooooo!
Thankfully I couldn’t bear wearing my hair in my usual ponytail anymore because the pressure of it was too much for my scalp to handle, so I nodded sharply, making my hair fall forward to cover my face, and pressed my chin against my chest as I silently followed Mr. Angel On Earth to the back. My thoughts were centered on just how crazy I would appear if I pushed all of my hair forward and attempted to converse with him like I was Cousin It’s sister, but when he put his hand on my basket to take it from me it finally occurred to me what that basket contained, so I did what any normal crazy person would do.
I tried to yank it back like we were playing tug of war over the mouth of an active volcano.
But it was too late and I froze stock still like Medusa herself had just met my gaze as it slipped through my fingers, with my body contorted forward like I was giving step by step 80’s hip hop dance instructions.
Care to Cabbage Patch, kind sir?
If only I was showing him how to do The Running Man, I could maybe get my feet to work and bolt out of the store, but it seemed I’d lost all motor function with the exception of my heart that was doing its damndest to beat its way out of my chest.
But my itching seemed to have temporarily gone away too, so maybe he was heaven sent.
I felt a different kind of burning start up down below now that I got a better look at the man I was about to be mortified in front of, but that too changed quickly as he pulled the first item out of the basket.
It was my new makeup remover.
Through my hair I could see his eyes furtively dart to me, but he remained professional and didn’t say anything as I salivated over his big hands with long fingers, already fantasizing the scratchy goodness that could be had from them, while he quickly scanned the box and moved onto the next item. His face held a few days’ worth of stubble and my eyes closed as I imagined how they’d feel scraping across my skin, my inner thighs in particular, making a shiver work its way down my spine. My little daydream of Sir Scruff-A-Lot didn’t last long though because the more he worked his way through the basket, the more my mind’s voice yelled, ‘Please Lord, let him be a blind savant,’seeing what else he’d pulled out.
Did I really grab flea powder and ear mite spray?
I didn’t even own a dog, shitty boyfriend or otherwise, and I’d never been more uncomfortable in my entire life, for a whole slew of reasons now, so when he thankfully had all of my booty bagged I thought I was free and clear.
Until his laughter filled blue eyes pierced my own, asking, “Uh…was there anything else you need today? Shampoo for lice, perhaps?”
I’d never been more bored out of my mind until I made the mistake of stepping foot into Bumfuck Central, Bon Temps Louisiana. Granted, I’d only been there for a month and had a monopoly going for me as the only pharmacy in town, but the only people who’d come into the place so far had been the elderly needing their heart and blood pressure medications or the moms with multiple screaming kids clinging to their legs needing a refill for their birth control.
Here you go. Now, please don’t forget to take it!
That is until I heard the bell ring at the front of the store and saw the full head of long blond hair walk through the door and like a horny bastard, I watched her in the mirrors strategically placed around the store to catch the other little horny bastards of the town who were too embarrassed to buy a box of rubbers and would try to steal them instead. I was thankful that my lone cashier, Mrs. Beck, had called in sick for the day because now the little Bon Temps Barbie would have to come to me to pay for her things, so I ran my fingers through my own blond hair and lamented over the fact I hadn’t shaved in a couple of days.
While trying not to think about how long it had been since I’d last fucked.
I tried to at least look busy in case she looked up, but she seemed too busy herself loading up on one of everything in aisle five. I hadn’t been there for long, but I knew that was where the allergy medicine was, among other things, thanks to the sign hanging from the ceiling and just waited patiently for her to finish so I could see her up close when I noticed her wandering to the front register. I didn’t want to run up there or yell out that I was the only one in the store because it would give away the fact I’d been watching her, so when she finally rung the bell, I had my chance.
Those mirrors hadn’t done her justice.
I could tell that she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath her flimsy tank top and her ass was showcased to perfection in the tiny pair of yoga shorts she was wearing. The red lines on her arms and legs made it look like she’d fought a briar patch and lost, but no matter.
I was sure my tongue would make them feel all better.
I would definitely feel better.
I was dying to see her face, but she hid it behind her hair and only acknowledged my words with a nod, so I didn’t even know what she sounded like yet and hoped she didn’t have one of those weird cartoon voices because after seeing her up close, I imagined that was the only thing that could turn me off about her.
Until I grabbed her basket.
