6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

F reddie sighs, rubbing his hand across his cleanly shaven head. I've noticed it seems to be a nervous habit of his. Slowly, so fucking slowly, he turns me to face him. His eyes lock on mine, and everything else disappears. The air between us grows thick as seconds bleed to minutes, neither of us knowing what to say. His fair cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink, the combination nearly matching my peach hair.

He really is handsome.

"Uh," I start, licking my lips when the words in my brain cannot deliver. Instead, I shrug helplessly.

Fred says nothing. He doesn't laugh or smile. He stares, and damn does he stare hard. It's as if he's trying to see what's under my skin and devour it like a midnight snack.

Suddenly, the realization that I'm wearing only a sheet and standing with a stranger in Bud's house, while the man himself is nowhere to be seen, hits me like a brick. Pair that with the knowledge that a butt plug is currently stuffed in my cave of chocolaty wonders, and the room spins. I stumble back with a whimper, tightening my toga.

"Oh, shit!" Fred shouts, diving forward and swooping me into his arms just as my knees give out. I suck in a sharp breath at the effortless way he bundles me against his broad chest. Why does he feel so freaking good? "You okay, little bed bug?"

A shiver wracks my body, and he shuffles me, tugging my meager outfit to cover my shoulders. His brows crash together in concern.

"You're cold." A statement, but I nod anyway. I'm not, not really. How can I be with this hot hunk of man meat wrapped around me, staring at me like I mean something? "Let me find you something warmer to wear."

Before I can blink, we're moving toward the lone dresser in Bud's room. I'm not even sure it is his room. With its meager contents, I think it might be a spare. Something I didn't really pay attention to until I was suddenly confined to the bed, alone and waiting for help. During those panicked moments, a barrage of frantic questions filled my mind.

Why wouldn't he fuck me in his room?

Does Bud have a wife?

Why the hell did I even come to his house when I knew we didn't have a connection?

Those questions grew more angry the longer I waited. Most of the anger was directed at myself.

How do I keep getting myself in shitty situations?

Why do I think I can fix every man I meet?

How could I have risked my safety doing something so reckless?

And why the hell didn't Bud know how to properly use a butt plug?

Most of all….

Where the fuck did that little dick weasel run off to?

Anger fills me all over again, and not for the first time, I consider lighting Bud's weird house on fire. But before my spiral can take root, Fred is gently shaking me. I blink rapidly, only to find his lips moving. A strange sort of static is filling my ears and my jaw is sore from how hard I'm grinding my teeth together.

I suck in a sharp breath, forcing my body to relax in Fred's strong arms. "Wh-what?"

Why am I stuttering? I never stutter around people. Only in my head.

His thin, sparse brows crash together. "I said there's nothing in these drawers. Do you have clothes somewhere else?"

I flick my gaze to the open dresser, and sure enough, the thing is empty, just like the room. More and more, the puzzle pieces are beginning to come together.

This is Bud's fuck room.

Normally, a fuck room would have a stash of condoms and sex toys, but based on dear old Buddy's performance tonight, the asshole doesn't know a double-headed dildo from a nipple clamp. Shame.

At least he never got it in, my brain worms chuckle. His little rubber ducky was too small to fit the life jacket you brought.

Internally, I cackle at the memory. Bud just about fainted when I pulled out my own assortment of un-stabbed condoms. I always bring my own, but I'd been out of extra-smalls. Poor Bud.

No, my tummy worms cry. Poor me! I'm going to be backed up for weeks from this shit-show…literally .

I groan, quickly covering it with a cough when I realize I accidentally let the sound slip free. Fred is giving me an odd look. Oh, shit. He asked me a question!

"I don't have any clothes here," I practically squeak out. He shifts me, reminding me I'm still in his arms. Releasing one end of my sheet, I grip his bicep to steady myself. I may or may not squeeze his yummy, squishy flesh. "You can put me down now."

"No." I blink at his quick response and he clears his throat, walking us toward the bed. He sits down, circling me against his chest. "I mean, I like holding you."

"Same!" I practically shout, then cringe at my eagerness. I blush like a ketchup bottle at a barbeque. "I mean, I kind of like it too."

His dimple pops as he smiles down at me, and damn, there go my ovaries acting up again. What I wouldn't give to pop out a litter of his follicularly challenged babies.

"Not that I don't love what you're wearing. It's giving Greek-Chic, but…" He trails off, his eyes sliding down my body. Fred shifts his legs as if uncomfortable. It's then that I realize my sweet little cue ball is packing quite the woody womb pecker. My nubbin throbs. Yummy . "Where are your clothes?"

