Chapter Nine
Noelle
My ex-boyfriend’s murderer just ate me out.
I don’t think I’ve ever had an orgasm that intense before, and Cole wasn’t even inside me to do it. How can this complete stranger coax such a visceral reaction from me when guys I’ve dated longer than I’ve had a car payment couldn’t?
“Any chance you have a washer and drier in your apartment?” Cole inquires. I’m momentarily confused until his half-lidded gaze drops to his pants and I realize what he means.
I did that to him? I thought that was something you only hear about in books. I’ve never been naive enough to think my own enjoyment would get a guy off like that.
In my experience, getting me off first is either so the guy can come as soon as he wants or just to make me tighter for his benefit.
“You’re in luck,” I school my features so he can’t tell what this information does to me. “But, um, I don’t have anything else for you to wear.”
The wolfish expression crossing Cole’s face is both downright handsome and entirely concerning.
“I guess I’ll have to frost cookies in my birthday suit, then.”
“My turn to ask a question,” Cole announces as he uses the blue frosting to decorate a Christmas tree shaped cookie which drives my type A personality insane. “What’s your favorite book?”
Cole gives me the sense he enjoys making other people uncomfortable, that he likes prying into their psyche and peeling back the layers one at a time. So with the open invitation to ask anything he wants, I’m surprised when he asks such a simple question.
Though answering is made that much harder by the sight of his cock hanging between his legs as he stands in my kitchen making cookies. How am I supposed to concentrate when there’s a naked man in my kitchen?
As I predicted, he’s a tattooed adonis. The ink I spotted on his wrists travels up both arms and across his pecs.
Everything is connected in some way with a well thought out design that truly is a work of art.
Its not a bunch of little tattoos with something to connect them all.
This design must have taken hours to dream up and even longer to permanently ink into his skin.
Except the one on his neck. It looks to be words and sentences tattooed in tiny print to make up the design there. If I had to guess, I’d bet money that’s the only tattoo with meaning behind it.
“Hey, Noelle,” Cole’s husky voice draws me out of my wondering. “My eyes are up here, pervert.”
Returning his playful tone with my own, I retort, “You shouldn’t be standing naked in my kitchen if you don’t want to be ogled.
” I turn my gaze back to the snowflake cookie I’m frosting instead of meeting his smoldering eyes.
“Besides, it’s only fair since you got to get your fill of my nakedness earlier.
” I’ve since slipped on an oversized t-shirt since I–unlike my serial killer fuck buddy–do not like performing kitchen activities naked.
“Get your head back on track. Favorite book.”
“Right.” I focus on the smell of the freshly baked cookies and my precise lines on the snowflake instead of the drool-worthy body across the counter from me. “Pride and Prejudice.”
“Pft.” Cole derides. “Every girl says that.”
“For good reason.” I fire back.
“And what’s that? Because it’s the first feminist book?”
“Yes,” I confirm with a serious expression, taking personal offense on behalf of the female population.
“And because it’s not simply just a book about a dream man.
It’s a book about a girl telling the guy she doesn’t like his behavior and he has some serious growing up to do before he can be worthy of her.
And he listens. All women want is a man who takes us seriously. ”
Taking a brief pause from his frosting endeavors, Cole appraises me as if searching for something. Maybe asking my favorite book wasn’t such a simple question afterall. I feel like I’m splayed open for him to analyze.
Pushing on, I continue, “Women like when men are willing to put in the work. When men make us feel worth the effort.”
With a subtle nod of his head, Cole replies, “Noted.” And that’s it. We continue to frost the cookies in companionable silence to the various classic Christmas tunes playing off my phone.
Once my cookies are meticulously decorated and Cole’s are sloppily frosted, Cole leans his elbows on the counter and lifts a cookie into his muscular hand.
“Cheers.” He waits for me to follow his lead. So I raise a cookie of my own and touch it to his like a glass of champagne. “To many more happy holidays like this one.”
Somehow, I have a feeling this holiday is a lot more personal for him than he’s letting on.
I’ll be honest, the cookies are damned delicious. I savor every bite of holiday goodness that I’ve denied myself for years.
“Not bad for a premade mix,” Cole comments. “But not as good as my homemade cookies.”
“You bake?”
“And cook,” he corrects me. “I learned everything I know from my mom. She’s a fantastic cook.”
For as much shit as men give each other about being “mama’s boys,” we women tend to find it endearing.
At least I do. A mama’s boy is going to be more respectful than any other type of man.
They’re more likely to offer to do the dishes.
More likely to share their feelings openly.
More likely to take our mood swings in stride.
More likely to get laid for all those reasons.
Helping himself to a plate from the cabinet, Cole stacks several cookies onto it before waltzing butt-naked into my living room and plopping that taut ass down on my couch.
I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed when he covers himself with the throw blanket.
He’s gorgeous to look at but having that prominent dick on display is rather distracting.
“Well, since I gave you an orgasm, I think it’s only fair you watch a Christmas movie with me. I’ll even let you pick.”
