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  What’s Inside

  It was Kip hovering over her, but something was off about him. His blond hair was too dark, his brown eyes too light. He brushed the hair back from her face and smiled at her. "You're so pretty."

  "Stop," she practically growled. "We're not here for you to tell me how pretty I am, or to compare me to a painting, or to blow hot air up my ass about my beauty."

  He shook his head and rolled his eyes. He'd never been able to get over how he wasn't allowed to express these things about her or how foreplay was kept to a minimum because Bishop preferred to get right on with the fucking.

  His hand drifted down her throat and she arched into it, her heart rate picking up speed. He'd never squeeze, she'd asked him once, but he would lay his hand there and let the pressure settle on her. It always made her wet and ready when he did.

  He pinched her nipple through her tee and then the other. The zing of pain shot from chest to belly to pussy like a bizarre game of connect the dots. Her hips shot up, and she shut her eyes.

  "Bishop, open your eyes," he said. He always lost, but he always tried.

  "No. Shut up."

  Kip laughed, but it was a sad laugh, a defeated laugh.

  He moved down her body. She felt his breath snake along her hipbones, her thighs, her knees. It drifted over her calves and then up again until he settled between her parted thighs. He pushed them wider and slipped his hands under her ass, cupping her, holding her that way as he blew his hot breath on her sex.

  She kept her eyes shut but arched her hips. Her heart was pounding because Kip was Kip, but he also wasn't. He didn't look the same. And though he mostly acted the same, instinct said he wasn't Kip, even though he claimed to be. She forgot all that nonsense when his mouth came down on her pussy and he sucked her clit with his wet, warm mouth. He kept it captured and flicked it with his tongue over and over until she was panting and squirming.

  Bishop never opened her eyes, but she reached out and pushed her fingers into his hair, anchoring him where he was so that he'd keep doing what he was doing. Her pleasure built, not just from the stimulation but from the newness of it. Kip had never done that before. He was fairly good at eating pussy, but this was a whole new level.

  He drew on her clit harder, flicked it with his tongue, and just as she felt herself cresting, he slipped a thick finger inside her pussy and curled it. His fingertip hit her G-spot, and he flicked that tiny organ again, and she lost it. Bishop came, arching up, clutching his hair, not caring one lick if she was hurting him.

  Honey

  Sommer Marsden

  Published by Blushing Books

  An Imprint of

  ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc.

  A Virginia Corporation

  977 Seminole Trail #233

  Charlottesville, VA 22901

  ©2019 All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

  Sommer Marsden

  Honey

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-64563-026-5

  v1

  Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Epilogue

  Sommer Marsden

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  For Jason, my bearded giant. You woke up my heart. I love you.

  Chapter 1

  People were always starting over because of some trauma. Abuse. Someone died. God knew how many books Bishop had read where the person started a new life because of the death of a loved one. Her great trauma was no trauma. No one in her life she loved enough to be devastated by their death. No family at all, really. And certainly, no abuse. Any guy who had the balls to hit her would be hit right back, and then the cops would be called.

  She was no one's punching bag. And no one's next of kin. She was no one's anything.

  Most of the time, she liked it that way. Sometimes she didn't.

  She folded the last of her tees and closed the trash bag. That made her laugh.

  "Only the finest traveling luggage for me."

  Zed, her one eyed, black cat jumped onto the trash bag and regarded her stoically.

  "Yeah, I see you, squashing what I just did. And I have no fucking clue why I folded them to put them in a trash bag."

  Zed blinked her lone eye and yawned, bored already.

  "You about ready to move down by the river?"

  Bishop started humming Neil Young as she sealed a box that held her meager kitchen equipment—an electric kettle, a pressure cooker her former boss had given her when she got a new job, some mugs, a single frying pan, mismatched silverware and dishes. Not that she'd need any of it, really. The house she was going to was fully stocked.

  There was a knock on her door. Bishop ignored it. She packed up some of her DVDs and left a pile of them stacked against the wall.

  More knocking. "I know you're in there, you river whore!"

  She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Jesus," she said to Zed. Zed's response was to jump down and saunter to the front door and sit there.

  More knocking, that turned to pounding. Bishop stood there, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed—waiting. Finally, she heard, "Fine!" And the door opened.

  This was the closest to family she had. And he was a pain in the ass.

  Chris flounced in, putting on extra gay for whatever drama he was about to assault her with. "You can't even open the door for your best friend in the world?"

