Angel (26 page)

“And you?”  Her dark eyelashes flutter in my direction and I can’t help imagining those eyes going wide the first time my cock slips between her luscious thighs and upward into what my mind believes already belongs to me.

“What about me?”  I shift and take a step around the back of Roger’s chair.  I swear to fuck I catch her scent and it runs like fire over my skin.  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Her quizzical smile and slight eye roll doesn't deter whatever this is that she’s brought to life. 

Fuck, she’s got a goddamn dimple. And the growing boner in my pants sees it too.

Suddenly I’m aware of every dick-swinging mother fucker that is glancing her way.  I don’t give a slinging horse shit if they just want a drink. I don’t want anyone looking her way.  I don’t even fucking want her in here; it doesn’t make sense but I want to take her away from here so no other man can ever put his eyes on her again.

It takes super human effort to hide everything that is happening inside my body and mind right now.  Feelings I cannot identify are creeping up from my toes until they wrap around my skull.  The feelings are not just inside either; there are great heaving feelings in my crotch ready to stampede their way out of my Levis.

I may cum just from looking at her dimple.  Can that be possible?  I don’t give a shit; my hard-on sees the same thing as me and sooner or later, she’s going to get a good look at just what her dimple does to me.

“Chad.”  Roger’s laughter shakes me from my trance.  “You going to order or just make the poor girl stand there being uncomfortable for the rest of the night?”

She’s fighting another smile and I don’t see discomfort. I see tiny sparklers lighting up her chocolate brown eyes.  She’s magnificent and I take another step forward to which she counters back.

“Do you want a drink or not?”  She loses the smile and I see her swallow.

“No, I don’t want a drink.  I want your number.”

Roger lets out a hoot then interrupts. “Sorry. Look, Lori, he’s been in a secluded mountain cabin for a few too many years so his social skills, although lacking before, now seem non-existent.  He doesn’t bite though. Well, not unless you want him to.”  Roger licks his lips and the thought that he’s looking at her with anything but the purest of notions makes me want to level him.

“Okay.”  She tips her head trying to establish if we are done here. 

She lets out a little girlish giggle and I lose my fucking mind.  All that sexy with an innocent sweetness on top and drops of cum begin to soak my boxers.  It’s like I’ve been saving up every lustful thought I should have had over the last God-knows-how-many years and they are all coming to call right now inside my fire-seared brain.

I don’t want her to walk away, but I’m not sure I can tie her ass up and sling her over my shoulder without raising some eyebrows.  So I just soak her up and smile.

“Well, I’ll be back with your drinks.”  She turns away, and my eyes follow. 

Her waist is the perfect size for my hands, her ass is the perfect size for fucking, sucking, biting and watching.  In fact, there isn’t a part of her that isn’t the perfect size.  She’s all slow s-turns and deep valleys.  Who wants a boring straight-away; I’ll take all she’s got and make the most of every luscious inch.

I tilt my head to get a better angle watching her move through the crowd. She’s wearing these shiny ballet flats the color of an Oklahoma spring sky, not boots or high heels like the other waitresses.  Her matching baby-blue skirt hits her mid-thigh.

My eyes follow the curve down her inner leg, past her knees as she bends them and walks up on her tip-toes like she’s being careful not to disturb someone, sidestepping a couple of Barbie-bar flies with makeup so thick it looks like they’re wearing Halloween masks. But the way she walks, it only gives me a better perspective, and all I can think is just how much I want to trace those curves, memorizing them with the tip of my tongue, then start all over with my fingers.  Rinse and repeat.

I’d never considered what my ‘type’ might be, but seeing her it dawns on me that there’s a reason for that.  I don’t have a type.

It’s her.  She’s it.  My
type
is this one girl.  Ripe and lush and as sweet as apple pie.

I don’t know if she has a boyfriend, if she’s married or hell, she may have a wife for all I know.  But one thing is clear in my mind, whatever she is, there’s part of me that’s already decided I need to be part of her life.

She makes her way past a group of five city boys wearing jeans without a Levi’s or Wrangler label.  In fact, I think they may have taken a wrong turn and shopped in the women’s department for those fancy pants.

There is something about a dude that cares a little too much about his appearance that ruffles my feathers.  Like they don’t have enough to offer from the inside and that makes them a bit too concerned over what they look like on the outside.  Doesn’t send up real-man signals as far as I’m concerned.

Whatever, what they wear is none of my concern, but what is my concern is the way the fuckers eye her as she tries to squeeze through and don’t give her the goddamn courtesy of stepping aside and giving her room to get by.

She’s forcing a polite smile, but I see the discomfort on her face. She’s pissed, but she’s too polite or too shy to say so. Instead I see her mouth the words ‘pardon me,’ her full lips shaping each syllable like the words are made of fucking clay, but the douche patrol ignores her and I’m seeing red.

Disrespecting her and not giving an inch in the opposite direction? That’s pushing all my buttons. They make her shove her way through, causing her ample tits to brush against the shoulder of one of them and my blood is on boil. She has to raise her tray above her head and tuck herself tight.  Her embarrassment and desperation show in the way her shoulders pull toward her ears and she loses her smile.

