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His Hellcat(9)

By:Rory Reynolds

More than that I trust my brother’s judgement. Drake would never befriend a bad guy. In fact, without even meeting the douche canoe, he knew that he didn’t like him. He spoke to Shane on the phone for about ten seconds early on in our relationship and when I got to the phone my brother instantly said, ‘Who’s the little prick? I don’t like him.’

If I could rewind time and actually listen to my stupid, know-it-all brother, I would since it would save me years of not feeling good enough and now this mess. A part of me deep down knew this would happen. Knew that I should listen to Drake, but being stubborn is my specialty and I’ve been trying to prove my twin wrong since the day we were born.

I should’ve trusted him back then. I won’t make that mistake again. My brother trusts Hutch explicitly and so will I.



I can’t believe the little vixen bit me. I look down at her while she robotically goes through the motions of washing the dishes. She’s clearly lost in thought and I can’t help wondering if she’s thinking about this insane chemistry between us. Every time her arm innocently brushes against mine, my cock aches. Images of falling to my knees and burying my face between her legs and eating her until she screams, then bending her over the counter and plunging my length into her pussy fill my head. I can almost taste how sweet she'd be. How perfect her little cunt would feel wrapped around me. This chick is going to be the death of my self-control.

“Want a beer?”

Her nose wrinkles up in disgust, as she shakes her head. “No way, that shit tastes like cat piss.”

“Have you tested this theory?”

Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline and that look of fire is back in her eyes. Fuck me. That little bit of defiance in her gaze turns me on like nothing else could. Another wave of desire burns through my veins and I want nothing more than to push her against the wall, rip my robe from her pale skin, and sink my dick so far into her pussy she can taste it.

Jesus, get a handle on yourself.

“You’re such an ass. Of course I haven’t, but it smells worse than a dirty litter box so I can only imagine it tastes as bad.”

“Fuck you’re sexy when you’re being feisty.”

She puts her hands on her hips before giving me her version of the ‘eat shit and die’ face. I’m not exactly sure how we went from playful banter to my fearing the fact that there is a whole drawer full of knives within her reach. But instinct has my hands falling in front of my dick, just in case she decides to pull a Bobbitt.

Smooth Hutchinson, real smooth.

Blake's teasing expression falls from her face and is replaced with a look of consternation. Her eyes roam over my body, not in desire, but as if she's trying to figure out a puzzle. A few uncomfortably silent seconds and she's moved from an angry stance to one of unease. She tugs the lapels of the robe closed and keeps her arms wrapped tightly around herself. I wait her out because I know she's working up to something, but what comes out of her mouth throws me for a loop.

“Look, let’s just cut to the chase here. I know we aren’t even in the same league as each other. So do me a favor and don’t act like there is even a possibility that you’re going to fall into bed with me.”

I open my mouth to respond, but she silences me with a death glare and one of those finger-wags my mama used to scold the dog with. The vulnerability she was showing earlier is now eclipsed with anger.

“Don’t. Just don’t, Hutch. I get it. I do. You see a damsel in distress and you instantly go into rescue mode. Well, I’m no damsel. I don’t need saving. You’re off the hook. The homely kid sister of your best friend doesn’t need you to stroke her ego and make her feel better.”

I make a half-hearted attempt to interrupt her ridiculous speech, but the look in her eyes warns me off. When she’s finished with her little speech, she storms off toward the bedrooms. The door opens and then slams so hard behind her, I worry the cabin might fall down around us. What the fuck just happened here?

Homely kid sister? Seriously, has she even seen herself? I was pretty clear when I told her she was beautiful. I thought she understood that as truth.

“Jesus, it’s not just her ego that needs stroked.” I think out loud, as I reach down and adjust my cock so my zipper doesn’t do permanent damage to my favorite appendage.

I consider going to her, but she's obviously hurting and I'm not thinking very clearly. Her words run in a loop around my mind and I could kick my own ass for making her uncomfortable. She just came out of a terrible relationship and is still raw from the things her ex put her through. I’m such a dumbass. Running a frustrated hand through my hair, cussing my dick and its lack of control, I decide a shower is in order.