Page 11 of Bringing Home the Bacon
The second I kneel on the plush back seat, she whips off my belt, unzips my pants, and shucks them down to my knees, revealing my bulging gray boxer briefs.
“Oooh. Me likey,” she says with a smile.
“Thank you? You, uh, wow. You shucked the hell out of my pants.”
“You should see what I can do with corn,” she says as she approaches my crotch, then freezes.
“Corn?” I say.
“Yeah, well, that’s what I do, Bay-CAHN.” She dips a hand into my boxer briefs, grabs ahold of me, and starts stroking up and down. “I’m a shucker. I’m a shucker and a fucker.”
What she’s doing feels fantastic, but I can’t help it. The shucker/fucker line makes me laugh my ass off. Clearly, that wasn’t the response she was looking for because she pulls her hand back and resumes sitting by the door opposite me, the light in her eyes from a minute ago dimmed.
I’m literally on my knees with my pants down, feeling like an ass.
“I’m sorry, Cookie. I didn’t mean to… You’re just so funny,” I say, catching my breath and pulling up my pants. “And adorable. I really like you, Cookie.”
Her eyes twinkle again. “I like you too.”
I slide closer and sit beside her.
“That’s a good start,” I whisper and place a soft kiss on her neck. “Okay. So far, I know you’re drop-dead gorgeous, you kiss like a goddess, and you smell like a dream…”
“What else is there to know?” she jokes.
“Plenty, I’m sure. You live here in the city? Or are you visiting?”
“Yup!” she says and reaches for my dick again.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I say softly and move her hand away. “Yup, you live in the city? Or yup, you’re visiting?”
I must be an idiot. A beautiful woman wants to pleasure me in the back of an SUV, no questions asked, and I can’t just go with the flow. I want—no, I need—to know more about her.
“City,” she gives me a one-word answer.
“Ah,” I say. “I wasn’t sure when you mentioned your corn-shucking prowess. Thought maybe you were a country girl.”
“NYC farmers’ markets are my bitch.” She winks.
I laugh. “Can’t blame you. I love the one down in Union Square. I’m also a fan of the one on Columbus between Seventy-seventh and Seventy-ninth. You ever been to those?”
She scoffs. “Of course.”
“Okay…” I leave space for her to steer the conversation. She doesn’t.
“So, what do you do?” I press. “You know, besides the shucking and the fucking.”
“I’m in publishing.” She looks out the window when she says it.
“Oh yeah? That’s cool. My buddy Trent is an author. What side of things are you on?”
“What side of things?” she asks.
Damn, she’s really not forthcoming with information about herself.
“Well, yeah. There are lots of sides to publishing, right? Are you a writer? An agent? A publisher?”
Instead of answering my question, she nibbles my earlobe again and whispers, “What do you say we skip all this get-to-know-you talk and just do what we came here to do?”
