Chapter 10
Bunny
“Why are you doing this to me?” Kipp questions, amusement and exasperation intertwined in his warm tone.
“Because you took away the car mag, I was originally doing it to,” I answer while starting another capital K directly next to the lowercase d I just finished.
“Yeah, I didn’t think that Ferrari you were giving a custom paint job to would’ve appreciated it.” The mirth in his voice curls the corners of my lips upward. “My gut was sayin’ ‘small dick’ written all over it was defeating the purpose of his purchase and the article about its performance.”
My gaze cuts upward to meet his. “They wrote a whole article about how much he sucks in bed? Ouch.”
“The car’s performance. Not his.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Absolutely sure?”
“Yeah.”
“A thousand percent sure?”
“You just like the sound of my voice, huh?”
I do.
Especially when he’s calling me a good girl and making me come.
Three times in one day isn’t exactly a record but add it to the two rounds I went with Nolan earlier, and it most certainly fucking is.
At least for me.
I haven’t gotten off that many times alone in fucking years.
And with another person or people ever.
“I’m just saying…what if the article was a giant metaphor for how well he puts it down between the sheets?” Resuming my doodling thoughtlessly occurs. “Or…how well he doesn’t?” I darken the lines on the first letter, black ink seeping nicely into his creamy vanilla skin. “What if it was like an ode to his sex drive versus the way his actual car drives?”
“I doubt it.”
“Because you think dudes don’t gloat about how well they fuck?”
“Because I don’t think we use metaphors to do it.”
Small snickers are followed by me moving onto the next letter. “Fair.”
“Seriously though,” Kipp carefully adjusts himself on the tattered dark gray cloth couch, clearly not wanting to mess up my so-called art in progress, “why the constant writing?” A small pause passes prior to him investigating further. “Is it a…nervous tick? Anxious habit? Coping mechanism?”
“Medical condition.” Giving the letter I a swirl rather than a dot prompts me to grin wider. “It’s called Hypergraphia. The cause is typically temporal lobe epilepsy; however, I’m special. They aren’t entirely sure what causes mine. I’m also a fun study because I don’t just have an overwhelming compulsion to write words but to draw as well.” Unsatisfied with the size of the spiral has me extending it rather than moving onward in the word. “It’s rare you get the combo of the two, but it does happen. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it. When it hits, it hits. I try to keep paper and journals around me for this reason – at all times – but that’s not always ideal. So, I draw on whatever is closest.”
“Like my arm.”
“You took away my magazine.”
“My magazine,” Kipp playfully pokes back. “And is that why you always keep a pen on you?”
“Yeah.” I give the letter a nod of approval and begin the d. “It’s also why I need to go to the store again in the morning before work. I’m on my last two.” Finishing the three-letter nickname has me instantly beginning the process all over again. “Whenever I’m traveling across the country and I stop for gas, I always a buy pack, so I never run out.”
“Like a smoker.”
“Not sure which habit is dirtier, Kid, but I know which one is better for my lungs.”
His light laughter has me sinking my teeth into my bottom lip to stop from swooning.
What is it with this guy?
How does he keep getting me to sigh and blush and confess the very shit I keep vaulted at the pit of my soul?
He’s like a car obsessed Prince Eric and no matter how hard I try or fight, I can’t resist following him around this tiny castle and giving him everything he asks for.
Which is the last thing I fucking need.
I shouldn’t be adding reasons to the stick around side of the spreadsheet.
I should be searching for additional ones to bail.
Although, technically, I already have plenty of those.
That column just needs to stay ahead.
Not be even with the other.
Or worse.
Get behind it.
“Growing up, I would just collect pens. Had a huge stash I kept under my mattress.”
“Like contraband.”
“That word has so many syllables, did you move up a grade level and forget to tell me?”
Kipp laughs a little louder and lowers his stretched-out arm to deliver a playful swat to my ass.
“I wasn’t exactly raised rollin’ in the dough, so I learned early how to get creative about shit. Finding random pens in the hallway. Stockpiling everyone’s old notebooks at the end of the school year. Purposely forgetting supplies in class in order to score more.” This time I work to turn the K into a wrench shape. “Aside from all of that, I also taught myself to doodle on the underside of objects to reduce the risk of being caught vandalizing, the inside of clothing to keep the outside looking professional, and tighter, small groupings on the skin to give off a tattoo appearance as opposed to the ‘not all there’ person who walks into the business lunch with writing all over their arms.” I give his appendage a little blow to help the ink dry faster. “Thankfully, nowadays, I never have to go to lunches or brunches or bullshit kiss ass happy hours. Contract work not only lets me work remotely, it prevents me from having to play show pony.”
“I’ll show you how many ponies I have under my hood anytime…”
There’s no stopping me from meeting his eyes again on a snicker. “Was it sixth grade? Did I miss your elementary school graduation? I don’t remember seeing an email for it this morning.”
Another good-natured pop is given to my ass; however, his hand lingers on a cheek afterward. “How about I grab you some colored pens and fancy journals when I’m in Crystal Waters later this week?”
Ugh.
That. word.
Fuck. That. One. Single. Word.
