Chapter 10McCormick
CHAPTER
TEN
MCCORMICK
Little pieces of him are gathering in every room.
My bathroom mirror is covered with sticky notes reminding Stiles of daily tasks. The ones stuck to the fridge remind him of appointments, and the ones on the front door remind him of the birthdays and important dates of his closest friends. Inside the medicine cabinet is his toothbrush and his meds. His dirty laundry mingles with mine in the hamper.
Our lives are coalescing. Becoming entwined in ways we may never be able to separate fully. And that’s fine with me.
Stepping out of the shower, I give myself a quick towel dry and stride into my bedroom buck-ass naked, hoping Stiles might catch a glimpse. It’s been almost a week since our couch wrestling session and… nothing. Nada. Crickets! He’s scared, or trying to figure shit out, I don’t know, but I need him to act. Or react. Anything besides pretending it didn’t happen.
There’s a new pack of underwear lying on the bed and seeing that they’re black with hot dogs on them, I’m guessing they’re mine.
He bought me lingerie? Kinky.
Tearing open the plastic packaging, I pull them on and check my reflection in the full-length mirror behind the door.
“Fuck yeah, I look goooood.”
Screw pants, I’m showing all this sexiness off. I find Stiles sitting on the couch, flipping through the channel guide to find our show. “Where’d these come from?”
He gives me a quick glance, and then a longer double take, his dark gaze lingering on my ass.
“Found them on sale today. I thought they might be your thing.”
“Damn right they are.” I strut to the kitchen and make a show of bending over to grab a bottle of root beer from the fridge. When I straighten, his eyes are still on me. My ego is sufficiently stroked. I feel good, better than good, so I cut up and fuck with him, prancing like I’m walking a runway.
“Hey girl, do you want to come put some mustard on this dog?” My hands rub down my abs and I try for what I hope is a sexy smirk.
Stiles looks horrified. He shakes his head. “Don’t ever repeat that to a woman. No wonder you can’t get laid.”
I plop down next to him and prop my prosthetic leg on the coffee table to relieve some pressure. It’s been a long day and with my large frame, standing too long makes the muscles in my thigh ache.
The magazine I pilfered from Brewer’s office calls to me and I snatch it off the table and flip through it. It’s an issue of Men’s Health—Understanding your sexuality. This is my way of seeking self-help while avoiding an awkward conversation with Brewer.
I skim a few articles about the fluid nature of sexuality and coming to terms with such a major change and focus on a quiz because it’s fun and easy.
The title grabs my attention. ‘What are you looking for? Take our quiz and get to know yourself and your partner’.
The first question asks about touch and erogenous zones. I already know where I like to be touched—fucking everywhere. Besides my cock, I love when Stiles plays with my hair. It triggers nerve endings all down my neck and back and makes me feel hyper-aware of him. But where does Stiles like to be touched?
“If you could only touch me in one place, where would it be?”
He looks at me curiously before answering, “Your neck.”
Hmmm, interesting. “How come?”
Stiles shrugs. “I like your neck. Most of it’s covered by your beard, but the skin is soft and whenever I touch it, you shiver.”
Oh. I had no clue. Glad he was paying attention. “What about you? Where do you like to be touched?”
He thinks about it for a minute. “My ass and legs.”
“Really?”
Stiles chuckles. “Back at Bragg, there was this massage place I used to go to. She always gave me a butt massage, and she’d focus on my calves and thighs. Probably to get me hard so I’d give her a bigger tip, but it worked. It turns me on.”
Good to know. “Do you like giving oral?”
“Exams?” he asks, sounding confused. “Speeches?”
I make the motion of poking my tongue in my cheek in sync with my hand.
“Oh, blowjobs? I sure like getting them, but you know I’ve never tried to give one.” He looks at me a minute too long. “Have you?”
“No. But I’ve thought about it.”
“Get the fuck out! You have? With who?”
“No one in particular. But sometimes I watch the guys in group and wonder what it’s like. They look happy, you know? Maybe they know something we don’t.”
