Bella grabbed his face, pulling him down to kiss her deeply. His thrusts picked up momentum as Bella found herself close to orgasm. She was so close…
There were many unfortunate things to see in Bella’s bedroom that night. The pile of cat sweaters on the floor, the terrifying porcelain clowns she insisted were kitschy. But more unfortunate was the prone Bella, voluptuous and curvy with a dead vibrator sticking out of her cooch.
“Oh come on!” she whined, pulling the toy out with a plop! And giving it a good shake. The motor spun a few times, then died again. “Don’t get batteries now Bella, wait for them to go on sale,” she replayed out loud. She’d had the pack of C batteries in her hand. But her frugality won over her desire to be prepared. So they went back on the shelf, right next to her happy ending.
Bella tossed the dead rod off the bed in frustration. She dropped both hands to her pussy, and tried to kickstart where she’d left off.
Bella was on all fours, the faceless stranger behind her fucking her hard and fast. “You’re so hot, Bella,” he said. “Take this huge cock!”
“Aww yeah baby I’m taking it,” she responded.
“Take this massive salami.”
“Turkey on wheat with mayo would be better.”
“Fuck it,” she said to no one, hands leaving her aching lonely sex. She knew that once food infiltrated the fantasy, it was done. Bella didn’t have a problem with food: she loved food and food loved her.
She rolled over and looked at the clock: three in the morning. Too late to get any real sleep, too early to wake up and start the day. She sat up, pulled on her robe, and left the bedroom.
Passing by her roommate Kaylie’s room, she smelled the distinct funk of pot. Bella hated when she did that inside, especially because it was Bella’s security deposit on the line if the landlord ever found out. She also heard her roommates TV going, no doubt whatever followed America’s Next Top Model after she passed out.
Down the well kept but old hallway, Bella made her way to the kitchen. She opened the fridge and stood in front of it. Closing her eyes, she felt the cold air pour over her like a dip into a dry lake. She grabbed a slab of aged English cheddar and sliced off a hunk with a knife from the sink. She figured it was probably clean enough.
Cheese in hand, she pulled the opened Merlot out of the fridge as well. With less than half the bottle remaining, she thought it would be wasteful to use a glass at all. Back to her room she trudged, cheese in one hand, wine in the other.
The internet is amazing late at night. Every website and link takes on special meaning, like you’re some incognito spy that is decoding a transmission before the sun comes up. Or maybe it was just the wine.
Bella didn’t feel like watching any porn, and reading some erotica required more attention span than she could muster. Hitting up Craigslist, she enjoyed reading the Missed Connections section, where secret admirers sent anonymous messages to their would-be objects of affection. It was like horny messages in a bottle set adrift in an ocean of voyeurs. Living in Libby, MO, such a small town didn’t offer many new missed connections.
Once she read through the two or three new ones, she just started clicking around Craigslist at random, taking the pulse of the community. She saw a message for a meet and greet for the county’s volunteer firefighters. The thought of a party full of firemen hunks sent shivers through Bella, and a few quivers through her lonely pussy.
But she knew she’d never attend. Her social circle was small these days: smaller if you didn’t include work acquaintances. She was just terminally shy. She’d had friends when she was in culinary school, but they all fled to big cities to burn out in Michelin rated kitchens after three years. Upending the bottle, she drowned these thoughts in rich, red wine…
BAAAYYYYP! BAAAAYYP!
Bella’s hand blindly sought out the alarm clock and slapped down. The DVD case flew off the nightstand while the alarm continued to beep. Lifting her head from under the pillows, the blinding light of the morning assaulted her eyeballs. Her headache was immediate and inescapable. She turned off the alarm and sat up, fighting the Merlot induced hangover.
Bella looked over at the table on the other side of the room. Her laptop lay open, the bottle of wine empty and on its side next to it. Bella shielded her eyes as best she could while she put on her robe. Staggering out of the bedroom, her foot came down on something soft and cylindrical. She heard a crack and looked down to see her only lover of the past two years snapped in half.
“Fan-fucking-tastic!” she said, kicking the now useless vibrator into the closet. She made sure to stamp her feet extra loud as she passed Kaylie’s bedroom. Bella went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She showered, letting the hot water and soap suds wash over her curves, hoping to sweat out some of the hangover.
Dressed and in the kitchen, Bella started to make her breakfast. She had been looking forward to it since the day before. Two eggs were plopped into swirling boiling water with a little salt and vinegar while bacon sizzled in a frying pan. The toaster eject some slices of brioche she had baked yesterday. Chunks of grass fed butter melted into the cracks and crevices.
A quick look back into the water confirmed that the eggs were perfectly done. With a strainer she carefully lifted each poached egg out and placed them on the toast. Then a sprinkle of rosemary on top of the eggs and finally topping them with the crispy bacon to finish the sandwich.
