I’m treated to him having his shirt and jeans removed because they are spread out on the floor and upon further investigation, naked broad shoulders hang slightly off the cushion and a few tattoos peek out from under the blanket. His neck is slim and long, covered slightly by raven straight hair, his squarish chin is covered in more than day-old stubble but more like the beginnings of a beard. Ocean is a tall guy and his large bare feet hang off the couch. Studying them, all I can think about is the adage: big feet mean a big cock. Heat flows up from my toes as I study his further, unable to stop myself from looking to where his dick is.
Whack…Whack…Whack.
My heart pounds against my ribs and thumps in my ears.
“Sheesh.” The water spurts from my mouth as I stifle my cough, looking at the ridge in the blanket and his feet again. Could it be that long?
Redness overtakes my face, lighting me up like the fire blazing in the corner. I cough again trying to expel the water that went down the wrong way.
Ocean murmurs and moves, the blanket falling off his body.
“Oh Lord.” My body quivers and I’m startled.
Jumping back in shock, as though something’s about to eat me alive, I almost trip over his enormous black boots and crash into the stool.
Inwardly laughing at myself, I hop so my sore leg is up and I brace myself on the counter.
He goes commando to sleep.
“Yes, his cock is definitely as big as his feet.” My pulse pumps rapidly. Light-headed with a rush of blood to the head, my limbs go limp.
Damn…
Blinking so my eyes are clear and focused, I scan every inch of his flesh.
He looks so edible and a delicious sight.
Abs are firm and defined even asleep, he has a few black tattoos and his chest is smooth. The glow of the fire reflects off his tanned skin. Of course it could be my embarrassed fervor thoroughly enhanced from the latest reveal.
It’s a first for me. It’s the biggest dick I’ve seen in real life but coming from an inexperienced virgin I’d say it could mean nothing. For all I know it could be small.
But it’s so goddam thick as well.
A sweat breaks out and I hold my breath. I am no longer worried about my sore ankle, I have to get out of here in case he wakes up. He can’t find me ogling his cock.
Limping as fast as I can go, heaving because I still haven’t regained my breath back correctly, I fall into bed.
Laughing at my stupidness, I’m behaving like a teenage girl. Lightness fills my body.
Pulling the covers back up, I close my eyes thinking of what it would be like to have a virile guy like Ocean want me. To be held close by a strong powerful body who would protect me from anything. To feel the warm skin of such a dominant man who would treat me with respect and kindness. To be claimed by a man who understood me.
It doesn’t hurt to fantasize.
I’ve been doing it for long enough and really, how the hell would I know what to do with a guy like that?
It doesn’t matter anyway.
All I will be doing is dreaming.
“I need a girl like you, yeah yeah. Yeah yeah yeah. Yeah yeah yeah. I need a girl like you, yeah yeah.”
A soft voice greets me.
Rubbing my face, my eyes blink trying to find the source of the singing. Stretching my arms above my head, I turn on my side and raise my head onto the cushion to find Bluebell in the kitchen looking in the oven at something, repeatedly singing that line over and over again.
Without stuttering.
Her short hair bounces around with her small steps, her body carefree and loose.
“Looks like you’re feeling a little better this morning.”
Surprised, she jumps and turns smiling brightly.
“I had a good night’s s-sleep. My ankle’s still s-sore.”
“I think it will be for a while but don’t stop singing on my account.” Only seeing this girl in her shop, professional and rigid or hurt and scared, this is a nice development. “What’s in the oven?”
I’d planned to shop before I came out here but with the commotion of yesterday, I didn’t get there. No one’s been out here for a few months. I can’t imagine what she found to bake something edible with.
“Scones. They’re ready but t-th-they’re going to be dry ‘cause there’s only butter to put on them. I was lucky to f-f-find some flour and milk powder.” Opening the oven door, the smell makes my stomach rumble.
“I can’t remember ever having a scone before.” Rising from the couch, the blanket slips off and I’m naked. Shit. I don’t want to scare her back inside herself. Looking up quickly, her back’s toward me and she is bending down retrieving plates from the lower cupboard. Her perky butt pokes out, although it’s difficult to see the outline due to the pants swimming on her. My cock hardens as I pull up my jeans thinking about the treasures underneath the material.
“Mom was English, we had scones of-often when I was l-little. They have hardly any ingre-ingredients and easy to make.” Turning around, she places a plate covered in small dough-like cakes on the counter and I take a seat on the stool.
“They smell delicious.”
“I hope they are.” Setting aside two other plates and some butter, she takes the knife and cuts one in half, putting butter on it. Steam billows out, the butter melting in.
“Here.” Gracing me with a smile and a baked goody she continues to make herself one. “Thank you again for helping me.” Bluebell keeps her eyes down and concentrates.
“This is good.” Licking my lips, the heat and buttery goodness is welcomed. “How have I not known about these?”
“I don’t see you as a s-scone and t-tea type of guy.” Casting her gaze over me, her cheeks light up as she peers down at my bare chest, tattooed with images that are significant to me.
“What? Why not?” Feigning hurt, I put my hand on my heart and try and act serious. But it doesn’t work.
We both burst out laughing together.
Bluebell’s eyes sparkle and her lips lift up into a smile that would give a diamond a run for its money, dazzling anyone who looked at her.
“Are you telling me I need to be in a suit and tie to enjoy these delicacies? Like a Brit?” Taking another mouthful, I watch her carefully trying to work out if I am serious.
“Umm… nope, not at all. But to be h-honest, most people who eat scones I think, would have to be middle-aged w-woman who go out for a High Tea. And you don’t fit that description either.”
Shaking my head, I laugh. “Definitely not. Well, let’s say, we add a new category to eating scones; two people who don’t know each other, resting in a cabin with limited supplies getting to know one another? Deal?”
Wide-eyed she looks in amazement at me and I could watch that curious look on her face all day. “Deal.”
Getting up to pour coffee for us both, we eat in silence, looking at each other every now and then. I remember doing the same kind of thing in school when I was unsure of how to get a girl’s attention and insecure. That hasn’t happened for a very long time. Yet it’s exactly how I’m feeling now.
Reaching for another scone, I break the silence. “So, shall we talk about what scared the daylights out of you yesterday?”
Her spine straightens marginally, and she puts the piece of scone she was about to put in her mouth, back down on the plate. Her eyes stay down. Bluebell’s breathing increases.