Bridget's Bane (Icehome, #12)

by Ruby Dixon

I make a frustrated sound in my throat and I want to beat him with this stupid secrets stick. I shake it at his face.

"I do not understand. Everyone calls you B'shit⁠—" "And I hate it." There's so much frustration in my voice. "I hate all of it, but it's worst when you do it."

"It's not respect in my language," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "It's a turd."

"Bruh-shit." "Bridget." "That is what I said." I fling my hands up. "I give up." "B'shit, you⁠—"

"I listen! She said I was bad with my cock!" He gives me a wounded look.

"No, A'tam. That's what you're hearing. What she's saying is that she doesn't trust you enough to tell you when she's uncomfortable, because she worries it will fall on deaf ears."

No, Br'shit, I correct myself. She does not like the way I say her name. B'rshit? B'rishit? No, wait, that is wrong, too. Buh…Bruh… I growl at myself, because my tongue does not want to twist around her true name.

"Just because you stuck it in the right hole does not mean you used it right." O'jek lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "She told F'lor that you hurt her. That your cock was so big it pained her."

"A'tam, you are my clan brother. You are a good hunter and a good friend. But you are not a good listener." He pauses, then adds, "At all." I flick his hand off. "I listen!" "But not about your mate's needs," I'rec says. "And you never listen to her when she tells you to leave her alone," O'jek adds.

"You did not listen to me when I told you to use even boards for your hut, and now it creaks and groans like one of the elders⁠—"

I have done wrong by her in many ways, I realize, just by being thoughtless.

I hate that I've come so far and I can't figure out the next step. I hate that I can't check my phone for an answer, or a book, or ask someone. If I want an answer here, I have to come up with it myself.

Girl. I understand that you've got a fucked mindset but you HAVE people to ask. Once you get your head out of your ass Maybe someone will have a solution.

He sounds so damn miserable that I giggle. Startled, he glances over at me, and when he sees my amusement, he chuckles. "It is true. I call you B'shit in my head, and then I feel as if I betray you, so I try to say it properly, and I get it wrong time after time."

"My fierce little kaari," he whispers. "Can I still call you that?" His fingers graze over the inside of my arm, sending goosebumps up my spine. "Or does it bother you, as well?"

"I did not call you my kaari because you look like one, remember? It is because they are fierce and stubborn, just like you."

"Flowers are weak, fragile things. You are far too clever and strong to be a flower."

"No, I wear a loincloth because the females here shriek if we walk about naked. I did not wear such things on the island."

"Sharing this with you tonight has made me so happy, my mate. We will take as long as you need."

I like the thought of blowing his mind. Even more, I like the thought of doing it again.

"Br'chit," he pants, clutching me tight against him. "My lovely Br'chit. I am the luckiest male alive." I like that the name that falls from his lips is not B'shit. Funny how something as small as a name can be erotic, but it is.

I wonder if it's possible to be blissfully happy and incredibly frustrated at the same time? It must be, because I'm living it.

Daisy holds the bowl of sauce for him, whispering low, and she looks just as gorgeous today as she does every day. I don't think she's ever just rolled out of bed and looked messy. I bet she comes out of a good hard dicking perfectly groomed, too.

"Yup. Penny told me all about it. S'bren called you B'shit and A'tam just about lost his mind. He lectured him on how your name should be pronounced, and then went around to the rest of the camp, letting everyone know that mispronouncing your name was upsetting and he didn't like it."

Next, I put on the soft, fuzzy skirt, and bite back a cackle of laughter when the thing barely covers my ass cheeks. One wrong move and my butt is going to hang out the backside. It's perfect.

"I would much rather taste my mate all over and make her come and listen to her cries of pleasure than watch you with fear in your eyes, my heart."

"More," she breathes. "I need more." I kiss her again. "Then come and sit on my face." Her cheeks flush, but the look on her face is both excitement and uncertainty. "Are you sure?" "I am sure I have wanted nothing more in my entire life."

"I am sure that I want your taste. I am sure that I want to breathe in your scent and revel in it. I am sure that when I die, I wish to go out as an utterly content hunter, with one hand on my spear and my mouth on your cunt. So yes, I am sure."

My butthole feels a wee bit violated in a naughty kind of way, but I didn't mind it.

"You have done something wonderful, and you should share it with your tribe so they can be proud, too."

But a mating is about partnership. Friendship. Trust. Love.