Stiles chuffs. “No doubt they do.”
I read the next question. “What would you like me to wear to bed tonight?”
“A muzzle.”
“Be serious.” I slap his thigh. Does he like those buttfloss-thong things? My ass feels chafed just thinking about it. Would he want to see me in lace like he fancies on women? Because I don’t really see that as my thing.
Stiles looks me over and questions, “What’s wrong with what you got on?”
“Nothing. I love these. Just wondering what you like.”
He grunts but doesn’t elaborate. My next question might be a bridge too far. “Do you want to watch me touch myself?”
“Give me that.” Stiles grabs for the magazine, but I hold it out of his reach. “The fuck are you reading?”
“An informative article on men’s health.”
“Bullshit. Sounds like a Cosmo quiz.”
I can’t even hide my grin. “How many of those have you answered?”
He spares me a withering glance and then snatches the magazine out of my hand before I can react. After scanning it for a minute, he reads aloud, “Do you ever sleep without clothes on? I swear to God when I wake up, you better be dressed.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Stiles chucks the magazine back at me. “I like what you’re wearing. It’s…fitted. Looks good.”
I guess that’s about all I’m gonna get from him. Flirting isn’t his game, apparently. But the heat in his gaze is enough to tell me what he’s thinking and feeling without words. “Do you want to be the giver or the receiver?”
Annoyance gone, he busts out laughing. “We’re not talking about Christmas gifts, are we?”
“Nope.”
“Unlike you, I haven’t given it much thought. But, I’m open to trying new things.” A slight blush colors his cheeks above his dark beard. It’s cute. He’s shy talking about sex with me. I’d never have guessed. “Because it’s you, and I trust you.” Fuck, that’s sweet. In a quieter voice, Stiles adds, “And because I really want you.”
That does it for me. We can sit here all night, all week, and beat around the bush with innuendo, covert glances, and silent yearning, or we can do something about it right now. Because I don’t want to waste another second not touching him. I lean into his space and catch his chin under my fingertips, turning his face toward me for a kiss. “I really want you too.”
He tastes sweet, like licorice and ginger from the root beer. My tongue glides with his, tangling together in the wet heat of his mouth. And I’m rock-fucking-hard in an instant. Fuck, his kiss sends me over the edge.
But when he pulls back, he doesn’t lay me down and steal my breath with his kisses. He doesn’t feel up my cock and grope my ass. No, he reaches for the goddamn remote and clicks our show on. Pimp My Bike.
Playing it cool, like it doesn’t both sting and frustrate the shit out of me, I try flipping my hair like Tex did at dinner to catch Mandy’s attention. Back and forth, I swish the tail of my new mullet and rub my hand over the short-cropped top.
Stiles notices. Fucking finally!
“You got dandruff or something? Quit scratching your head.”
Is he fucking serious? Dandruff? I’m trying to be sexy!
“I’ll get you some dandruff shampoo at the store tomorrow,” Stiles offers.
He turns the volume up on the TV, and it lights a short fuse within me. My temper flares and then explodes. Fucking touch me! I grab the remote from his hand and sit on it, which pushes all the wrong buttons—on the remote and in Stiles. But that’s what repressing your desire does to you. Makes you a moody bastard with a hair-trigger temper.
“The fuck?!” He lunges for me.
And it’s on like Donkey Kong. At least his hands are on me.
He grabs my shoulder, digs his knee in my thigh, narrowly missing my crotch, and growls.
“Was that meant to intimidate me?” I laugh.
It only pisses him off more. Stiles wraps his hand around my throat and my dick gets even harder. I might be into that. We can explore it later, if he ever agrees to have sex with me.
The couch is too narrow and we roll to the floor in a tangle of limbs, grunting and huffing to catch our breath.
I dig my fingers into his ribs and he flinches. “No tickling!”