Fuck that one single word and everything that comes with it.
I’m not someone’s trophy.
Or prized possession.
Or buried fucking treasure you murder your fellow pirate mate over to keep all to yourself.
And I don’t care what the man hunting me says.
I know his frat brother didn’t randomly fall off that yacht and drown after trying to help give me an exit strategy to the living nightmare I was desperate to leave.
He was pushed.
And the point to all those that were watching our relationship was proven.
“I don’t need fancy shit, Kipp.” Scooting slightly out of his grasp forces him to move his hand. “I don’t need anything.” Additional annoyance at having my previous drawing pattern interrupted has me sitting crossed legged to write on my own ankle. Dig into my own flesh harder than I was his. Angrier. More anxiously. To present myself with new pain to pacify the other. “I damn sure don’t need anyone.” Scribbling the opening lines to “Better Off Alone” by Alice Deejay thoughtlessly begins. “And above all else I don’t need anything from anyone that isn’t Me, Myself, and I.” The statement transitions my lyrics quoting to the G-Eazy song by the same title. “I can and have been taking care of me just fucking fine.” The speed of the scrawling increases. “Thank you very much.”
“Okay.” His pause is brief to let his frame move closer back to mine. “Maybe you don’t need anything or anyone-”
“I don’t. There’s no maybe.”
“Fine, you don’t need anything or anyone, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it, baby.”
My rapid hand movement threatens to slow down.
“And just because you can take care of you, doesn’t mean some asshole like me doesn’t wanna help do it, too.”
Against my own volition I peer up and over at his adoring expression. “You’re not an asshole, Kid.”
All of a sudden, the front door swings open revealing an exhausted Nolan. “Fuck me, could I use a beer and some tits in my face.”
“He’s the asshole.” I playfully wink prior to us redirecting our attention to him. “Hi to you too, Mutt.”
“Rabbit.” He tosses his keys on the kitchen counter during his approach our direction. “Kid.”
I hate that I didn’t think to ban that nickname in my life sooner.
I double hate that the damn thing has actually grown on me in such a short time.
And I absolutely loathe how much I not only like it, but crave it coming from him.
Don’t even let me get started on how much I simply wanted him around today too.
It’s not that I don’t like or want The Kid.
I mean we spent the day together streaming the classic Speed Racer anime, fucking, and flirting like what we’re doing is permanent instead of a temporary fling for a few days.
Obviously, I like him.
Want whatever we’re doing.
I just…want his crabby companion too.
There’s something about when they’re together that’s so fucking intoxicating I can’t stop myself from wanting to OD on it. It’s like the venom he spews is secretly laced with something so delectable that gorging myself is the only option to feel the high, and verbally sparring in order to get it somehow only makes the shit much more delicious.
I like not being seen as a damsel.
The demand to rise to the occasion, to his level, before one of us is falling to our knees.
I’ve never felt anything like it.
Not sure I ever will again.
“Rough day?” Kipp inquires, arm stretching along the back of the couch as if wordlessly inviting him to join us.
“Had to tow a fucking RV in Crystal Waters.” His large frame plops on the other side of me as I resume the scrawling. “One of those big beast bitches.”
“Motorized?”
“Yeah.”
“Class?”
“C.”
“Engine?”
“Cummins 6.7L diesel.”
Kipp lets out a moan that damn near results in me completely losing my grip on my pen. “Fuck, I can’t wait to get my hands on that shit.”
“Didn’t bring it here.”
The air in the room gets unexpectedly tense.
“Why not?”
“We have enough to deal with.”
“You talkin’ about Bunny’s car? Because that shit isn’t ready for work yet.”
“No, but Rabbit herself is a pretty big job.”
“You trying to be the one dog that doesn’t go to heaven?” I sassily taunt his direction, not surprised when he starts cockily grinning.
“Harvest Fests are in session the next few weeks,” Nolan reminds his best friend. “On average you tend to pull two to three tourists a day on top of our regular maintenance clients from Crystal Waters and the snowbirds back in town from Spike Village.” He extends his arm along the backside of his portion of the couch. “Didn’t think you needed that extra stress.”
“Didn’t think to maybe fucking ask?”
Hearing Kipp’s tone firm in tandem with seeing his body do the same out of my peripheral leads to me toying with my tongue ring.
Can’t lie.
There’s something so goddamn irresistible about the way he takes charge.
In and out of bed.
“Nope,” Nolan emotionlessly replies, expression unchanged.
“Do you ever think to fucking ask?” Kipp swiftly counters. “Do you ever fucking think that maybe I wanna decide on some shit myself? That I don’t want everything decided fucking for me?”
“I think that this fucking conversation isn’t about a fucking tow job.”
When Kipp doesn’t immediately answer, I can’t resist looking back over at him.
Examining the tightness in his jaw.
The frustration wrinkling his forehead.
What is this really about?
Me?
Working on my car?
Letting me stay here longer than a night?
Fucking me?
Why do I get the feeling that I’m right in the center of whatever is happening between them?
“You got something to say, Kid?” Nolan adjusts his body to angle himself in a more challenging nature. “Fuckin’ say it.”
Kipp remains silent.
Still.
