by Olivia Fox
Now to prove it to her.
Scarlett
A couple days later, I told myself I enjoyed solitude, the opportunity to focus on nothing but what I wanted to do.
God. Okay. I admitted it. Call me “Bitter Betty”. Aiden wanted to stay over, but I had sent him away. Why? Too stubborn to admit that our encounter meant more than a post-divorce foray into fucking. My feelings for him went beyond horniness.
Who was I kidding?
I cared.
Dammit.
I needed to nip this thing in the bud before it went any further. I took my pruning shears and hack, hack, hacked at the thorny blackberry vines trying to invade my orchard.
Before it got out of hand. Just the thought of never seeing Aiden again caused my heart to shrink to the size of a walnut with inflexible ridges and a rock-hard shell.
Hack. Hack. Hack. I watched the satisfying sight of huge blackberry canes falling to the ground.
All men cheat. The ghost of Bitter Betty Past sidled up to me and whispered the words in my ear. I wanted to ignore it, really I did, but she continued. All men lie.
But Aiden? Aiden had been so kind, so attentive. As if I were special.
He said he wanted to be my “daddy.”
That wonderful thought made me glow from the inside out as I continued snipping the shears and cleaning up around the fence to my pasture.
This time, Betty bellowed. Don’t kid yourself. He’s only saying what you want to hear to get into your panties! Apparently he doesn’t have to talk very much, panty dropper.
As I headed toward the house, the land line rang, so I sprinted to the front porch, kicked off my boots, and took long leaps to the phone.
What’s the rush? Betty asked, and I pleaded with myself to ignore her. But old knee-jerk Betty had other things in mind. Not sure why you’re in a rush to get dumped on again. I guess you’ll never learn.
I didn’t deign to give a response to that remark as I picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, little one.” The deep, pussy-resonating voice of his thrummed through me, and I realized, whatever he wanted, I would give to him, and yet he caught me off guard by saying, “Princess, I want to come over.”
Yup, anything he wanted.
Would the sound of his voice ever not turn me on? The thrill of its sound surprised me every time.
A bit later, Toby’s friendly bark sounded outside and the internal butterflies kicked up in a swarm. I opened the door and ran out to greet Aiden.
He ran his fingers through my hair and said, “It glimmers in the sun, you know? Like fairy dust.”
“I got to see your beautiful barn, little one, but where’s this tack room you were bragging about? I wanna’ see it.”
Next thing I knew, he bent down to pick me up and had me slung over his shoulder. Again.
He spun slow circles, “Aiden, put me down! Not funny.”
Guessing correctly, he marched towards a corrugated tin, and wooden outbuilding next to the barn.
“What do you need in the tack room, anyway?” I asked him.
“Oh, you’re about to find out, baby girl.”
Hard to imagine where exactly his naughty mind ventured, but something about those words sounded like a threat.
One thing I should have known by now: trust your gut. How many times did I lay awake in bed, waiting for Darwood to come home late? “Just out with the guys.” I convinced myself he was telling the truth, even when my gut was warning me otherwise.
So yeah, today my instinct said, Heads-up. Scarlett, daddy sounds like he has something in store for you… Could be a repeat of the hanging from the lead ropes while being swatted by a whip scenario… not all bad. It certainly ended well.
He batted my drifting thoughts out of the air by saying, “What’s rule number five, Scarlett?”
It took me a minute of mental finger counting before blurting, “All my holes belong to Daddy!”
“Good girl. And don’t you forget it.”
Again, a hint of threat. Two options: either bolt or dive right in to the daddy dynamic, and in this case, I plunged.
You know, there are women who buy themselves a diamond ring when their divorce is final as a symbol of their new commitment to themselves. This tack room symbolized my dedication to myself. Horseshoe-made hooks held my collection of bridles. English and Western saddles hung on the wall, and saddle stands bolted firmly to the ground. Brick lined the floor, to mirror the aisle in my barn. Roughhewn timber beams spanned the ceiling and a tidy pile of molasses oats stacked up against the wall.
Aiden swiped a leather crop from the wall and fisted all of my tresses in his hand before flicking the crop to direct me toward the oat sacks piled bed high. He patted a sack. “Climb up here, my good girl.”
I sat in front of him as directed. He grabbed my chin firmly in his hand and lifted it, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Who’s your daddy?”
“You are?”
“Not a question, little one. Who’s your daddy?”
It was just for show; I didn’t have to mean it. These things I told myself to allow myself to take part in the hot exchange Aiden ignited between us.
“You are, Daddy. And I’m your little girl.”
Daddy was skilled at unbuttoning buttons, unzipping pants, taking off bras, and pulling panties down.
“Get up there on your knees.” Being ordered around was hot and so was the idea he found me so appealing, he couldn’t hold back.
The telltale unzipping behind me—another turn on.
He pushed himself against me. “It won’t fit, Daddy.” I mock protested.
He gripped my hips and thrust inside of me. “You’re so tight, Scarlett,” he grit his teeth as he spoke and pursued his quest to buck against me, and I traveled to a place where bitterness didn’t exist, men didn’t cheat, and life was as simple as following Daddy’s rules.