  "Best friend in the world?"

  "Yes. Everyone needs a best friend. Even a hard hearted, hardcore introvert, fuck the world, eye rolling bitch like you."

  "And you're here for the job, eh?"

  She turned her back to him and pushed a few odd throw pillows into another trash bag. Bishop ignored the twinge in her gut that said she'd miss him, that he was her friend, that he was one of the few beings on earth she cared about. The other one had one green eye and was currently lazily scratching behind her ear.

  "I am. And you should be kissing my gorgeous booty for it. Here, I got
you this—"

  He was suddenly in her field of vision thrusting a bright pink gift bag at her. The opening was tufted with white and pink and red tissue paper.

  "Ugh. What is it?"

  He straightened and narrowed his eyes at her. "That's a lovely way to receive a gift."

  "You know I'm an asshole," she said, pulling the paper out one sheet at a time and dropping it on the scuffed-up hardwood floor.

  "You're a curmudgeon," he said. "How that's possible, given you're female and twenty-eight years old, I don't know. I can't explain every oddity of the universe. Why, for instance, did I get all the gorgeousness in the family and my sister looks like Mr. Mole from The Wind in the Willows?"

  Bishop snorted because Cathy Cook did look like Mr. Mole. And her brother was gorgeous. Especially when he did flamboyant makeup, which he'd done tonight. His big brown eyes were done up impeccably. His lips shimmered with pale pink lip-gloss. This was one of the reasons it drove him bonkers that Bishop didn't even own a makeup palette.

  She tugged the gift out and snorted. It was a coffee mug with his big old mug on it. And of course, in the picture on the cup, his face was done up like a supermodel. Prettier than a super model.

  "I knew you'd be needing that."

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You did, did you?"

  He dropped onto her old gray sofa and put his feet on top of a bag of clothing. So much for the folding.

  "I did. Are you sure you won't let me come with? I can take one room. You can take the other. It's a little house. You said the word house."

  "I also said the word little. And you know you and I would kill each other in about five minutes. We need the buffer of a floor between us and separate apartments."

  "You love me."

  "As much as I can love anyone," she said, only half joking. She rewrapped the mug and put it atop the kitchen box.

  "You love. You just don't have anyone to love but a one-eyed cat and a startlingly beautiful gay boy. It's a hard knock life."

  "Aren't you supposed to be on a date?" She didn't ask him; she simply went to the bag of disposable dishware she'd bought for her last few days at the apartment. Bishop took two plastic cups and filled them to the three-quarter mark with cheap red wine from a box.

  "Ah, you know me so well."

  Bishop tapped her glass to Chris's and sat down next to him.

  "I was. But I had this idea you might sneak off in the dead of night like a bandit if I didn't corner you and say goodbye."

  "You know I'm leaving. It's not sneaking off."

  "I know you're leaving, but I'd like to say goodbye. I know you think you're above human interaction, but some of us do care about you."

  "One of you," she corrected.

  He nudged her with his shoulder and her wine sloshed. She snorted.

  "It would be more than one if you weren't such a cunt."

  Then she did laugh in earnest. She located the remote and turned the TV on. A rerun of a medical show blared until she turned it down.

  "Duly noted."

  "What about that dude you were knocking boots with?"

  "Kip?"

  Chris shook his head. "Kip. Who names their kid Kip? But yeah, him."

  "What about him?"

  Chris blew out a dramatic sigh and downed half his wine. "You are hopeless." He turned to her and spoke slowly as if she were hard of hearing. "What. Does. He. Think? Of you leaving?"

  Bishop couldn't help it. She raised her hand and flicked him hard between the eyebrows. "That's for being a dick." Then she shrugged. "I have no idea. I didn't ask him."

  Chris made a sound of distress. "Okay. You didn't ask him. But did he react?"

  She thought back. "I don't know. I guess he was…okay? Upset?"

  "There's a big distance between okay and upset, sweet cheeks. This is your problem with people. You don't pay attention."

  Most people couldn't keep her attention, she thought. But she left it unsaid.

  "See!" Chris slapped her thigh.

  "What?"

  "You didn't pay attention!"

  "I heard you." She rolled her eyes and clicked at Zed. Zed stoically ignored her.

  "Did you say goodbye to him?"

  "Who?"

  Chris tossed his head back and howled at the ceiling. "Have you ever been tested for ADD?"