If I went by the contents, she had everything from jock itch to hemmoroids to fleas.
But…fuck! She’s hot!
I was wondering if I could still manage to get off if I fucked her while wearing a biohazard suit when I made the mistake of not keeping my mouth in check and all but insinuated she had head lice.
Because I was a fuckwad on the inside and the pharmacy didn’t carry brain to mouth filters.
I almost wondered if she’d lost some sort of bet or I was actually being Punk’d because no one person could have all of those ailments at the same time, but at least I’d gotten her to say something when she yelled back, “Hey! Didn’t you have to take some sort of Hippocratic Oath on thou shall not make fun of the lepers? Or at least a Hypochondriactic Oath? Just tell me how much I owe you Clarence and keep your not so witty banter for George Bailey.”
Unable to get my mouth working just yet, I only pointed at the register’s display facing her while trying to come up with a way to apologize without sticking my foot further into my mouth.
I had really big feet.
I’d vaguely noticed she’d been scratching her arms while I’d been ringing up her things, but it wasn’t until she went to hand over her cash that I saw each of her scratches had turned into welts. Without thinking, I grabbed her outstretched hand, instead of the cash inside of it, and ran my fingers across the raised marks, asking, “Is all of that for this?”
I’d read some on Dermatographic Urticaria, more commonly known as the skin writing disease, but I’d never come across anyone who’d been afflicted with it. At least I knew what she had wasn’t contagious and a biohazard suit would be unnecessary, but my mouth had done more damage to her pride than I’d guessed because she quickly snatched her arm back, saying, “Wow. Not only do you spew random shit about people’s purchases, but you grope too? That’s one hell of a customer service plan you’ve got going for you. Do you just mouth the words, without actually using your voice, to people coming in here in need of new hearing aid batteries too?”
Not only was her skin on fire, all of her was on fire and I couldn’t help the barking laughter that escaped my throat from leaving, but my inner fuckwad came out with it, saying, “Trust me. If I’d groped you, you’d know.”
A different kind of fire shot through her veins and straight out of her eyes. Thank God I was a professional and could recognize those kinds of things because no matter what her mouth was saying, she couldn’t hide the fact she at the very least found me attractive, no matter what my mouth was saying.
At least I found one thing we had in common. And I wanted to fuck her. Badly, so hopefully we had that in common as well.
Luckily for me the counter was hiding the evidence of my desires, but before she could light off on me again, I said, “You should probably see a doctor.” Gesturing to her bag of assorted stuff, I added, “None of that is going to do anything more than put a dent in your wallet.”
I could tell by the sneer on her face that I’d managed to piss her off again, only making me think she’d be one hell of a lay, so like an asshole, I egged her one with, “Unless of course, you also have jock itch, athlete’s foot, vaginal itching, hemmoroids, fleas, and ear mites.”
Her already reddened skin inflamed even more when she peered at my embroidered name on my lab coat, saying, “Well Mr. Northman, not everyone is a big time pharmacist who can afford to not only be insensitive assholes but health insurance to boot. I can’t afford to go see a doctor, but luckily for me being a bitch is free. Just take my fucking money and give me my bag so I can go!”
I bet she liked it a little rough in the sack.
My hands were already tingling over the thought of smacking her perfect ass, now knowing my handprint would be more than visible on her skin, and scratching Property of Eric Northman across her body, so instead of just doing as she’d asked, I pushed her even farther, saying, “You must be in need of an eye exam as well. You mistook the ‘D’ on my coat for an ‘M’. That’s Doctor Northman,” and pointed at it to further rile her.
It was the most fun I’d had in weeks. And I was very willing to play doctor with her.
“For the love of Christ,” she snarled, “Give me that bag or else I’m gonna come back there and suffocate you with it.”
I didn’t know what in the hell was wrong with me, but pissing her off was my new favorite thing, so I threw the bag underneath the counter and voided out the sale. As a peace offering, (after all, I did want to eventually fuck her) I reached over and grabbed a bottle of Zyrtec 24 hour over the counter allergy medication and rang that up instead, saying, “Take these twice a day until your symptoms minimize and then you can probably go down to taking it once a day.”
My words seemed to bring her up short because she eyed me suspiciously and gestured to her skin, asking, “You know what in the hell this is?”
