Self-indulgent thing for little old me but a new character for COD (based on Bob from Tender Lovin’ Cannibal) who is Simon’s very ‘normal’ cousin.
Great guy, he and Simon share the perpetual eye bags and size of a double-door fridge, towering over you when the Christmas party comes around and you aren’t even family, what are you doing here, eating up Simon’s bloody cousin with your eyes.
He is a big man, you think, at least fifteen years older than you are, unnervingly friendly to Simon’s usual dead stare, Robert’s (“Bob’s fine, pet.”) smiles so wide that gotta be uncomfortable.
Only you back away and he smiles only wider, offering you one of the ribs he brought for the rest of the family.
Pig, he says. Locally sourced, butchered by him personally, should taste heavenly, Bob promises.
His face getting darker when you admit that you don’t yet the meat.
“Not at all, luv?”, his voice coats you when he tilts his head, so big that the frame of his obscures your field of vision, till there is nothing but him and his obnoxiously red sweater. “Not even a nibble?”
He is so nice, so friendly with you, his palm heavy weight on your shoulder when he leads you to the kitchen with a promise to show you a little something.
Cooking has always been his first true love, Bob admits, grin softening around the corners when he pulls out a rum biscuit and holds up a piece for you to try. Straight out of his hands, his eyes the same shade of blue you’d see in neon signs late at night or midnight ice on the sidewalk.
“Come on, luv, don’t go bitin’ me now. Just get a proper taste and I’ll leave ya be”, Bob promises, when he pushes a bite against your lips, his eyes already on them, glued to the sight of your mouth falling open, to the motion of your jaws when you chew, to the way you accidentally lick the pad of his finger.
Being good, being obedient, being so polite and nice to an old dog like him when you look up at him with the look that makes him feel hot under the collar.
“Sure ya don’t like meat, pet?”, he rumbles, head cocking to the side, heat spreading like wildfire when your hands drag his sweater up, your eyes eerily hungry when you lean in to leave a bite on his meaty pec. “Because it sure as hell feels like you want to take a bite out of me.” He breathes out, rough fingers squeezing your nape, stroking the tender little bones of your spine, counting each.
Trying to focus on anything other than your apparent oral fixation and the feel of you drooling at the sight of his tits.
Well, looks like Merry Christmas and happy New Year to him.
Good thing everyone else are too busy mingling and meeting his cousin’s new spouse to give any thought where the hell another of the Riley family disappeared to, Bob thinks a little dazed when your hand unzips his pants and slides into them. Touching like it’s already all yours.
Even better that Simon probably already took a wild guess of where the hell has his spouse’s little friend and his own cousin disappeared to, judging by the fact that no one comes even close to the bloody kitchen when you slide on your knees for him and he forgets all about the relative propriety.