  "I told him I was leaving. Isn't that the same as saying goodbye?"

  "No."

  "Oh. Well, no. I didn't. It was just a fling, C; there is no reason to get your panties in a knot. I told him I was moving. We fucked. I said goodnight. That was it. It's fine. Stop worrying. You worry too much."

  "I worry just fine. Someone has to worry."

  "Not all the time."

  He leaned against her and she allowed it, the same way she would have with Zed. "I should worry less, and you should worry more."

  "You should worry less, and I should stay the way I am. I'm on point." Then she found a movie and told him to shut up.

  Chapter 2

  Bishop had ushered Chris out late. His eyelids had become heavy and he kept drifting.

  "You're going to sneak off while I'm sleeping, aren't you?"

  At the door, she felt an uncomfortable rush of affection. She kissed him on the forehead, brushing back the dark brown hair that had fallen in his eyes. "Who knows?" she lied.

  "I know. You hate goodbyes. You have friends. You hate caring and sharing. You're basically an anti-Care Bear."

  That made her laugh. She really was going to miss his forced interaction, friendship and affection.

  "I have your address, you know," he said after a yawn "You're not free of me."

  "I know. I'm very aware of your stubborn nature and flamboyant ways."

  "Be careful, Bishop. Remember some of us love you." Then he rolled his eyes at her and flounced off.

  She watched him go. When she heard the door to his apartment slam, echoing down the hall, she got her bags and started loading the car. Her furniture would arrive at her new home later.

  Her final load into her car after the box of kitchen stuff was Zed. The cat looked less than pleased at her fabricated carrying case, two square laundry baskets duct taped together.

  Bishop couldn't help but laugh at the cat's obvious outrage. "I'm sorry. I don't have a carrier, and it's only a five-and-a-half-hour drive. You'll be fine."

  Zed finally turned in a circle on the old towel at the bottom of the basket until she was pleased, then she lay down and zonked out. Bishop exhaled loudly, gave her car one more cursory glance to make sure she had everything, plugged her cell phone into the charger and pulled away.

  "Good bye, old bit of life. Hello, new."

  She hit the beltway headed north with Tom Petty cranked and the window barely cracked. It was fall and the nights were starting to get downright cold. She needed the fresh air to keep her alert but didn't want to freeze. And she didn't want to piss off Zed. The only being pricklier than herself was that damn cat.

  Zed had rescued Bishop at the diner. Bishop had taken the trash out to the dumpster when a junkie appeared from behind it and had held a knife on her, demanding her tips. Bishop would have eaten out of the dumpster before surrendering her meager funds. She hadn't even thought about it; she swung the trash bag at the guy, knocking him off balance. Zed had darted out from beneath the metal container, scared by the noise. The guy hit her as he went down, and the cat promptly went into survival mode, burying all her claws in the guy's face.

  He'd taken off yowling, and Bishop had sat down in the dirty water logged alley and laughed until she couldn't laugh anymore. When her pulse rate returned to normal and the buzz of adrenaline had faded, she realized the cat had curled up in her lap.

  "Hello there, girlie. Thanks for the backup." She'd ended up telling her boss she was done for the night, explaining what had happened, refusing to call the cops, and toting the one-eyed cat out of the diner, along with her free meal for her shift.

  Zed had been with her ever since. She
still had the attitude of a street cat but had filled out, having received—and stolen—one too many treats from Bishop and Chris. He insisted on buying her those ridiculous hipster treats made with organic ingredients and no grains.

  Bishop snorted. "Don't get used to that bullshit. You get those grocery store treats from me."

  She craved a cigarette—badly. Instead, she cranked up the song and sang along, watching 695 fly by until it was time to get onto 83 north.

  She was tired but wired and a new life was waiting for her. The only pleasure she got for the most part was starting anew. It was her drug. It gave her the jolt nothing else seemed to.

  When she felt her eyes start to drift shut for a moment, she hit the button to put the window down all the way and started searching the road signs for a truck stop or even a food place.

  Goose bumps pebbled her arms and her scalp prickled. She let out a whoop of joy when she saw a sign for Love's truck stop. That meant she wouldn't freeze to death waiting to stop.

  Zed had roused and had her face pressed to the mesh of the laundry basket. Her one glowing eye glared at Bishop.

  "Don't look at me like that. I'll get you some chicken."

  This seemed to please the cat because she gave a slow, lazy blink and started to lick her paw.