I nodded, answering, “It’s commonly referred to as the skin writing disease. There’s no known cause or cure. It may go away on its own or you may have it for the rest of your life, but this should help.”
“But I’ve already been ODing on Benadryl for a week!” she argued back.
“Different active ingredient,” I shrugged. “The Zyrtec will help. You should be feeling better within a day or two.”
My dick inside you will help as well and the effects are felt immediately.
She glanced at the register seeing the new total of twenty dollars and change versus the seventy and change it had been, so as she handed over the money she mumbled out, “Thanks,” at the same time.
If I hadn’t already figured out she would’ve refused, I would’ve given it to her for free, but because I was still a fuckwad, I grabbed a hold of her hand once more and took a closed pen using the pointed tip of it to scratch my phone number onto the inside of her forearm before handing over her bag and saying, “For when you want to thank me properly.”
The fucking nerve of him!
First he had the nerve to go traipsing around the planet looking like scratchy goodness sex on a stick and then he had to be a giant asshole on top of it. If it turned out he was gay he’d be the textbook trifecta defining why there were still so many single women around.
Just. Not. Fair.
But like any old sucker being duped by a snake oil salesman, I was barely out of the door before I ripped that bottle open and took my first little white (hopefully) miracle pill. Of course there wasn’t an immediate relief with a chorus of angels singing in the background (because they were too busy being assholes behind their elevated counters in the backs of pharmacies), so I cursed his angelic ass all the way back home, but secretly hoped the medicine would kick in eventually.
As I got ready to go in for my evening shift, I noticed his phone number still emblazoned on my arm and couldn’t decide if I was flattered or pissed. He was good looking. Better than good looking, he was GQ model hot, but his attitude was in need of a serious adjustment, one that perhaps could only be adjusted by running him over with my Malibu.
Still…he was hot.
It had been quite some time since Sookie South had seen any action, but considering how angry he was able to make me in a matter of seconds, there was a high probability that I would choke him out during sex. But now that I was thinking about him like that, I knew that little white pill would do nothing to help alleviate the kind of itch those thoughts brought with it.
It would need a professional’s help.
God…I was such a slut.
It wasn’t really true since I didn’t think having three previous sexual partners at the age of twenty-five made me anywhere close to a Dawn Green, but being around Asshole Angel made my morals take a serious hit.
Maybe I could just hit it and quit it?
Maybe I could stop thinking like I was some not-so-badass gangsta?
No, I decided. There would be no fuck and run to be had with Doctor AA because I just couldn’t afford to go to prison knowing I’d likely kill him as soon as he opened his mouth.
But…then at least I would get free health care there.
Using my fingernails, I scratched out the numbers he’d left on my skin until I could no longer make them out and headed into Merlotte’s. It was a few hours later and well into the tail end of the dinner rush when I wandered over to one of my tables, barely having noticed it had been occupied moments earlier, saying, “Welcome to Merlotte’s. My name is Sookie and I’ll be your server this evening. Can I start you off with a drink?”
Because my mind had been wrapped up in my earlier trip to the pharmacy, my eyes had been trained on my forearm where the only evidence of Dr. AA’s phone number that remained was a light red hue, so I didn’t notice who was sitting at the table as I spewed out the words I’d said a million times before until I heard, “Sookie, huh?”
Fucking angels with their fucking sexy voices.
I looked up to see Dr. Fuck Hot smiling back at me, but I tempered the dual urges I had to punch him square in the mouth and then fuck him right there in the booth in front of everyone. Seeing his perfectly white straight teeth I couldn’t help imagining how good they’d feel scraping across my skin.
Then he went and ruined it by talking.
“Were you staring at your arm because the Zyrtec kicked in and now you can’t make out my number? I’d be more than happy to give it to you. Again.”
Would it still be Judgment Day if I was the one to blow on Gabriel’s horn?
“Drink?” I barely gritted out between my teeth, not so much from anger, but more so I wouldn’t inadvertently try and wrap my lips around his trumpet.
“Are you feeling better yet?” he asked.
“Do you have ADD?” I asked, irritated. I seriously needed to get away from him because now that he wasn’t covered up in his sterile lab coat, I could see the heavenly perfection of his broad chest thanks to the tight black t-shirt he had on.
And I still had that other itch in desperate need of some professional attention.
