Mitch and Gordon have just started dating and it's going wonderfully ... right up until Mitch meets Chelsea, Gordon's cat. Chelsea hates Mitch on sight, which she lets him know as frequently and violently as possible.
So now Mitch has a big problem: he loves Gordon, and Gordon loves him, but Gordon also adores Chelsea and Chelsea wants to put Mitch in the hospital. When every attempt at romance ends up thwarted by a vicious, furry interloper, Mitch starts to wonder if a relationship is even possible. How can Mitch keep Gordon and break up with Gordon’s cat?
“Hey, you smell good.” Gordon grinned before he kissed him. “All minty.”
Mitch grinned back. “I always smell good.” He looked around but didn’t spot any grey-furred ball of rage. “Where’s Chelsea?”
“Sleeping.” Gordon kissed Mitch under his ear, then nuzzled. “I figure we should take advantage.”
“Yes. Yes, absolutely,” Mitch agreed with enthusiasm. He knew where the bedroom was now so he grabbed Gordon’s hand and practically dragged him there, kicking off his shoes in the hallway.
Two minutes later they were both on Gordon’s bed and naked, and Gordon was doing his best to make up for the cat-aborted blowjob of the week before. “Mmm.” He nosed the thick curls surrounding Mitch’s penis. “You do always smell good, but I love this mint stuff.” Gordon took an experimental lap of the shaft and Mitch didn’t actually concuss him with his hipbones when he gasped and arched off the bed. “Are you wearing it all over?”
“Y-yes,” Mitch moaned as Gordon licked him again. He hadn’t really meant to end up doused in the catnip oil the salesclerk had found him, but he wasn’t sure how strong the stuff in the spray bottle was so he’d just kept spritzing. It must have dripped down to his legs while he was driving.
“Cool. I like it.”
“Great. Great. So glad. Don’t stop, don’t stop, please,” Mitch panted. He widened his bent legs, trying to give Gordon as much unfettered access as possible. “God you’re so good at that.” He had his eyes closed so he reached blindly for whatever part of Gordon was nearest, and was surprised and touched when Gordon gave Mitch his hand. Mitch entwined their fingers, holding on tight. His head thrashed as Gordon licked him again.
A thin bar of wet sandpaper rasped over a rib.
Mitch yelped and opened his eyes.
Gordon bobbed back. “What’s wrong?”
“The cat,” Mitch said in an urgent whisper. Chelsea was licking his side with single-minded purpose, laving away at a steadily-growing red patch on his ribcage. It felt like someone was going to town on him with a cheese grater. “The cat! What’s she doing?”
Gordon got off the bed. Mitch immediately slapped his thighs shut for protection. “She’s licking you,” he said, then gave Mitch one of his big, beautiful smiles. “Hey, maybe she’s starting to like you!”
“You think so?” Mitch asked hopefully. The cat was rasping dangerously close to his right nipple, but Mitch didn’t dare move in case he startled her and she killed him. Then Chelsea started to rub her face back and forth over his abdomen. She made a high-pitched, whining growl noise, like an engine about to seize.
“Well, she doesn’t normally ...” Gordon stopped talking as he looked from Chelsea to Mitch in growing alarm. “That minty stuff ... that’s just mint, right?”
“Um,” Mitch said, right before the cat went insane.