Fuckers.  Someone may have a lesson in being a gentleman coming very soon.

“Chad, hey.”  Roger smacks the back of my arm from behind.  “Jesus, man, are you gonna stare at that all night?”

I gather my restraint.  He might be my friend, but right now that doesn’t seem to mean a whole lot to me. Hearing him call her ‘that’ makes my fists ball.

“Careful.  Watch your manners.”  I grunt at my childhood friend.

“What the fuck.”  His face lights up into a toothy grin and he slaps the table sending a squeal out of the girls who, thankfully, seem to have lost interest in what is going on behind them.  “You know her?  Huh?  Some old flame?  Maybe you fucked her once, although I doubt you could remember that far back—”

“You better shut your fucking mouth. You say another fucking word and I’m going to send your teeth to your tonsils.”

Roger pushes his tongue into his cheek.  His eyes still sparkle with amusement, but he gets the message. It’s nothing personal, but I meant what I said.

“Okay, buddy.  I’m just glad to see you back in the land of the living.  Go get what you want.” 

I turn back around grumbling under my breath. “I intend to.”

She’s two douches into the crowd of city boys now, trying to squeeze by the five of them, when one steps behind her and blocks my view. His crew look on as he dry humps the air behind her ass, and they think that shit is funny, but I’m not laughing.  In a heartbeat, I’m headed their way, heat gathering in my chest and radiating down my arms to the clench of my fists.

“Hey, where are you—” Roger calls after me but I’m on a mission as I clear my way through the crowd.  I don’t know this girl, but I know that in my presence no one will ever disrespect her like that.

They are still cuttin’ up like they are in some comedy club when I bow up behind the air-humper with his cocky attitude and slicked back hair.  I’m a quiet sort, but I’ve never been one to shrink from a fight.

Three of the guys see me coming, I’m hard to miss.  The dick head about to be schooled has his back to me but it only takes him a split second to pick up on the signals from the looks on his friends’ faces that something big is happening behind him.

My head spins with the variations of how I’m going to play this.  I’ve been in my share fights, but this piece of shit holds no sway.  I have a sixth sense when it comes to people, and he’s no match.

By the time he turns around, the decision is made.  I want to lay the fucker out and use the heel of my boot to grind some manners into him, but getting my ass thrown out of this place will not serve my new purpose for the evening, which is keeping my eye on her.

“What the fuck do you want?”  The little fucker suddenly has a set of balls.  They may be the size of a couple mouse turds, but balls nonetheless.

I smile, and palm my beard as I look down at him.  I catch a glimpse of his back-up squad lining up to cover his ass, and it makes me embarrassed for them. That shit ain’t gonna be any deterrent.

“You’re going to go and tip that waitress that just walked by.”  My voice is clear, rumbling out of me like the eleventh commandment.

“What? Fuck you.”  He snaps with an over dramatic eye roll.  “You better step back.”

I drop my hand from my beard and brush some invisible shit off the guy’s shoulder with my fingertips, invading his personal space like it’s my God-given right.  Being around horses all my life, one thing you learn, you always stay calm.  No matter what may be churning around me, I’m unflappable.

I clear my throat and nod toward where I can still see Lori moving through the crowd.  “That waitress.  You just insulted her and that shit doesn’t fly with me. So unless you want to be wearing your ass for a hat, you are going to apologize to her by digging in your wallet, coming up with a hundred bucks, walk your sorry ass over there and put it on her tray.  You tip her, or we’ll have a different conversation.”

I drop my hand from his shoulder and thumb the stiff handle of the knife I always carry in my front pocket.  I pinch it between my thumb and forefinger, inching it out before stuffing it back down inside my pocket with a grin.  If my general size isn’t intimidating enough, with my hair nearly to my shoulders and my beard meeting it, I’m sure I look scary as hell to these city boys. 

If this guy has any sense, he can read the crazy in my eyes, and realize it’s in his best interests to settle this without blows. I want to spend the rest of this evening admiring the miracle that just walked into my life, but I’ll do what I have to do to make sure he treats her with the respect she deserves.

His four comrades are flanking him but I lock eyes on him and repeat my order.

“A hundred bucks.  Right fucking now.  You go tip her and this can be over.  Or...” I crack my neck and release a deep breath.  “...you and your bridesmaids are going to be on the floor trying to pick up each other’s teeth.”

He gives me his best Scarface nose twitch and his buddies straighten up behind him.

“I’d say two hundred is more like it.”

I don’t need to turn around to know Roger’s voice.  He’s to my left, he matches me in height and outweighs me by another twenty pounds he wears in his gut so we are a solid wall facing down their rhinestones and hair gel.

“Fuck off.”  The dipshit’s voice is losing some bravado.  “I’ll give her a hundred.”  His whole group shifts back, their chests deflate and shoulders drop.  Inside my head I’m laughing my ass off imagining this group of glitter boys going toe-to-toe with me and Roger.

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.