“Actually,” he smiled wryly. “I believe I’ve recently come down with OSD. Obsessive Sookie Disorder. The only cure for that, I’m afraid, is taking one.”
The fucking nerve of him!
“Orally? Or would that require a transdermal delivery?” I heard my mouth ask him.
The fucking nerve of my mouth!
His blue eyes smoldered back at me with his voice dropping to panty-vanishing levels, answering, “I’ve got a very bad case of it, so I would want to try all methods of delivery.”
Lucky for him there was a fresh batch of cream in my panties made special just for him.
My brain fought my libido tooth and nail until I finally stuttered out, “I’m not having sex with you.”
He may have even taken my eye roll to be from exasperation, but really it was from just the thought of how good it would be when he surprised me by saying, “I don’t want to have sex with you.”
“I want to fuck you.”
Every part of me was throbbing and my vision was all swirly when I heard it again.
Hearing Sam’s voice was like having a bucket of ice water thrown on me and I looked around to see I was standing just inside of the storeroom.
“You alright Cher? You’ve been standing there for a few minutes looking kinda out of it,” he looked worriedly back at me.
“Sorry,” I said, and ducking back out into the hallway. “Must be…the a…medicine I’m taking. You know, for the itch thing.”
It was pretty sad when I was starting to daydream about getting that other itch scratched, but talking out loud about my curse made me realize that the rest of me was nowhere near as itchy as before.
Maybe Asshole Angels knew a thing or two…
I couldn’t believe I was that much of a fuckwad to not have even asked her what her name was before she walked out of the store. Over the following days I became obsessed with her, although I might have blamed that on my dick, but the rest of me was sucked in too and I found myself staying in the store from opening until closing every day just hoping she might come back in, while knowing I’d been enough of an ass that she’d probably never darken my doorway again. She hadn’t called me either and in my desperation I’d made the mistake of asking a few of my regular customers if they knew who the welt-y sexy blond was, but it bit me in the ass when all they saw was a single semi-successful pharmacist and tried to push their single granddaughters at me like they were having a fire sale and everything must go go go!
I didn’t have the slightest clue on where to even start looking for her and had all but given up hope when my pulse quickened hearing the bell on the door ring right as I was getting ready to close the store for the night. Mrs. Beck had already left earlier and she was no help anyway when I’d tried to describe the blond covered in scratches who possibly had a dog with fleas and ear mites, so I tried to not get my hopes up when my head came up as my eyes went straight to the mirrors.
But there she was.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of her until she finally turned down the main aisle where I could actually see her in person as she made her way back towards the counter and while I noticed she was carrying something (perhaps my balls on a silver platter since she’d seemed to take them with her that day) I couldn’t stop staring at her. She was wearing a cute little red sundress that barely hit her mid thigh and didn’t have any other red marks on her, but I could tell she was nervous by the way she was chewing on the corner of her lips, so when she finally stopped with nothing more than the Formica countertop in between us, she hesitantly said, “Here,” and set down what she’d brought in with her.
A homemade cherry pie? Was she trying to kill me?
“So, umm…thanks, you know, for the other day. See?” she asked and held up her bare arm. “All gone.”
My feet had decided to go on a stroll without telling my brain about it, so I only noticed I was standing in front of her when my hands and mouth formed a partnership in the mutiny going on. I stalked behind her and moved her hair to the side with my fingertips gliding across her back, watching the goose bumps rise up that formed in their wake, and said, “If you’re offering me your pie, that isn’t the one that I want.”
What the fuck was wrong with me? I wanted to poke her with my dick, not my words.
I cringed hearing her gasp and figured she was about to let loose on me again, but instead she turned around to face me with a challenging look in her eyes, asking, “Are you always this smooth with the ladies?”
“Actually,” I purred and took another step forward so there was no way she could miss what was going on in my pants, especially now when it was pressed into her stomach. “One lady in particular makes me quite rigid.”
Not only could I not believe what was falling out of my mouth, I couldn’t believe she wasn’t backing down or even taking a step backward, not that I wanted her to, but when the little vixen before me licked her lips and asked with a defiant look in her eyes, “Don’t you mean livid?” I couldn’t take any more.
I was so livid I took her lips hostage and demanded they give me my sanity back.
“You sure are an arrogant son of a bitch,” she mumbled into my mouth as she wrapped her arms around my neck and showed me what I’d been missing out on ever since she’d walked out a week earlier.