“Don’t tuck your sack back now. You’ve been comin’ at me crooked for the last two fuckin’ days, so either man the fuck up or shut the fuck up. It’s that simple.”
Wrong timing, but fuck, when he uses that authoritative tone, it makes me wanna get under him.
And on top of him.
And scream “Yes, Sir” like they’re the only two words I fucking know.
Huh.
How am I still this horny after getting laid that much?
Is this like…dry spell aftershocks or something?!
“I’m not eighteen anymore. I’m old enough to make decisions about shit.” The blanket statement feels teeming with subtext. “And I expect to be included in making decisions about future shit. Especially our future shit.” Their eyes lock in the space in front of me. “I can handle shit. I need…you to realize I’m ready to handle shit.”
A small teeth suck precedes a quiet rebuttal, “Yeah, well, maybe I’m not ready for you to handle shit, Kipp.”
“Maybe you should fucking get ready,” he bucks back. Straightens his spine.
An unmistakable heat flashes in his brown glare. “Maybe I should.”
“Maybe you should at least give me a chance to show you that I am.”
The pen in my hand gets absentmindedly tucked behind my ear in anticipation of his next move.
“So, show me,” Nolan grittily growls. “Fucking show me you know how to handle shit, Kid.”
Without hesitation, Kipp gently turns my face.
Pinches my chin.
Wets his lips and purrs, “Be a good girl for us and get on your knees, baby…”
Slinking onto the floor is effortless.
And so is letting myself be guided by a fistful of my hair to the space between his legs.
The hand tangled in my messy locks slyly slides down to roughly squeeze my cheeks at the same time the other unbuttons his jeans.
Tugs down his zipper.
Works his cock out of his boxers while he wordlessly commands me with his crystal stare to stay in place.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his best friend slightly stirring, readjusting on the squeaky cushion back and forth, anxious to take over. To show him he’s not ready and why. Yet he fights his own impulses. Lets one hand fall to his thigh where it unforgivingly anchors itself to prevent from turning what’s going to be a moment of enjoyment into an unnecessary nightmare.
Once his dick is free, the pressure increases, forcing my mouth to take an oval shape that propels my pierced tongue out for everyone to view. He then drags me forward by my face until he can lazily swirl his precum soaked tip around the little metal piece of jewelry.
“See that shit, Sir,” Kipp gravelly taunts at a low, gruff volume. “See how fucking hungry she is for me…”
Between the teasing sensation and the crude choice of words, there’s no stopping the amount of spit that begins filling my mouth.
Leaking past the sides.
Falling towards my chin only for him to use his cock to smear it back to where it escaped from.
Heavy pants from me are mirrored by heavier ones from Nolan, a fact that seems to make The Kid devilishly grin prior to commanding, “Suck.” Doing so is instantaneous; however, the second my eyes begin to shut, he growls, “Watch.” They struggle to resume their salaciously slitted position. “Watch Sir while you suck my cock.”
At that my attention glides over to the man beside him, sexually hazed gaze, peering upward in submission. “Fuckkkkkk, that’s a dirty little slut.”
I immediately grow wetter and slip more of Kipp’s shaft into my still being held captive mouth. Due to his hold, I’m left with no choice but to choke on his cock in order to properly suck, using my throat to clamp down around the swelling muscle I know won’t last long.
Because this shit isn’t meant to last long.
It’s meant to prove a point.
And fuck me, do I love being a part of that primal point.
Depraved gagging sounds are swiftly conjured during my continuous bobbing. Waves and waves of spit swirl around his shaft, drowning it in dribble, dousing it in warm thick globs that eventually begin blazing a path down my neck for my tits. Breathing isn’t an option. Hell, even remembering the point of breathing isn’t even a notion that can be entertained courtesy of his cock carving his name along the back of my throat as the little ball of assistance carnally scrapes the underside of his dick each time he dives further. Faster and faster and faster he fucks my face, controlling the pace by clamping down with so much force I can practically feel my cheeks already beginning to bruise.
Nolan intensely watches.
Longs to switch places with him.
Grinds his fingers into his own leg to maintain control but boorishly grunts.
And sucks in sadistic gulps of air between his teeth.
Unrelenting pressure builds in my lungs…my chest…my stomach… my pussy on every thrust. I whimper for mercy adding vibrations to the situation that lead to him driving into my throat harder yet just the second my bleary vision results in streaks streaming down to my mouth, Nolan desperately begs, “Come on her fuckin’ tears, Kid.”
“Say please, Sir.”
“Fucckkkkk,” Nolan gargles at the same time he lunges forward. “Please come on her fuckin’ tears for Sir.”
All of a sudden, Kipp pulls his cock back, waits until a drop reaches my tongue, and lets his scorching load pool around the gem like a tiny little lifeboat incapable of surviving. Just as I prepare to close and swallow the much-deserved reward, The Kid instructs, “Hold that there, baby.” Shock and confusion are first to rush through my stare; however, seeing him abruptly grasp the back of Nolan’s neck and promptly yank him has intrigue and thrill replacing them. “You wanted my come on her tears…” Their eyes cut to one another to lock. “Fucking taste it.”