Taboo (Merle Dixon x OFC)

Chapter 7

"Yeah, reckon we should." Merle sighed with dread. He lowered his hand from my face, eyeing up the bottle of whiskey that was sitting with my purse.

"Gonna need that whiskey," he grumbled, pointing at it.

"Lemme guess. Need some liquid courage?" I teased, rubbing my hand over his chest.

"Ain't no pussy," Merle stated firmly, shaking his head. "Just...my nerves are shot. Had a bit of a shitty night. Wanna relax."

"I'm just playin'. I know ya ain't no pussy." I leaned in to kiss his jaw, palming his scruff in my hand. "I'll get it fer ya. Ya deserve it after all this bullshit."

"That's my girl. I know yer jokin'. I'm just statin' facts." He smirked, swatting my ass as I stood up. I pushed his hand playfully, laughing.

Merle had said that one simple phrase to me my whole life. 'That's my girl'. But what did that mean now? Did it mean just that, or was there a deeper meaning behind it now? Did it mean I was his woman? Did he want me to be? I had no idea, but I was determined to find out.

"Look at that ass," he groaned out, watching me from behind while I made my way to the bottle of whiskey. "Jiggles just right."

I glanced over my shoulder, bending over slightly to grab the whiskey bottle. Merle was staring at my ass. His eyes were glowing with lust, and his tongue snaked across his lips while his hand adjusted his hardening cock in his pants. My clit throbbed in response, my center clenching with desire.

"Please don't look at me like that. Not yet. We gotta have this talk," I said in a shaky voice, gulping.

"Sorry, can't help it," Merle rasped, scrubbing his hands over his face. "Been horny as fuck all night long. My cock is dyin' fer a release. Think my balls are blue, too." He clasped his hands together in his lap, his eyes flashing. "Some o' that's yer fault, ya know. Ya touched my cock. Can't stop thinkin' 'bout it. I can still feel yer hand on me."

"I know. I'm sorry." I took responsibility for my actions. "I feel bad fer gettin' ya all worked up, but if it makes ya feel any better, I did it ta myself, too."

"Yeah, that helps a lil." Merle snickered, taking the whiskey bottle from me as I sat next to him.

"So ya just wanna talk right here, or..." I trailed off, watching him drink from the bottle. He took a couple greedy gulps, looking awfully troubled. His forehead was creased, and his teeth were grinding between swallows.

"Umm, no. I might get kinda loud. I tend ta do that when I have a hard time expressin' myself." He glanced at my bedroom door, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Let's go in yer bedroom. Leave the TV on. Don't wanna disturb Rose."

I knew Merle well enough to know that was code language for: 'I don't want Rose to hear me get any types of emotional.'

"Okay. Grab my pot box, would ya?" I asked, pointing to it.

Merle's hand was shaking when he picked it up. He was nervous. I didn't point it out. He would just get frustrated and have an even harder time.

"Think I might smoke some." He grinned, standing with me and following me to my room. "Wanna join me? This still the same shit I gave ya last week?"

"Yeah. Ain't called ya fer more, have I?" I pointed out, smiling at him over my shoulder. "I'll smoke with ya. I'm nervous. It'll help that."

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" Merle flipped on the light, sitting the box and whiskey bottle on my dresser after I had shut and locked the door.

"Think ya might yell a bit. I don't like it when ya yell," I said in a small voice, sitting on the end of my bed.

Threading my hands together in my lap, I looked over Merle's backside while he put fresh weed in the bowl. The pants he was wearing fit him exceptionally well. They were low on his hips, and they were held up by a belt. They showed off his ass nicely. His wife beater was tucked in, like usual. I could see his muscles flexing in his arms and shoulders. He wasn't doing anything but packing the bowl, but I could see he was stressed to the max. I just wanted to massage him, make him feel better.