Bella looked at her breakfast sandwich worthy of the gods and smiled. Today was going to be ok after all. She knew it had to cool a few moments so she left it on the counter and went back into her bedroom to check her email.
Pushing the power button, her laptop didn’t come on. “How late was I on this thing last night?” she wondered aloud.
“Wow thanks for being a doll, Bella! I’m going to work on my resume down at the beach. Byes!” Kylie said from the kitchen. The front door slammed a moment later.
Bella wondered what Kaylie had meant—no! Bella bolted out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. It was gone. Like a baby stolen from it’s crib by goblins in the night. Except the goblins were a blonde trust fund baby whose only responsibility was to lie to her father about how hard she was looking for a job.
Hung over, unfulfilled, vibrator broken and now her breakfast stolen. Time to get to work!
—
“Fuck you,” the angry voice said from the other end of the phone, and Bella heard the familiar click of the hangup. She adjusted her headset and leaned her head back. Glancing left and right down the long aisle of coworkers, she was always amazed at the amount of inconvenience this company created on a daily basis.
Hundreds of phone drones like her, all bothering people day in and day out, just to peddle some stupid service or product. She looked at the screen in front of her, already forgetting the crap they were shilling that day. A vinyl siding cleaning service. How sexy. She wiped at her eyes and massaged her temples.
“Are you taking your break, Bella?” asked a voice from behind her.
Clarence, her morning manager, notorious for patrolling up and down the aisles of call center workers. He was fixated on “improving efficiency,” which meant chasing numbers on spreadsheets and meeting goals set by the higher-ups in corporate. “If you’re not working, you’re on break. You know this Bella. You’ve been here two years.”
“Too long,” she responded without thinking.
“Excuse me?” he parried. There was a cruel eagerness in him today. “What was that?”
“Nothing. I’m not on break Clarence. Look,” she said as she hit a key on her keyboard and the software system began ringing the next telephone number on an endless list.
“Hello?” came an expectant voice on the other end of the line.
“Good morning ma’am! Would you be interested in a once in a lifetime deal to both clean your home’s vinyl siding AND save a great deal of money?”
—
Bella opened the front door to her apartment building
and sighed. Every day, she thought about writing a letter to Congress, petitioning them to make four story walkups illegal. Grunting, sweating and swearing she made her way up the 78 steps. It hadn’t been this bad when she first moved in, but she’d been a little lighter on her toes back then.
Bella walked into the apartment and plopped down onto the couch next to Kaylie. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Kaylie said, not looking away from whatever reality show she was watching.
“How was the beach?”
“Boring and shitty, as usual. There were barely any hot guys there. I mean, they were ok, but not great.” She turned to look at Bella. “Oh this morning, was that sandwich meant for you?”
Bella just grimaced and nodded, mourning the loss still.
“Yeah I thought so, because I took one bite and tasted the bacon on it. I’m on a cleanse so I gave it to the dog next door.” Kylie saw Bella’s reddening face and made to soothe her, “Oh it’s not your fault…you didn’t know I was on a cleanse!”
Without saying a word, Bella bolted upright and stomped to her room, slamming the door behind her. She hoped the reverberation would weaken the supports of the building and cause the whole place to come down. Her own death would be a worthy price to squash her roommate like a bug.
Her temper subsiding, she fished her laptop’s power cord out from under the desk and plugged it in. Powering it up, she checked her Facebook. She froze in shock and confusion.
Ten new friend requests. She barely had ten Facebook friends to begin with. What was going on? She clicked on the first one and her heart skipped a beat.
—Hey Bella, this is Brock. I look forward to seeing you tonight!—
“What…how…who?” Bella muttered as she clicked on the man’s photo. Oh Mama! Within seconds Bella learned that this mystery man was Brock Tartan, a volunteer firefighter for the greater Libby area. He was, quite simply, to die for. Gorgeous face, baby blue eyes and strong shoulders that could carry you out of a burning building. Or into a hot tub.
Needing more information, Bella checked her email.
“Oh God,” she said.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Hi, my name is Bella and I’d like to h
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Hi Bella, I’m Brock. It looks like your email cut off. What would you like to do?
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Shit sorry way to drunk lol. It’s 4am so what I’d like to do is probably inappropriate. But will settle for bringing you hungry heroes something to eat at tomorrow’s get together.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Hey no worries! There’s nothing inappropriate at 4am ;). It’s always great to meet another person in the community. We’ll be at the firehouse all night, so come on by whenever.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
How about you come on these
“No, no, no!” Bella howled as the pic of her boobs she sent this Adonis loaded in front of her. Her cheeks were on fire. She wanted to crawl into a dark cave and just die. Out of morbid curiosity she clicked on his reply, imagining his polite but stern censure. Instead his reply was blank.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
<4amregrets.jpg attached>
Bella jaw dropped as the pic loaded. It was a low angle picture, and the background was a cement and tile flooring you’d see in a fire station. But the object of the photo was what had Bella transfixed. It only showed Brock’s muscular hand pulling down the front of his trousers. Two inches of thick meat hung below a nest of dark curly hairs.
