5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

G od, Story! What the hell are you doing?

This night has been a series of bad decisions. From the second I walked into that bar to meet Bud, I knew it wasn't meant to be. That he wasn't meant to be. But I stayed anyway.

Leave it to me to believe I can fix a man with nothing but a creamy kitty and the willingness to do just about anything.

Well, that and the help of my trusty toy collection. The very collection that got me into my current predicament.

I internally facepalm.

If it were that easy, I'd already be married with five or six kids. I'd have the man of my dreams, warming my bed, caring for our family, and stuffing my channel with his milky delight every night. Against my will, my thighs clench at the thought. The second they do, I cry out as pain, sharp and red-hot, spears through me.

"Story?" A cotton-candied voice calls out, soothing me with its sugary sweetness.

Shit, why does he have that effect on me?

I blink slowly at Fred, confused about my body's reaction to him. From the second I spotted his pretty blue eyes framed by transparent lashes, thin brows, and pale, bald head, I was internally melting. My pink petals hardened to diamonds, my plunder dungeon grew creamy, and my heart skipped a beat. Every part of me lit up, including my soul. I feel like I know him on a cellular level.

Biting my lip, I let my gaze slide down his body, taking in all his lovely curves and edges. He's taller than I am, but not by much, maybe three or four inches. His body is wide and thick in every yummy place, busting out of his too-tight EMT uniform. Though his shoulders are broad and his biceps are bulging, the rest of him is soft and thick.

A part of me that I keep hidden from the world, Lyric included, wants to break out and dive onto his lap, begging him for a hug. I bet he gives the best hugs. And cuddles.

Fuck. I bet his cuddles are to die for.

I want that.

"Story, are you okay? You look woozy and your eyes are tearing up. Where does it hurt, bed bug?"

"Bed bug?" the other EMT snaps as he runs an agitated hand through his too-lush hair. "What the hell is going on here? Do you two know each other or something?"

No, Fred and I don't know each other, but the happy little wormies in my belly are screaming that we should definitely get to know Freddie.

On a carnal level , the brain-worms whisper to the stomach-worms.

I think I'm too broken to get carnal right now, guys, I mentally chastise.

In fact, as pain races through my ass and up my spine, I realize I might be more than decommissioned. I think I might be dying. A pathetic whimper escapes me to the effect. I'm too young and pretty to die!

"Alright, you're done here." Fred grunts as he bends down, picking up a medical bag. "You heard the woman, Stan. She doesn't want you touching her, and I can't help her with you buzzing around like an annoying gnat, so scat!!"

"You can't boss me around, Bates!" Stan wheedles, making me jump. "I'm your superior here."

Freddie growls, the sound low and dangerous, sending sparkles through me. He steps forward, chest bumping his partner. Oh no! This isn't going to go well, and I refuse to be naked and on my back, while two men fight just inches from me. I'm already suffering from a near-death situation. There's no way I'll survive a mass bloodshed in my delicate state.

I untangle myself from my scratchy sheet nest, cursing out Bud, my date from Satan. My eyes never leave the posturing men as I wrap the sheet around my chest, toga-style, so my arms are free— just in case . Every inch I move sends shards of icy pain through my system, but as the men face off with words too low for me to hear, I force myself to work through the pain.

I don't want them to fight. Not here in this creepy house from hades.

Why are they even fighting?

Because you're being difficult, Story. You're always too difficult, too crazy, too much .

It's why no one sticks around.

I shove the ugly thoughts away. I'm too close to the edge, too close to breaking. I can't let the ugly in now. The only thing I want to do is have this thing , this foreign object, removed from my body before I bleed out so I can go home and cuddle up in my squish pile, forgetting today ever happened.

Just as I've gingerly reached the edge of the bed, Stan reaches out, shoving Freddie. My mouth drops open in shock. Indignation overpowers my pain.

How dare he touch my Freddikins like that?

He's not your anything , the brain worm says on a long, pained sigh. After tonight, you need to steer clear of all humans with dangly-bits between their thighs.

I pause, my brows scrunching. Surely, I can't, I challenge. Some women have dangly flaps. Beef curtains. Knee-slapping snatches. I can't avoid everyone.

Maybe you should, the tummy critter coos. Just hide out in a dark corner until you die. It's safer. Quieter.

Ah, yes. We love the dark. All the better to diddle in, my brain cackles like the manipulative hussy she is.

"Fine!" Fred yells, pulling my attention back to the present. I blink rapidly, attempting to clear my chaotic, warring body. "If that's what you think, then I quit!"

Stan chuckles, shaking his head as he shoots me a glare. "You're seriously quitting?" He points a stubby finger at my face. "Over her? "

Ouch.

The disdain in his voice has me cringing back. Pain rockets through me and I shoot to my feet with a stifled yelp. The furry-headed man's eyes trail down my body, taking in the thin, white sheet haphazardly draped over me. He licks his lips, and I shudder in revulsion.

Despite the icky way Stan speaks of me, his eyes clearly tell a different tale of his feelings.

I gag internally.

Yuck!

He's not unattractive per se, but he's just so…so…hairy!

I prefer my men akin to a naked mole rat. That way, it's easier for me to coat them in my cummy cunny clam juice. I love it when they shine like the deliciously glazed seed machines they are.

"Don't fucking look at her!" Freddie snarls, surprising me.