I balk at him with my signature hand on the cocked hip stance. “Can’t I just return the favor instead? You could choke me to death with that thing and it would still be a better alternative to sitting through a cheesy holiday movie.”
Cole’s expression leaves no room for negotiation. He pats the seat beside him to usher me over. Reluctantly, I nestle into the space beside him, closer than we were earlier but not so close we’re cuddling.
Mumbling loud enough for him to hear, I ask no one in particular, “What kind of man would choose a Christmas movie over a blowjob?”
Said man replies, “The kind who knows he can get both if he plays his cards right.” He punctuates that declaration with a forceful bite into one of the cookies, fitting more than half of it in his mouth in a single go.
Point taken.
Cole is already scrolling through my streaming services to peruse the selection.
“I’ll give you three options,” he levels me with a serious look. “Love, Actually, The Grinch, or It’s A Wonderful Life.”
Contemplating my options, I decide, “Love, Actually.”
“Really?” Cole tilts his head with the force the shock must have knocked him with. “What went into that decision?”
“It’s A Wonderful Life is too long, and The Grinch is too whimsical for my taste. Love, Actually is the least Chriatmasy of them all.”
That earns me an amused chuckle. “Love, Actually it is.”
I’m saved from having to watch the movie in silence when Cole informs me it’s my turn to ask a question. There’s a lot I want to ask him, especially as I get to know him more as a person and not the faceless demon Detroit fears every year.
But in the spirit of keeping things light-hearted, I ask, “What’s your favorite movie?”
“The Big Lebowski.”
I return his amused chuckle from earlier with one of my own. “Figured you’d like a dark comedy.”
“It’s a classic!”
Raising my hands in surrender I reply, “I’m not disagreeing with you. It’s a great movie. Just seems fitting someone with your personality and late night hobby would love a dark comedy.”
“What do you mean by ‘my personality’?” He sounds more intrigued than offended.
Since I’m talking to a serial killer, here, I choose my words very carefully. “You’d think that a big bad murderer would have the personality of an evil demon. But you’re so happy-go-lucky. It doesn’t make sense.”
“So closed minded of you to think serial killers are all the same,” he laughs.
“Psychologists would suggest there’s a lot of similarities, ya know.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t torture any helpless animals as a child.” Cole teases me. Though it’s a relief to know he’s not that kind of psychotic. “I didn’t start killing animals until my teens.” My head snaps around so fast I know it’ll hurt in the morning.
My wide eyes take in Cole’s entertained expression and the minor heart attack I’m having goes away. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he pacifies me. “I’d never hurt anything that doesn’t deserve it, especially animals.”
I should have known that seeing as how he and Sasha have bonded so quickly.
As a matter of fact… “Sasha?” I make kissy noises to lure her out of wherever she’s hiding. I’m surprised she isn’t nestled in Cole’s cozy lap. Even I wouldn’t mind curling into a ball between those muscular legs.
“Here, Kitty Kitty,” I call, worried she’s getting into trouble.
I walk toward the kitchen when I remember there’s still some cookies on the counter. I hope she’s not eating the–
“AGHH,” I shriek when I find my cat–my white as snow cat–covered in crimson blood. I knew this cat had at least one evil bone in her body, but this?
I’ll never be able to erase the sight of my ladylike feline devouring a human heart on the floor where she’s chewed through the ziploc bag to retrieve it.
Rushing in at the sound of my cry for help, Cole skids to a stop when he looks upon the disturbing sight.
He’s going to be so pissed, he worked really hard to track, kill, and remove the heart from Frank’s body for his morbid snow globes. And now it’s ruined.
I prepare for him to snap, but instead Cole bursts into laughter. He’s laughing at Sasha eating a fucking human heart.
Smacking his chest lightly I proclaim, “It’s not funny. Look at her! She’s covered in blood.” And still eating the heart. But I’m not about to take her away from her fresh meal, she might turn on me. “I always knew there was something wrong with this cat.”
Cole strides forward to collect Sasha, leaving the heart on the ground. Cradling her in his arms, Cole observes, “Look at that, she went for the left ventricle first.”
Meanwhile, Sasha licks her lips with a satisfied, satanic gleam in her eyes.
“I’ll never be able to sleep without one eye open ever again.” I shake my head in disbelief.
“Why’s that?”
Gesturing to the culprit being cuddled like a baby, I proclaim, “Because now that she’s had a taste of human flesh, she might come after me.”
My cat and house guest are clearly made for one another. Cole scratches Sasha behind the ears and coos, “You’re not going to maul anyone in their sleep, are you princess?” Taking Sasha to the sink he adds, “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”
Braver than I, Cole uses the detachable nozzle on the sink to clean the blood out of Sasha’s fur which is now stained a pastel pink. At least she matches the aesthetic of the apartment.
If I thought the human heart Cole brought into my apartment was gross before, it’s downright morbid now.
Most of it is still intact except for the spot he referred to as the left ventricle that has a gaping hole and distinct tiny teeth marks.
I stare down at the partially eaten organ as Cole stands beside me holding Sasha wrapped in a hand towel.
“Well would you look at that. I ate your pussy, and your pussy ate my heart.”