Page 10 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“I consent, Bay-CAHN. I consent soooo hard,” I practically purr. I stand on my tiptoes and nip his earlobe. “Oh, and for the record, I bite too.”
He wraps his arms around my lower back and holds me tight against him. His hardness presses into me, and I have never wanted to be alone with someone more in my life.
“God, you smell good.” He buries his face in my hair. Then he pulls back slightly to make eye contact. “Did you just pronounce my name Bay-CAHN?”
“I sure did.” I punctuate my words with a double squeeze of his ass.
“May I ask why?” He chuckles.
I give him a slight shrug. “It sounds sexier somehow.”
“Works for me, Cookie.”
Another warm tingle rushes down my spine at hearing him call me Cookie again. It’s so silly, but I freaking love it, and I’ve decided I never want to be called Colleen again.
“What do you say? You wanna get out of here?" He flashes me that killer smile and offers his arm.
I take it.
“You bet I do, Bay-CAHN. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Chapter 4
Bacon
Next thing I know, I’m in the back of a black SUV, dry humping with a cookie. I mean a woman. A woman named Cookie.
The show provides each contestant with a private car after filming. It’s a nice perk. A lot of nice perks come from being on this show: catered meals from the best restaurants in New York City, unlimited show merch, free tickets to Broadway plays…and apparently, the opportunity to make out with gorgeous women in the back seats of cars.
When we entered the car a few moments ago, I said to the chauffeur, “Just drive.” You know, like how they do in the movies? The guy just rolled his eyes and put up the privacy partition. I guess he’s used to people getting it on in his back seat.
I, however, am not used to this. Not at all.
I’ve always gone the “perfect gentleman” route when it comes to women. I pay for dinner. I open doors. I try to ask thoughtful questions and really get to know someone before things get physical. Trouble is, up until now, all that gentlemanly activity has gotten me nowhere.
Last summer, I decided to stop dating entirely. I figured I’d rather be at home alone with a great book and a cold beer than out with a woman when there’s no spark. Before I knew it, I hadn’t had sex in a full year, something that horrified Trent.
But the connection between Cookie and me was instant. And I don’t mean just physically. The first moment I saw her holding that sign, she somehow managed to light me up and calm me down simultaneously. I recognize how crazy this sounds, but something in me shouted that this girl is special.
“I don’t usually do things like this,” I say between kisses.
“Neither do I,” she pants and digs her nails into my back. She stops abruptly and says, “Scratch that. Actually, yes, I do. I do things like this all the time.”
I hesitate. “All the time?”
She nods. “Mm-hmm. Yeah, I get around, buddy! Is that a problem?”
“Uh… No? I guess not?”
Who am I to judge, right?
She leans against the door and stretches her legs out along the seat. “Is this a mega SUV or something? It’s so spacious back here.” She sounds impressed.
“It is, isn’t it?” I prowl toward her across the seat like a predatory cat, but she holds up a finger to stop me before I make contact.
“Think you can stand in here?” She peers curiously at the car’s ceiling, which is certainly higher than one would expect.
“No, I’m too tall to stand, but I can rise on my knees like this. Why?”