My arms snaked around her waist and lifted her up with me setting her down on the countertop.
Right on top of the cherry pie.
“Arrogant and clumsy!” she gasped out laughing as she tried to lift herself up off of the now squished aluminum pie tin.
But all that did was show me she was wearing a tiny red lace thong.
Red red red…
Red sundress. Red thong. Red cherry pie filling oozing up her inner thighs.
Red was my favorite color.
She had just gotten the pie tin pulled off of her ass when my hands took their spot as I brought my face down and started licking the sticky sweetness from her skin. She gasped again, but there was no laughter and I felt her trying to put something other than her thigh in the path of my tongue, even as she said, “Assumptive and arrogant. I should’ve brought you your own scarlet letter A instead. Who said you’re allowed down there?”
“The chatty bitch that just messed up my counter and put her cherry flavored pussy in my face. Now shut the fuck up and hold still,” I growled, nipping at her skin.
Her head fell back as my tongue made its first swipe against the lace covering my dick’s new home as she muttered, “Prick.”
I pulled the lace to the side with my fingers and let my tongue quickly dart in and out before saying, “Not yet Lover, that’s much bigger.”
“Lover? Presumptuous much? My name is Sookie.”
“It’s not a presumption. It’s a fact that hasn’t come to fruition yet but will if you’d shut the fuck up already. And Sookie is a stupid name. I’ll just call you Lover instead, but you can always change it when your last name becomes Northman. It comes with health insurance.” When I realized everything that had just tumbled from my mouth, I didn’t want to dissect or own up to any of it to her or myself, so I wrapped my lips and tongue around her clit while slipping two fingers inside of her hoping to fuck them right out of her memory. Ever since I first laid eyes on this girl I couldn’t think straight and apparently it was my mouth’s life mission to try and piss her off. The truth was, even though I didn’t know anything about her other than she had a fucked up name and a unique allergy of sorts, I really did like her. I liked her bitchy attitude and mouthy retorts, so when coupled with her fuck hot looks it made her a contender to be a keeper.
As long as my mouth didn’t actually succeed in making her leave.
It seemed to have worked because I went back to teasing her with my tongue and when she grunted in frustration, I chuckled, “Problem lover?”
Grabbing a hold of my hair, she snarled, “Yes. You! Now it’s time for you to shut the fuck up and fuck me already.”
My lips softly nibbled across everywhere but where she needed me and since I was a glutton for punishment, I said half-heartedly, “Well, I suppose I can give your suggestion on improving my customer service skills a try. Just last week somebody insinuated I needed to work on it.”
“I didn’t insinuate shit!” she panted out as my tongue made contact with her clit again. “But I’m seeing a marked improvement already, so don’t fucking stop.”
I couldn’t really argue knowing my mouth had reparations to make, so I gave her everything I had and when her first orgasm of the night ripped through her body, I couldn’t help smiling when she yelled out, “Fuck!” and answered, “Patience Lover. We’re getting there.”
Earlier that afternoon I’d caught a couple of horny bastards pocketing a box of Magnums and after congratulating them on their self-confidence, I had them hand it over and kicked their asses out. It was still sitting on the counter, so while my lover with the stupid name continued to come down from her orgasmic high, I walked around to the other side of the counter to grab them.
While the elevated countertop had been the perfect height to eat her out, it was too high from that side for me to fuck her properly, but she turned her body with my steps and grabbed the box before I could get to it making me wonder if my mouth would be having my body paying back the debt she was owed in the form of blue balls. I silently questioned her with an arched eyebrow when she answered with one of her own before she ripped the box open.
I felt the tear all the way down in my balls and it was a good kind of burn.
My hands went to work on ridding him of his clothes while he went to work on pulling off my dress when he discovered the bonus of me not wearing a bra. His hands went straight to them and I growled and gave up when I couldn’t get his shirt off, thanks to their new perch, and tried not to get distracted by his bare chest, which was even better than the fantasy version, and went after his pants instead.
“It would be a crime for these to ever be covered up again. I have half a mind to follow you home and rid you of every bra you own,” he said dreamily.
“At least we agree on you having half a mind,” I snarked back, but lost my train of thought when I finally got his zipper down and his Caduceus fell out.
