“Creepe is not Cookie Monster’s friend,” he says, his eyes narrowing in anger. It’s then that I remember the arrow sinking into Creepe’s shoulder before I passed out. It must have been Cookie Monster coming to my rescue.
“Where is he?” I ask, a cold shiver shaking through me as I remember the horrible scene.
“Gone,” he answers simply as he reaches over and tosses another log in the fire. He saw my shiver and frowned. Is he actually concerned about my comfort?
No. Can’t be.
“Did you shoot him with an arrow?” I ask, looking at him sideways.
His stunning turquoise eyes are focused on the meat roasting over the fire. “Of course,” he answers simply like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “He tried to hurt Cookie Monster’s mate. So the powerful Cookie Monster shot him.”
It’s only then that I lower the knife. “Who is your mate?” I ask slowly, not really wanting to know the answer that I think is coming.
He looks up with the light of the fire dancing on the hard lines of his rugged yet smooth face. “You are.”
“Of course I am,” I say as a laugh bubbles out of me. The laughter stops dead when I see that he’s serious.
He’s got a smooth, sexy voice and a nice face with a killer body, but he’s a sexual deviant. Even I have my limits of acceptable behavior and Cock Monster over there, has already crossed it. Actually, he ran across it holding his dick in his hand.
I sit down on a rock when he doesn’t explain further. My head is still pounding like I drank a bottle of Jack and woke up on the sticky ground of a bus station.
“Are you in pain?” he asks, handing me a hollowed out shell. It looks just like the one that Creepe tried to force on me, although this one is full of little orange berries rather than the toxic sludge that knocked me out.
My heart pounds as I look at it. I don’t know who to trust anymore.
“Eat,” he says.
“I don’t know,” I mutter under my breath. “The last time I took something to eat from one of you blue guys, I ended up all rouffied up.”
He takes three of the berries and tosses them into his mouth. “It will clear the thunder from your head.”
“In that case,” I say, grabbing a handful of them. They’re bitter and tangy but I manage to choke them down. My headache is gone in seconds.
“Wow,” I say, shaking my head, amazed that I feel completely fine. “I could make millions selling that back home as a hangover cure.”
“A what?” he asks, tilting his head.
“Nevermind,” I answer.
“It’s neverminded,” he answers, making me laugh.
He looks at me with a cute confused face. Maybe I was wrong about him after all.
His hand darts out towards me and I jump back, swinging the knife in front of him. The hurt on his face is clear.
“I’m not going to have sex with you,” I say. I just have to throw that out there. I have to let him know that he doesn’t have my consent for whatever he has planned. “So keep your little guy where he belongs or I’ll cut him off.”
He looks down at his loincloth with raised eyebrows.
“I don’t want to see it,” I say. “Ever.”
His dark blue eyebrows squish together. “You don’t want to see Cookie Monster’s towering cock?” he asks, clearly confused. “But how will we mate?”
“We won’t,” I say, squeezing the handle of the knife a little bit harder. “Got that? We. Won’t.”
He rubs his chin as he stares at me with a blank look. “But we will be mates.”
“No. We. Won’t,” I say, careful to spit out every word clearly. “I will be me and you will be you. And if you try anything again, you will be a penis-less you. Got that?”
“But you are so beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with sadness and loss. His hungry radiant turquoise eyes look me over from head to toe, giving me warm shivers. The desire and want in his gaze is unmistakable. No man has ever looked at me like that before and it melts my insides.
“Your view makes Cookie Monster’s insides sing a song of love,” he says, leaning forward with flushed skin. “You are as strong as a roquter but more gorgeous than a dasery flower in full bloom.”
I don’t know what either of those things are but his kind words still make me blush. I’ve barely been called beautiful by anyone in my life but my parents.
“Your arms and legs are carved like the cliff walls in the valley,” he says, slowly looking over my limbs, taking in every inch with his wide eyes. The hair on my arms raise from his heated gaze.
His chin drops and he stares down at his empty hands with sadness written all over his face. “How can Cookie Monster dare live without having you in his arms? That is something his soum cannot take.”
My heart pangs at his words. I’ve been a gym rat since I was a kid and it has effected my looks. My arms, shoulders, and back are bulky with hard muscle. Pounding punching bags, lifting weights, and running marathons has left me with more muscle definition than most guys.
I’ve been called ugly, masculine, manly, hideous; you name it and I’ve been called it.
And every time it hurts.