Page 7 of His Hellcat

“Have you tested this theory?”

Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline and that look of fire is back in her eyes. Fuck me. That little bit of defiance in her gaze turns me on like nothing else could. Another wave of desire burns through my veins and I want nothing more than to push her against the wall, rip my robe from her pale skin, and sink my dick so far into her pussy she can taste it.

Jesus, get a handle on yourself.

“You’re such an ass. Of course I haven’t, but it smells worse than a dirty litter box so I can only imagine it tastes as bad.”

“Fuck you’re sexy when you’re being feisty.”

She puts her hands on her hips before giving me her version of the ‘eat shit and die’ face. I’m not exactly sure how we went from playful banter to my fearing the fact that there is a whole drawer full of knives within her reach. But instinct has my hands falling in front of my dick, just in case she decides to pull a Bobbitt.

Smooth Hutchinson, real smooth.

Blake's teasingexpression falls from her face and is replaced with a look of consternation. Her eyes roam over my body, not in desire, but as if she's trying to figure out a puzzle. A few uncomfortably silent seconds and she's moved from an angry stance to one of unease. She tugs the lapels of the robe closed and keeps her arms wrapped tightly around herself. I wait her out because I know she's working up to something, but what comes out of her mouth throws me for a loop.

“Look, let’s just cut to the chase here. I know we aren’t even in the same league as each other. So do me a favor and don’t act like there is even a possibility that you’re going to fall into bed with me.”

I open my mouth to respond, but she silences me with a death glare and one of those finger-wags my mama used to scold the dog with. The vulnerability she was showing earlier is now eclipsed with anger.

“Don’t. Just don’t, Hutch. I get it. I do. You see a damsel in distress and you instantly go into rescue mode. Well, I’m no damsel. I don’t need saving. You’re off the hook. The homely kid sister of your best friend doesn’t need you to stroke her ego and make her feel better.”

I make a half-hearted attempt to interrupt her ridiculous speech, but the look in her eyes warns me off. When she’s finished with her little speech, she storms off toward the bedrooms. The door opens and then slams so hard behind her, I worry the cabin might fall down around us. What the fuck just happened here?

Homely kid sister? Seriously, has she even seen herself? I was pretty clear when I told her she was beautiful. I thought she understood that as truth.

“Jesus, it’s not just her ego that needs stroked.” I think out loud, as I reach down and adjust my cock so my zipper doesn’t do permanent damage to my favorite appendage.

I consider going to her, but she's obviously hurting and I'm not thinking very clearly. Her words run in a loop around my mind and I could kick my own ass for making her uncomfortable. She just came out of a terrible relationship and is still raw from the things her ex put her through. I’m such a dumbass. Running a frustrated hand through my hair, cussing my dick and its lack of control, I decide a shower is in order.

The water is ice cold when I get under its punishing spray. Each stream of water stabs at my flesh, but even the frigid temperature isn’t enough to dispel my hard on. Flicking on the hot water, I groan as the warmth seeps into my bones. I make quick work of washing, but when my soapy hand wraps around my cock, I can’t keep the image out of my head of Blake’s peaches and cream skin playing peek-a-boo from underneath my robe.

I pump my hand up and down my turgid length slowly as I imagine the heat of her slick cunt as I fuck her from behind. The way the delicious globes of her ass would soften the quick flicks of my hips. The way she would moan my name as I pinch her nipple between my fingers. How she would scream as she comes around my cock while my fingers rub teasing circles around her sensitive clit, drawing out her pleasure. I'd pull out and lick her soft pussy through her orgasm, drinking down every drop, then I'd ride her hard with the taste of her release on my lips until I fill her with my cum.

My hips buck into my fist while thoughts of devouring Blake have my balls clenching and the heat of release tingling down my spine. Finally, I trip over my release when I imagine that smart little mouth of hers wrapped around my dick. The thought of releasing down her throat while I fist her hair drives me to fuck my fist harder as jets of cum shoot from my cock onto the shower floor.

I’m so fucked.

After my not so relaxing shower that did nothing to dampen my desire for the curvy little hellcat, I do a quick walk through of the cabin. Checking windows and locking doors. Even though I know there is nothing around for miles and the likelihood of any trouble finding its way here is slim to none, I can't relax until I know things are secure. Once I'm satisfied, I head to bed, pausing briefly outside Blake's door taking in the sounds of rustling sheets and crying.

Everything inside me demands I go to her. Something primal has risen up inside me and I feel irrevocably responsible for her happiness. I want to wrap her in my arms and protect her from every hurt in the world. It's crazy how a few short hours has the entire direction of my life changing. I can see my future laid out in front of me now and she's the center of it. I came to this cabin looking for answers, and I've got them in the form of an angel.

5

Blake

As soon asthe door slammed shut I was ready to open it and apologize, but before I could talk myself into it the shower kicked on. Looking around the room, I’m taken back to the last time I slept in here. I had just graduated high school. Drake and I were here with several of our classmates having one last hurrah before we all left for college.

The room is exactly as it was back then. After Granddaddy died, I didn’t have the heart to change anything. Even though this was always my room, it felt wrong to erase the memories that clung to the teenie-bop posters of various boy bands and the heartthrob actors I lusted over as a teen. The bulletin board is still littered with pictures—mostly Polaroids of summers spent lazing around the creek—but there are also pictures I had taken of myself. Some are of me with friends, some are just me—you know selfies before selfies were cool.

Rummaging through the chest of drawers, I find one of my old Backstreet Boys t-shirts and some shorts that were considered indecent on my barely-there teenage curves. Now they fit like I’m getting ready to take a spin around a pole at the Pink Cadillac for a couple bucks and a tic-tac.

A tic-tac you ask?

Well, once upon a time I shared a dorm room with a girl named Bethany who called herself Cherry B, a well-known dancer of the poles. She loved to regale the entire dorm with tales of her misadventures. One story included a dude that threw tic-tacs instead of money.

I can’t make this shit up.

As I fold up Hutch’s well-worn robe, I can’t keep myself from holding the soft material to my nose and inhaling his masculine scent. It’s a heady mix of soap and man. I’m almost tempted to put it under my pillow and bask in the false security the smell brings. Instead, I set it on the dresser and flop down on my bed. The springs squeak and the mattress dips precariously in the center showing its years of use, but it’s comforting, too.

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