“Fuck me…” I whispered seeing the size of that thing.
Not only would it scratch that elusive itch, I was betting it would reach all the way up into my throat.
“You’re the one holding that up, Lover,” he crooned.
I was surprised he didn’t need ten tons of yellow painted steel with Caterpillar stenciled on the side to hold that thing up.
Before I could say anything, he bent forward taking away whatever venom I may have shot back with by pressing his lips to mine.
I couldn’t believe I was about to have sex with a virtual stranger, but I’d gotten to know the fantasy version of him quite well over the last week. He was all I could think about anymore and it was driving me crazier than the itching had. As many times as I’d wanted to punch him in the mouth, now that I knew the other great things it was capable of, I’d have to temper my urges. Half of me wanted him while half of me hated him. All of me hated wanting him, but I hoped, if nothing else, I could fuck him out of my system and be done with it, so I didn’t stop myself from pushing him away and praying to God the condom would actually fit over the behemoth pointing right at me. It did.
Bless me Father for I’m about to sin.
He placed himself at my entrance and asked, “Are you sure you can handle me, Lover?”
Refusing to back down now, even though I was a little intimidated, I shot back with, “You talk a good game, but do you actually have the goods to back them up? Seems to me you’re the one stalling now.”
He made me eat my words. Or at least my other lips did.
Thankfully he wasn’t so much of an asshole that he didn’t ease himself into me slowly and I gasped out with every inch that he sank deeper while wondering if he’d ever bottom out. I couldn’t tell whose panted out, “Fucks,” were whose and when my eyes crossed, I figured it was because the tip of his cock had hit my optical nerves and I’d forever be the poster girl for the term ‘Fucked Blind’, but he buried his face in my neck and gritted out, “Please tell me you’re not a virgin.”
“Even if I was, I think that ship would’ve sailed by now,” I breathed out.
He took a deep breath and sighed out, “Good. I’d hate to think your first time was on a pharmacy countertop, but you’re so fucking tight, I had to ask.”
I supposed sweeter words had been said by sweeter men, but for him it was like a Hallmark card or a Nicholas Sparks novel and since my first time had been on the bench seat in JB DuRone’s piece of shit pickup truck, this countertop was at least cleaner, cherry pie and all.
When he pulled back far enough for me to see him smiling down at me, I couldn’t help smiling in return and gently cupped his cheek, saying, “That’s sweet. Now fuck me.”
He took direction very well.
He fucked me up one side and down the other; literally. After pounding my second orgasm out of me he pulled out and flipped me over so I was bent over the counter with my ass jutted out towards him, but because of the differences in our height he angrily berated my vertically challenged stature and got me a step stool to stand on.
Sweet or demented? It was a tough call.
It made no difference as soon as he slid back inside of me and I figured if this would ever turn into something more than a quasi-anonymous fuck encounter that would be the key.
Just fuck. Don’t talk.
Honestly, his angry words and nasty mouth got me off more than I would ever admit and made me wonder what kind of issues I was harboring within, but when he smacked my ass and I felt my walls clench down around him in response, I decided I didn’t want to delve too deep into whatever they were because I liked it. With every slap of his hand, the sting of it would just be setting in when he’d roughly palm over the same spot soothing it away and at one point I felt his fingernails dragging across the top of my ass as he kept grunting out, “Mine,” but I was too far gone to care and when I came for the third time, he came with me.
It took a while for us to actually move again and since the ass of my dress was one giant cherry stain, I stole his lab coat to wear home, but I couldn’t figure out what to say to him before I left.
Hey, thanks for fucking me?
Hey, are my eyes still crossed?
Hey, what’s your first name?
He didn’t seem to have the answers either because instead of talking, he just walked me to my car and kissed me breathless, before shutting me inside of it and watching me drive away. It wasn’t until I got home and went to plug in my cell phone that I saw he’d somehow managed to get a hold of it at some point because he’d sent a text to his phone that read, “Yours,” and a second later I received his response to his own one-sided declaration of, “You are.”
The fucking nerve of him!
The grin on my face was a far cry from the scowl I usually wore when thinking that about him and when I went into the bathroom to shower off the pie and sex remnants, I saw in the mirror what he’d actually been scratching onto my lower back.
Property of Eric Northman
“The fucking nerve of him!” I laughed loudly.
For being right.