It takes immense effort not to rub myself all over his steely erection like a kitty in heat. I toss a thumb over my shoulder, toward the door.. "I, uh…" I blush all over again. Fuck stick, this is so awkward. "I had a dress and stuff, but it's in the hall."

Because I stripped myself while Bud was in the bathroom, knowing no man can turn down a shiny pair of patti-cakes. Bud may not have been my type, but I was eager and slightly drunk.

And, okay, super horny.

When are you not horny, hussy?

Truth.

Fred gently settles me on the bed and I quickly shift to my hip, relieving the pressure in my sphincter. I watch him walk toward the hall, bending to gather scraps of clothes as he goes.

Shoes, a cardigan, dress, two socks, and then…

Oh, no! Is he seriously going to pick up my bra? My panties?

"Fred!" I cry out, but it's too late. The red lace is already in his thick fingers. He lifts…lifts…lifts…

Then my undergarments disappear from sight.

His back is blocking my view of his face, but I don't miss the way he hesitates, practically turning to stone. A rumble fills the air between us, vibrating me to my bones. Holy hell. That sound was born in the pits of hell and forged just for my pleasure.

Did he just…?

Did he…?

Surely, he didn't just sniff my thong. I suck in a horrified gasp, remembering that not so ladylike shart I let out at the bar. Crap. Double crap!

"Ah, shit," he murmurs, spinning to face me. "Afraid the emergency crew destroyed some of your things."

He lays a torn bra down next to me, followed by the rest of my things. I sift through it, cringing when I notice the black wheel marks across my pretty white dress. There's even a rip along the back. Damn. I guess I can't get upset. The first responders rushed in here, guns and fire hoses drawn, ready for anything. Of course, they wouldn't be concerned about my stuff, but hell, I loved that dress.

My brows lift when I don't immediately catch sight of my panties, but before I can ask about them, Fred is distracting me. My mouth drops open as he deftly unbuttons his uniform top, exposing a fitted, plain white tank top.

"I know it's not much, but I don't want you to be cold when I check you over," he says, his voice a strained rasp that speaks directly to my wanton beaver.

"Check me over?" I ask absently, unable to tear my eyes away from his newly exposed flesh. Fiddlesticks, he's so perfect.

Fred drapes his shirt over my shoulders, helping me to slide my arms through the stretched out holes. It's too big for me, falling past my wide hips loosely. A smile spreads across my face. No men's clothes are ever too big on me. The collar is still slightly moist from his sweat and I bring it to my nose, inhaling deeply. My shoulders drop as my pussy gushes. So, so good.

That's a smell I could get used to and never give up.

This time, it's not the worms that are speaking, it's my heart. It's the poor, deprived and abandoned organ that likes to hide in the shadows, only poking out when she feels safe. Why is she here now?

I smack a hand to my chest, grunting in pain.

Get back in your hidey-hole, bitch. We don't need you here. I'm perfectly content with a slut-mentality and a horny vag that's got an, I can fix it mantra.

I drop his collar and quickly button the shirt.

"Yes." Is it just me, or is Fred's voice strained? I look up, finding his eyes glued to my chest. He's checking out my flapjacks! I wiggle happily, then groan in pain. His gaze snaps to mine and his jaw ticks. "You're clearly hurt, so let's get you settled in whatever room you're most comfortable in, then I'll check you. I know you don't want to go, but I need to see if you're injured enough to need an emergency room."

I squeeze my eyes shut at the thought. Bud works at the local hospital. How humiliating.

Instead of telling Fred that, I shake my head. "I don't feel comfortable in any room here."

He crosses his thick arms. "Why the hell not?"

Aw, hell. This night seriously can't get any worse.

"Because this isn't my house," I state, leaving all emotion from my voice. I shove my shoulders back, daring him to judge me. "I met a guy on a dating app, we went out for drinks, came back to his place, and then…" I trail off, the wind leaving my sales as his head jerks back in shock.

Damn. Dammit. Dammy-do!

"And then what, bed bug?"

Sugar-tits! I should not be getting turned on by the dark note in his voice.

With a deep breath, I let it all out in a rush. "We were hooking up, and he shoved a buttplug all the way up my ass, got it stuck, ran away when I said I needed emergency help, and I'm now bleeding out!"

He gapes at me and a sob rips free from deep in my chest.

"I'm dying, Freddikins!" I wail, struggling to breathe as the events of tonight came crashing back in. "I'm dying in a random dude's house and I don't even have my squish pile, or books, or anything!" I throw my hands in the air, committing to my downfall. "I didn't even get an orgasm before he broke my womanhood!"

Suddenly, I'm sobbing uncontrollably while Fred continues to stare at me and reality sets it.

Things definitely can always get worse.