Page 123 of Bride of Choice

A sharp rap on the door sounded, Bum-bum popping in without preamble to stomp right into the room. He sniffed loudly as he passed Gopher and Rek, who stiffened at his arrival. Odix dipped his chin at him, eyeing him with what I took as respect. “Odix,” Bum-bum greeted curtly.

Stopping directly in front of me, he knelt, bending down until he was right in my mug, his warm breath puffing over my face.

“Nice to see you too.” My snark was not lost on him, his eyebrows winging upward when my lips quirked. Booping him on the snoot, I meant to march around him and nab my boots but he had other ideas.

“Leave,” he grumbled dismissively to the others as he picked me up and set me on the bed, then joined me, placing my legs in his lap, hiking my nightgown up to examine my leg.

A yelp left me and I jerked my gown down. “I wasn’t injured there!”

He let out a soft huff of a chuff but otherwise ignored my fussing. Glancing up to find his orders hadn’t been obeyed, he let out a slow building, deep rumble that started to rattle my windows.

“You’re going to yank out my stitches,” I surmised from the way he was gently tugging on them, testing them out. At his grunt of a yes, I looked to the trio hesitating by the door. “I’m doing this drinks/drug free. It might get loud,” I warned them. At the looks on Rek’s and Gopher’s faces, not wanting to leave but knowing they didn’t want to watch me willingly tortured, I gave them an out, “It’ll be fine. He knows what he’s doing. It’ll be worse with witnesses.”

Making the decision for them, Odix opened the door and shoved them out, then slammed the door shut behind them.

Gopher and Rek bitched at Odix, the sounds of the ruckus they were kicking up quickly fading.

“I’ve had enough witnesses to my stupidity lately, thank you very much,” I muttered nervously.

“Not stupid,” Bum-bum muttered as he tried to turn my leg this way and that.

Rolling to my side, I glanced up at him askance. “Better?”

His gaze lifted from where he was examining my leg, something swirling in his eyes shifting, the colors changing slightly as his gaze traveled up my legs, over my ass, taking their sweet assed time before meeting my amused stare.

“The stitches,” I reminded.

When he hesitated, I bit my lip. As dead silence reigned, I ventured, “You think you should chomp down on it again but you don’t want to because then you’ll have to shift in front of me.”

“Not bite. Needs to…” His dark eyes tipped towards the ceiling as he searched for the right words.

“Spit? Slobber all over like a big, goobery beast with antibiotic saliva? Lick? Lap at?” My last two suggestions got me a soft, poorly muffled rumble of a purr that surprised me. Big Daddy liked naughty words, did he?

No. He was helping me. No dirty thoughts about my late night, Snow Patrol fantasies.

Nonfiction and Fantasy were not blending. It’s the moonshine hangover whispering in my ear, nothing more.

Rolling to my stomach, offering him unhindered access to the back of my leg, I wrangled the blanket he’d given me free of the blankets and pulled it over my head. “To muffle the screams,” I called out loudly from inside the darkness of my blanket hideaway.

Bracing myself, I took several deep breaths. I could do this. I was ready.

His touch was gentle, weird, stuttering guttural noises leaving him as his fingers roved over my calf.

I wasn’t ready for it as he let out a muffled growl and the first stitch was sliced through and then slowly pulled free. A yelp left me and I jumped in place.

His tongue following after, going for it and lapping at the thick holes surely left behind had my body tensing for entirely unrelated to pain reasons.

Pausing, he gave a sniff, then his fingers pressed, his claw slid, and his tongue was on my flesh as the next stitch was tugged free.

Pain and pleasure mixed, my stomach flip-flopping for one reason one moment, to drop and somersault for the exact opposite the next.

A part of me tightened up in anticipation as that fat appendage he calls a tongue continued to lap at my flesh.

I was sure he could scent my arousal by now. He wasn’t necessarily the type to point this out, either.

When another stitch was slipped free, then another, and his lapping licks continued for long moments after that, I’d admit to a pinch of dismay at the idea of this weirdness we were partaking in coming to an end so soon.

When his hand lifted a little higher and those teasing licks continued, moving where his hand was leaving a trail of kneaded flesh in its wake, my breaths started coming in short little pants.

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