Page 16 of Frog Hog
Chapter Seven
Valen
“It’s so fucking awkward,” I whine, stretching my arms over my head. The sheets smell like sex. My sofa smells like sex. My bathroom has leaky come drips all over the tile floor, and my pussy is thoroughly punished and still aching for more of Hutch’s cock. He wasn’t lying when he said his dick was better than Vince. Vince doesn’t have abs, or delicious balls, or a mouth that speaks dirty things as he comes down my throat.
Hutch groans. “It’s just meeting my friends for dinner.” His married friends. Or those with long-term girlfriends. I huff out a frustrated breath. He continues, “You’re my girlfriend now. As if my seed seeping from every orifice of your fucking body didn’t alert you to that fun fact.” My ass puckers. “Want more? You know I’m good for a fourth round tonight if you can handle it. I’ll never get sick of fucking you.”
Hutch is standing in the bathroom, back lit by a low lamp in my room. He is stark naked, brushing his teeth. His ass is shaped like a Greek Gods, and his back muscles actually flex as he works his toothbrush across his teeth. I lose myself in thought, wondering how that’s physically possible. He’s waiting for my answer. “Willthosefriends be there?” I stumble out.
He turns then, to face me—his cock hanging between his muscular legs. Pausing his brushing he says, “Those friends don’t have significant others. Obviously. People you haven’t met yet. It’s imperative you meet them if you want any kind of future with me.” Well, at least the friends I’ve slept with won’t be there.
Closing my eyes, I envision their scrutiny, but having Hutch for my own cancels out any reservations I have. “I’ll go. But we need a code word. If I say it you have to excuse us for some random emergency.”
He turns around to spit into the sink and then prowls back to my bed. “A safe word?” His smile is beatific.
Rolling my eyes, I explain, “A not safe word. Meaning I want to leave and if we don’t you won’t be safe from my wrath.”
“And I get to fuck you in the parking lot?”
My pussy clenches. Will it ever not want his cock? My mind is clear, my goddamn lady boner is a heat seeking missile only wanting more, more, more. “Maybe,” I deadpan, opening my legs to give him a view of his new favorite pastime.
He clears his throat. “I’m not sure it’s healthy. How much I want you plays a factor in most of my daily decisions. The vision of you, just like this, pops into my head almost constantly. I worry for the safety of the nation,” he says, rounding the bed to place a hand on either of my knees.
“You’re joking.” I say, bringing my knees together to close his view.
With little force, he separates them again and leans down to kiss my inner thigh and then my clit. “I’m sort of joking,” he amends.
Laughing I slide up the bed to rest my head on the pillow. “Come to bed. We need to sleep. I have a trip tomorrow too.”
His body stiffens. “Where are you going?”
At his terse tenor I sit up. “A work trip. Is that okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I mean, you can do whatever you want. Why didn’t you mention it before?”
I shrug, and lay back against the headboard. “I go on trips pretty frequently. You caught me on a slow month. I have to meet an IT guy. My client merged with another company and they want me to work with him.” Hazards of my job. Most of the force is comprised of men. “It’s a couple days, I think.”
He crawls into bed and pulls the sheet up to his chest—sex all but forgotten. “I’m feeling a little bereft here. You were about to eat me out thirty seconds ago and now you want to sleep?”
He laughs, rolls toward me and presses a kiss into my shoulder. “I leave tomorrow, too. It was your idea to get some sleep.”
It was. What a horrible idea at that. He’s leaving for an entire week and I’ll be left with clean sheets and no dick. More importantly, no him. Falling for Hutch was easy. The sexual chemistry was on point from the word go. We mesh so well, it was a seamless transition from single, white, horny bitch to a couple status with Hutch. He told his parents we are dating, and tonight as proof, his friends know. I’m invited to a dinner next weekend.
His breathing evens out and I know he’s sleeping. Hutch always falls asleep before I do, and it leaves me alone with my thoughts. His arm wraps across my waist and he hugs me close—almost like a child would hug a teddy bear. It’s endearing, and more intimate than sex. It means a whole hell of a lot more, that’s for sure. This is us doing life together instead of doing each other.
This is what I’ve dreamed of, it’s the exact scenario I would have outlined for myself had I the foresight to know what would make me happiest. It’s hard to force myself into a place where I’m able to push all naiveté aside and exist amidst this perfection without a care in the world.
Then again, I’m only human and no one is without flaws. I’ve yet to figure Hutch’s out. Surely, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t own any.
Surely.
****
My trip was cancelled last minute. Something about the man flu, and vomit and pansy men who don’t know how to life when they have a sniffle. I can’t complain too much because it worked out to my benefit. I got to see Greer for an entire day, mid-week. The traffic was horrible, but as always, I left her house feeling like a new woman. I swear it had nothing to do with the in-house massage, or the bag of designer clothing she forced into my arms before I left. Famous people get so much free shit.
We talked work and high-school friends. We talked men and recipes. We talked the most about Hutch. She made the executive decision that this was going to be it for me—the man that would capture not only my pussy, but my heart. She said I hada glowand I wasn’t being the ice-cold bitch I usually am. Greer says that with the kindest heart and with the utmost care. She would never lie or do anything to upset me, and vice versa. Maybe telling each other brutal truths counts as being mean, but isn’t that what best friends are for?
She agreed to meet with Hutch’s friend Baz on one condition. That she gets to be present when I tell Hutch how deep my feelings for him run. An odd request by most people’s standards, but perfectly normal for Greer Sinclair. Her Grandmamma, bless her soul, used to tell everyone Greer had another sense. The sense of heart. She was able to tell a lie from a truth, and a traitor from a friend in an eye blink. That old southern woman sounded like a bat-shit crazy fanatic at the time, but I believe she was right.