Bella’s mouth and pussy both sprung leaks.
Her hands went to her aching cooke, needing this man she didn’t know existed ten minutes ago. She’d just dipped a finger in when she stopped herself. Normally, when a cute barista’s hand lingered against hers, or a dirty mechanic’s leg brushed up against hers on the bus, she’d rush home and take care of business.
And that would be the end of that. A quick flick of the bean, she’d have her moment of bliss, then continue trudging through whatever passed for a life. Still alone, still unfulfilled, like being lost at sea. Maybe this time she does something different.
A knock at her door snapped her back to the present. She opened the door to Kaylie. “What do you want?”
“Well, Rodrigo is coming over tonight,” Kaylie said, hesitant to say any more.
“Is he the bassist?” Bella asked.
“No, Karl is the bassist and he usually comes over on Mondays. It’s Wednesday, so that’s Rodrigo. The executive chef,” Kaylie said, her eyes looking away.
“Ahh, yes…” Bella said, agreeing to the lie that this busboy was an executive chef. More importantly, she knew he liked to fuck Kaylie loudly and make her scream in Spanish. Bella hated it, and thought about getting him deported so he could fuck someone out of earshot.
But tonight was different. “Sure, Kaylie. Have Rodrigo over. Knock yourself out. Choke on his cock all night…”
“Well, not all night,” Kaylie said, her mood improving at the thought of the night ahead.
“I’m going out, and hopefully I won’t be back tonight. Now I have to bake some brownies and…” Bella started.
“Brownies! Yay!” Kylie interjected. There really was nothing to stop the words from coming out.
“If you even think about taking one, I will cut you. Not figuratively, not in a ha-ha way. I will take my hand-sharpened German forged 10-inch kitchen blade and slice you the fuck up,” Bella said, moving towards the kitchen.
No reply came from behind her.
Bella stepped off a bus for the third time that day. It was a bit past nine in the evening, but it couldn’t be helped. The brownies in the wrapped box in Bella’s hands were something special.
She’d hand chopped Belgian dark chocolate and had to cool the mixture in the fridge twice to ensure a perfect consistency. The tray had been rubbed down in virgin coconut oil, to give a hint of something exotic. Mesquite honey helped to cut through the dark bitterness of the chocolate.
The fire station was exactly how she pictured it. Tall, narrow and long: the front doors were open to let the warm summer air in. A party was in full swing, with the firefighters mingling amongst the crowd of supporters.
Timidly stepping across the threshold, Bella saw a table at the far end of the station covered in food. She made her way through the crowd, catching whiffs of burly confident firemen and diesel fuel. Handsome faces smiled down at her, offering polite but brief greetings. She felt a few pairs of eyes linger on her, and she added a little swish to her step, knowing her short skirt would flip up as she sashayed.
She placed the box down on the table in between some ziti pasta and a hummus plate. Unwrapping it, she felt a presence behind her.
“What did you bring for me?” a deep husky voice asked.
Turning around, she looked up into gorgeous baby blue eyes.
Brock grinned impishly down at her. “Bella, right? I’m Brock,” he said, extending his hand.
“Huh…Hi…” Bella stammered, “This is quite a station you have here,” she said, trying to make idle conversation. “I brought brownies.”
Brock leaned in past her, his musk rolling over Bella in a wave of confident masculinity. He lifted one of the brownies to his face and inhaled deeply. “Oh…this is something special, Bella. Thank you for bringing this.”
“It’s not all I brought,” she said meekly.
Brock took a big bite of the brownie, the chocolate ganache frosting leaving small traces around his mouth. “Oh my God, Bella. This is wonderful!”
Bella bit her lip, wanting to step in and lick his lips clean. She felt a surge go throu
gh her, her desire for this man growing by the moment. Surprising herself, she said, “Why don’t you give me a tour?”
Brock grinned, moving closer to Bella and pressing his groin against her. “It would be my pleasure,” he said, his growing erection apparent through his denim overalls. His hand closed over Bella’s as he walked her away from the table, her brownie in his other hand.
Bella felt like she was having an out of body experience. She was being led away from the party by this incredible stud: this didn’t happen to her! But she found her normal inner monologue wasn’t warning caution. It was cheering her on.
Leading the way, Brock walked her up a metal spiral staircase, thick crusts of mud and grit clearing as they went further and further up. At the top was a dark hallway, which they walked through until coming to a door. Brock turned around, put his finger to his lips, and led her into the dark room.
Luke (BBW Country Music Bear Shifter Romance) (Bearly Saints Book 3) Page 105