So I grab his ass instead. He flips me somehow. Damn, that’s hot. Stiles reaches beneath me for the remote and his fingers brush my cock. He pauses, not moving away, and I push into his palm, hoping he’ll wrap his fingers around it. His weight on top of me makes it hard to breathe, but I’d rather pass out than ask him to move. His dick pushes against my ass and I freeze, afraid that if I move, so will he, and then he’ll be gone.
“Am I crushing you?”
His breath tickles my ear, the deep tenor making everything tremble inside me.
“No,” I grunt, trying not to sound out of breath, cause yeah, he’s crushing the fuck out of me.
I push my ass back against him and he makes a sound like a moan, but not quite.
Stiles shifts and I think he’s gonna roll off. “Wait.”
It takes him a moment, but he pushes back. It’s a thrill, feeling his hard dick push against my crack, begging for entry. Someday, I’m gonna know what he feels like buried inside my ass.
He does it again, thrusting lightly, and I push back, showing him I love it and I want more.
“Fuck,” he breathes over my neck. He curls his fingers around my throat again, not squeezing, just… resting there possessively.
“Yeah, I wish.”
Stiles chuckles. He likes that answer. I know he’s been questioning everything lately, and for once, I have no idea what he’s thinking. I hate it.
“You know, just like this, it’s okay. It’s only gay if you stick it in me.”
“Bullshit.” He half growls, half laughs.
“No, really, I swear.” Total bullshit, but I’d say anything to get him to continue.
“Is it gay if I take it out of my pants?”
“Your cock? No, that doesn’t count either.”
Stiles chuckles and whips it out. I can’t see it, but I feel it, pushing more insistently now, making the thin fabric of my boxers bunch in my crease.
“Shit, these are my new good pants. I don’t want your jizz all over them.” I wiggle them down my hips.
He makes an appreciative sound, and I imagine he’s checking out my ass. He drags his cockhead through my cheeks and groans. “Are you sure? This feels really gay.”
“Yeah,” I moan, feeling hot all over. “I mean, no! I swear it’s not. Only if you put it in me.” Shit, what if that keeps him from shoving inside me? Why’d I say that?
Stiles moves over me, slowly thrusting through my crease. Every time he rubs over my hole, everything in me tightens and releases, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming, ‘Put it in!’
“You know, I think they call this hotdogging.”
It distracts me and we both laugh. “No wonder I love it.”
His breathing kicks up, coming out harsher as he gets worked up. Warm lips and soft whiskers touch my neck.
Yeah, my neck is definitely my hot zone.
“You don’t mind if I… finish?” he asks in a breathy sex voice that I’ve never heard from him before. I wonder if I could get him to read that entire magazine to me in that tone.
“Not at all.”
“Get your hand underneath you and do it with me.”
Fuck, yes. Now we’re getting somewhere.
I lift my ass enough to slide my hand beneath me and fist my cock. It’s kinda squished, but it just adds more friction. Each time he thrusts between my cheeks, I push into my hand and squeeze. The wave of heat building in my gut grows more intense when he really gets into it. His grunts sound animalistic and his hot breath on my neck indicates how close he is.
He’s losing control. With me. Because of me.
I’ve never felt such power. Not holding a rifle or driving a humvee. Not shooting at the enemy or dodging their fire. Not even when they awarded me a medal for bravery and pinned it to my chest.
This power feels different. Immeasurable. They could bottle this shit and use it to power third-world countries.
The wave of heat moves through me, and I clench my ass to keep from coming. But it’s too much for Stiles.
“Shit, do that again.” I clench my ass and he groans. “C-Coming,” he breathes harshly. His release floods my crease. The warmth is proof of his desire for me, and I lose my shit.
“Coming,” I grunt, fucking into my fist one last time before spilling my load. It seeps between my knuckles, most likely soaking into the carpet, but fuck if I care. Stiles just made me come. Hard. Harder than I probably ever have. What’s it gonna feel like when he fucks me for real?
Shit, I can’t even imagine.
“You good?” he rumbles in my ear, still crushing me under his massive weight.
“Yeah, I’m good. Fucking perfect.”