Page 50 of Hot Doggin'
The urge to fuck with him is too strong to deny.
“So, you finally gonna let me give you that blow job you’ve been begging for?”
McCormick freezes mid-stroke of the hairbrush and turns to me with his crestfallen face. “You really don’t remember? I mean, it’s okay if you don’t,” he assures me, never wanting to make me feel bad for forgetting. Just another reason he’s invaluable to me.
I fake my surprise. “You mean, I blew you and I can’t remember? Damn, I thought it would be so unforgettable that I would never forget.”
I swear to fuck, he looks like he’s going to cry, then unzips his shorts and whips his fat cock out, stroking it to make it hard for me. “Here, wrap your lips around this and see if it jogs your memory.”
I can’t hold it inside any longer. Laughter rumbles from my chest, deep and loud. “Gotcha.”
“You fucker. I should make you suck it as punishment.”
“Sucking your dick will never feel like a punishment.”
His entire expression changes. Mac bends over to place a kiss on my lips, soft and quick. “You’re forgiven. But just in case, I’m going to mark it on the calendar.”
He’s not even shitting me. He actually wanders into the kitchen, grabs a red pen from the junk drawer, and writes BJ on the calendar in the box dated two days ago. Then, he counts off on his fingers and draws a hotdog in the box dated three weeks ago.
“The anniversary of our first gay sex act. When was our first kiss?”
“You’re asking me?” I don’t know whether to laugh at him or help him try to figure it out, but my heart is melting into a puddle of motor oil because it’s the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Mac wants to record all of our firsts like each one is a day he never wants to forget.
He must’ve figured it out because he draws a pair of lips in the box dated four weeks ago. Then frowns. “We don’t have a first date.”
Is he fucking serious? “What about the night at the tavern, when we figured it all out?”
“The night we met that chick? Fuck no. Just like I told you that night, I’m not sharing our firsts with her. We have to have our own date. Our own anniversary.”
“So, plan something.”
McCormick stares hard into my eyes. “I will,” he challenges, “for tonight.”
Just to tease him, I add, “Make sure it’s super romantic and sappy like first dates should be. I want the full experience.”
“The full McCormick?” He flips his red tail, making it swish over his shoulders. “You got it.”
God, I hate his fucking hair.
I carry the trash downstairs to the dumpster, and when I return, McCormick is in the bathroom. He’s got the door open,so I know he’s not taking a shit. It isn’t until I hear him humming the words to ‘I’m Too Sexy’ by Right Said Fred that I decide to peek in. I have to take a deep breath and hold it in my lungs so I don’t laugh and give myself away. He’s shaking his fine ass as he combs some kind of gel through his hair while checking himself out in the mirror.
Wait… “Motherfucker! Is that my toothbrush?” It is!
“Oh this?” He looks at it as if it’s nothing, and shrugs. “Saw this trick in a video online. This girl was using a toothbrush to polish the ends of her hair with leave-in conditioner to prevent split ends.”
“Withmytoothbrush?! Who the fuck are you?”
“Well, I’m not using mine,” he points out sensibly. “What's the big deal? You can swallow my load, but you can’t lick my hair?”
I’ve had it! Fucking had it up to my ears. His stupid fucking hair is coming off right now! He looks surprised when I lunge for him and pin him to the wall. I brace my thick forearm against his neck and hold him in place while I kick the cabinet open and reach for the clippers. McCormick freaks when he sees them, not that I give a fuck. I’m not letting up on his neck. Not for a second. He uses his prosthetic to kick me in the shin, and the carbon fiber feels like getting hit with a metal baseball bat. It takes me a moment to recover, which he uses to his advantage, pushing past me, and running out the door. Taking the clippers with me, because these fuckers run on batteries instead of a cord, I catch up with him in the living room and tackle his ass to the ground.
“Stay still,” I grunt, sitting on his chest.
“Don’t do it, Stiles. There’s no coming back from this. We’ll both regret it.”
“The only thing I regret is not doing it sooner!”
“You’re jealous because it looks good and yours won’t grow out fast enough.”
