Page 33 of Frosty Felicity
The man appeared a little disbelieving.
“You do realize, Felicity, that I have dealt with mass murderers, drug dealers, violent addicts, prostitutes, men and women who’ve beaten each other nearly to death, and the whole nine, on a continuous basis, and you have the nerve to lie here next to me, with your really nice tits out, I might add,” she laughed at this, “and talk to me about needing to know what I’m getting into? Baby, I’ve seen the worst of mankind. Up close and personal. I’ll take your perverted, nerdy, crass, heart-of-ice ass over some of these folks any damn day of the week.” He reached for her, stroked her collarbone, then the side of her face. The gentlest of touches. “You are rare. That makes you expensive. I like nice shit.”
“Brett, you’re great. You really are. I like how caring you are. Strong. You’re manly… sexy. You seem to love your family, too. You’re smart and a little quirky. Like me.” He smiled at that. “I would hate to fall for you, and then you feel some odd obligation toward me because I’ve sat here and told you the truth about something that caused me a lot of distress. I was just letting you know because being honest about it seemed like a good idea. I don’t usually talk about it. It’s like opening a can of worms. Anyway,” she sighed, “if you don’t want this after a week, or month or two, please, I’m fine with that. It’s okay.”
She held up her hands, mustering the strength to give him a ‘Get Out of Jail free card.’ “I don’t settle, so neither should you. That means if you decide I’m just too much, whatever that ‘much’ is, then I’m fine with that, and—”
He caught her chin in his grip and made her face him.
“Just stop it, all right? Overanalyzing this. You seemed a bit sarcastic when we first started talking, and cynical, too. You have the type of sense of humor that sometimes I don’t know if you’re being for real or not. Then tonight I found out you were really upset about some stuff. That life has handed you a raw deal.”
“I don’t want sympathy. I don’t want pity. I just want breakfast in the morning.” She pulled the sheets over her exposed breasts and yawned.
“Breakfast? I can use that to prove my point. You’ve told me you’re a cracked egg, right?” She nodded. “Everyone is, Felicity. Some of us just hide our fractures better than others. You showed me yours. Eggs taste better broken. Scrambled, over easy, or fried tomorrow morning for your breakfast?”
“Scrambled lightly, with onion, pepper, and a smattering of cheese.” She fluffed her pillow, prepared to retire for the night, but then the man was on his feet again, walking fast out the room, naked as a jaybird. Curious, she sat up. Waiting.
“Twister?” She couldn’t believe her eyes when he returned. “You brought a game of Twister in here, Brett?! I want to go to sleep!”
There he stood at the bedroom door, like a child ready to be read another bedtime story, after hearing five already.
“Sleep is for losers! If I win, you’re giving me round three. If you win, you’re giving me round three. I want you to get on top and ride the mountain.”
He pointed to his dick. The damn thing was rising. Again…
“That’s not exactly how this is supposed to work. I’m supposed to pick my own prize.”
His face scrunched, as if he were deeply offended. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you, like my mouth… my fingers… and my dick. Do you understand?”
She cracked up laughing, slapping the bed as he approached, the game tucked under his arm.
“I understand,” she said between snorts. “Looks like it’s going to be a long night. And I’m here for it!”
