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But on the outside I’m all business.
I have to keep my eyes on the prize, and right now getting escorted out of the bar for stuffing my fist down his gullet would not bring me closer to her.
He reaches around and digs in his back pocket, pulls out his wallet and waves a hundred-dollar bill in my face.
“Okay?” He swallows and the fear in his eyes would be visible from a hundred paces, but he’s trying to save some of his pride.
“Go give it to her, say something nice and I’ll be watching from over there.” I jerk my head back toward where we were sitting.
He nods and turns to walk her way.
She’s at the tail end of the bar, giving drink orders to the bartender and it rakes my nerves that her tank top is cut too low. I can tell she’s sweet, kind and from the rest of her outfit, she’s not the type to dangle her goods for the world to see, so that shirt will have to go.
Other waitresses are wearing the same thing, so I know it’s the bar’s uniform shirt, but I don’t give a shit about them. I give a shit about her, and any other fucker that has his eyes on her sends my protector instinct into overdrive.
Her tits are full and proud, like a goddamn American flag flying above the indent of her waist. And fuck if I’m not feeling mighty patriotic right now.
Just watching the swell and flow of that ass of hers has me rolling in the dust, thinking of how I’d train her, teach her things that an angel like her hasn’t imagined. She’s casual and understated, but she’s put together like a show pony. Neat and carefully groomed. Her hair hanging down over her shoulders gleams under the flashing lights and even from here I can see that she’s wearing just the right amount of make-up.
Most women overdo that shit but I like it natural, clean. Fuck, she’s as perfect as I’ve ever seen. I’ve never even touched her, and already this lush little dove has me whipped.
I imagine taking her out to the field, laying her out and messing up her hair, thrusting into her until she tears at the grass underneath as she tries to hold on. I want her wearing my cum like a badge of honor. I want her covered in me so everyone knows she is more than just taken by me – she’s ruined in the most magnificent and gorgeous way.
She’s tapping her foot to the music and tracing ChapStick over her lips as she waits for her drink order, so she doesn’t see the douche bag pushing through the last few people to get to her. She snaps around as he comes up next to her, then he lays the money on her tray, says a few words and turns back.
I’ve known her for all of five minutes, but I pick up clues. It’s body language, and I know body language. It’s another side effect of my work with horses. They’re great communicators if you know their language. And when it comes to people, we’re not that different. The set of her jaw, the slant of her hips. I think I know what she’s saying better than she does.
She’s happy. I see it in her eyes, her body. And I’m happy simply because she is.
I imagine the touch of my fingertips on those plump cheeks. How soft she must be, like the petals of wildflowers. How I’d draw her next to me, kissing her hair after I’ve fucked her and done things to her God didn’t intend. Teaching her the meaning of the word pleasure.
Her face lights up as she picks the money off the tray, stares at it in her hand for a long moment.
Then, it happens.
When her eyes finally raise under her lashes, they flicker across the mass of people and light on mine. It only lasts a second, but she breaks into a dimpled smile that starts on her lips but finishes in her eyes and that shit’s all mine.
That’s my new purpose in life. To make her smile all the way to her eyes. Every fucking minute of every single day just so I get to see that dimple again and again.
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WHERE SHE BELONGS
Chapter 1
Decker
“It was just a handjob.” Claudia rolls her eyes like this is a joke. “That’s barely even anything. I didn’t even kiss him, for chrissake.”
She’s looking everywhere but at me as if avoiding my eyes is going to change the outcome for her. “You know the rules,” I say.
Believe it or not, it hurts me every time this happens. I want to help them all, but in the end, they have to help themselves too. I can’t do it for them.
“I’m great at handjobs. I got him off in like twenty seconds. I mean,” Claudia attempts to look pitiful, “it’s almost like shaking someone’s hand. Would you fire Allister for shaking hands with one of the guys?”
Allister, my right hand man, pipes up. “Congratulations on your skill set. And no, it is not like shaking hands.” His sarcastic answer doesn’t hide his own disappointment. His voice has always been low, but when he’s disappointed it takes on extra weight, extra gravity. It’s a bit like if a bass drum was suddenly able to speak.
He’s more pissed off this time than usual, and he hates firing girls as much as I do. It’s because he’s the one that talked me into hiring her – even when I expressed my doubts that she would take the opportunity seriously. Looks like I was right, but I don’t take any pleasure in that.