"What are you going to do about it?" Stan murmurs, biting his lip. My eyes scan over the too bare room, looking for a weapon just in case. If he hurts Freddie and comes for me, I have to be prepared.

Unlike earlier.

Definitely was not prepared for that.

Or Bud.

Fuck that guy.

"You keep lookin' at her like that and I'll carve your eyes from your ugly face with a rusty spoon and fuck your mom with them!" Freddie hisses in a lethal voice that sends inappropriate shivers down my spine.

Or maybe I'm just cold since I'm naked and all.

His bald head glistens with a thin sheen of angry-sweat, and my shiver turns to palpitations—between my thighs.

Okay, so it's not the cold.

Stan splutters, looking outraged. "You can't fuck my mom!"

Fred scoffs. "Sure I can."

A ridiculous thread of jealousy wiggles its way through me and I stomp my foot in indignation. Stan ignores me, but Fred shoots me a look I can't interpret. Confusion? Concern?

"You can't fuck a dead person!" Stan cries. "And that's my mom—"

"Actually," I cut in, bouncing on my toes with excitement. Finally! Something I know about. See, mom. Reading all those filthy books has finally paid off! "It's called necrophilia. While there aren't more than a couple hundred documented cases world wild, it's heavily fantasized about in an extremely sexual and graphic nature. Some people will go to graves, dig up bodies and—"

"Bed bug," Fred murmurs sweetly. I snap my mouth shut.

Both men are staring at me, one with utter horror, the other with more affection than should be possible. Fred reaches out as if to touch me but drops his hand at the last second and I wilt.

"Any-fucking-way," Stan drawls. "My mom was cremated, so your point is moot."

My bald-headed baby sighs heavily, looking tragically defeated. I just can't have that. He's too proud, too strong. Or, maybe I've just imagined those traits. But something in my gut tells me Fred is a good man. A wonderful man. A man I'd be elated to call mine.

Shoulders back, I cling to the sheet with one hand, and with the other, I shove Dickweed, getting his attention.

"If Fred wants to fuck your mom, he'll damn well do it." Fuck no, he won't. He's mine! "He'll take her urn and make a goddamned fun dip out of it. And guess what! I'll help him!"

Stan's mouth drops open in horror and I give the asshole my best creepy grin.

"That's right," I murmur, my head tilting all Grudge-like, forcing him to take a step back. "I'll get his God rod moist and sticky so when he fucks your mom, he makes a yummy little ash lollipop." I meet him toe to toe, ignoring the pain slicing through me and glare up at the bastard who dared to threaten Fred, to insult his man-ness. "And then, I'll suck him clean and shit her out!"

For a second, the room is dead silent. And then, all hell breaks loose.

Or, that's what it feels like.

Stan bellows in outrange and shifts his hand. I flinch, worried he's going to hit me. I shouldn't be concerned, though, my guy has my back. Fred advances, throwing the other man into the far wall. He cries out like a little wimp, barely catching himself on a dresser before his legs give out.

Stan shoots Fred a red-faced glare. "You're fucking fired, Bates!"

Freddie barks a laugh and shakes his head. "You can't fire me when I've already quit!"

His hand grips wildly at his chest and for a second, I'm worried he's having a heart attack. I mentally run through all the knowledge I have on resuscitation in case this takes a turn, but I only made it to chapter one of that book. Luckily, instead of dying, Fred rips his EMT badge from his fitted blue button down with a strength that has my knees knocking together.

Sheesh! Property destruction shouldn't be that sexy!

He tosses it at Stan, and I barely resist breaking into a golf clap when the badge smacks him right between his beady eyes. I do, however, poke my tongue at him.

"And to answer your previous question, I'm quitting and not just because of Story." Fred says, and for some reason, his words have my already tired shoulders slumping. Well, damn. For a second, I thought we had something. "If this is how you treat a woman, a person , in need of help, then I want nothing to do with you or your disgusting profession!"

Freddie lifts his medical bag and drops it between them like a mic.

Stan's mouth opens and closes like a dying fish. With a huff, he snatches the bag and points a finger at me. "Are you refusing medical assistance?"

I flinch at the ire in his voice and the sudden movement has ice shards splitting my ass in two. I should probably get medical intervention, but the idea of this hairy man-beast coming near me with his long, creatin-like fingers makes me want to shrivel up and die.

Clearing my throat, I give a sharp nod. "Yep."

Such a bad idea, Story.

His eyes narrow and he shakes his head, scoffing. "Your funeral, lady." Oh, fuck. That's ominous. I ignore my racing heart as he turns to Fred, taking his salad finger with him. "You're done, Bates. I'll make it so you never work another day in this industry. Mark my words!"

I bristle. "What the french, toast?"

"You son of a biscuit eating bulldog! Get out, and never come back!" Fred shouts. Stepping forward, he glares up at the taller man. "You've been banished!"

Stan gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. "You lint licker!"

"Cootie queen!" I cry, filled with righteous indignation. I move to shove the assface again, but before I can, Fred is there, gently pulling me into his body. The second my back collides with his soft front, I melt.

"Easy, killer," he murmurs, his humid breath wafting over my ear. "I've got you."

A shiver races across my spine. Holy hell. I shouldn't be turned on right now, but damn .

"Oh, go step on a lego, baldy locks!" With that, Stan tosses his short hair over his shoulder, spins on his heel and storms out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

"Oh, damn," I mutter, impressed. "Take that, Dildo Baggins."

And then there were two.