They didn’t call it NEVERland for nothing.
Scarlett
He held me down and fucked me hard on that stack of oats and carried me to my bathroom and placed me in the tub. Gently, he washed the overly sensitive skin of my body, while I laid back and enjoyed the princess treatment.
When my eyes closed, he leaned down and placed his full mouth on mine, beckoning my tongue to come forth for him to claim. Afterward, he lovingly dried my body, wrapped me up in a cozy blanket, and placed me on the couch, telling me not to move. He turned the channel to Disney and put one of my favorite movies on, Mary Poppins.
He muttered in the kitchen and placed an order for hot wings, pepperoni pizza, and lava cakes over the phone. My heart skipped a beat when he unpacked the delivery order and pulled out the last box, placing it on the enormous coffee table at my feet. A special order of parmesan and garlic french fries for me.
“You’re too good to be true.” It slipped out.
“And you’re too good to have ever married that dufus, Dagwood.”
Speak of the devil. The unmistakable sound of Darwood’s Corvette pulled into my drive, and by the screech of his brakes he was gunning for trouble. I would recognize that motorized sentiment anywhere, and even if I didn’t, Toby barked his head off any time his car came near. Toby shared my opinion that the Corvette symbolized overcompensation on wheels, driven by men having a midlife crisis and were unable to afford a Jaguar, Ferrari, or Porsche. Or men who had lost touch with what was cool.
I made it outside to my front porch as he opened his door and wove his way around the bumper while supporting himself on it, barely staying upright. Great. Just great. Darwood drove here drunk.
“You have no business behind the wheel of a car in your state, you son of a gun. What are you thinking?”
He giggled, unnaturally, jerking his entire trunk one way and barely catching himself when his knees locked rigidly in place. “What the hell are you thinking, you dumb whore? Hooked up with some stranger and parading it in town for all to see?”
“Our divorce finalized over a year ago, we’ve
been split up for over three years, and didn’t have much of a marriage before that!” I tried to concentrate, stick to the matter at hand. I squinted with the effort to focus on the words coming out of his mouth, but all I heard was one of them being repeated, over and over, an echo as if he had shouted the single syllable down a well. WHORE. WHORE. WHORE.
“What did you call me, Darren?”
He listed precariously to the side, incapable of holding himself upright on the hood of his car, and I vaguely noticed that somehow Aiden wound up next to me. Protecting me. Watching over the situation. It made me realize feeling cherished was a byproduct of having him around. It made me confident enough to let my genuine feelings out.
“You’re the one who intentionally cheated.” I shoved my pointer figure in the air at him. “You never cared about me when I was your wife, so why act like you do now?” It was as if he flushed my sexual prime down the toilet, and now he had the nerve to make accusations.
This pathetic excuse for an ex-husband would never. Never make it right between us. That’s what hurt about divorce—not losing a spouse, not having to start over again, not the financial damage, but signing a lifelong contract of irreconcilable differences. A big, huge “Look, I don’t get you. I don’t want you, and you’re not even worth trying to understand” for all the world to see. The incapacity of the other party to grasp what was necessary to make things right. Basic things. If Darwood said he was sorry; he had a million opportunities to do so, I’d forgive him.
Instead of patching things up, that lush puked all over my petunias.
I had every right to date, have sex, or call any man that I wanted to “daddy.” Here I stood, a free woman. Darwood still wasn’t done with me.
After emptying his guts on my blossoms, he swiped the back of his hand across his lips and said, “Well, apparently you have to go for someone old enough to be your father.” He sloppily swung an arm in Aiden’s general direction to show who he referred to, his aim off by a mile. “You can’t get someone your own age or what?”
“That’s it. I’ve had enough of your insults. Get the hell off my property!”
He blinked his glittery eyes rapidly to focus on me. “You took that from me, didn’t you? Stupid whore!”
“Enough.” Aiden finally spoke, and his tone sent chills up my spine. “You’ll address her with respect or not at all.”
On that note, Darren stumbled three shuffle steps toward me and tripped over a decorative rock at the edge of my lawn. He plunged none too gracefully, face-first, onto the grass.
I walked over to him and poked him with a foot. “Excellent.” What a way to end what had been a very pleasant day.
“Know anyone you can call to come pick him up and get him out of here?”
My arms hung heavily at my sides when I answered, “Unfortunately, I do.”
Delta showed up soon after in a pair of daisy dukes that showed off more than her thigh gap, giving a very clear view to how things hung over her valley of love. Were camel toes in nowadays? The new cleavage? If so, she was definitely stylin’. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on Darwood. She was hard to resist—for certain types. I tried to imaging the guy who would be able to and swung my eyes at Aiden to see if I caught him ogling. Nope. Not a bit. He dragged Drunky McDrunkerstein to Delta’s convertible Mustang.
The leggy beauty— practically a colt after all and not a mare like me —climbed into the driver’s seat next to Darren, who snored loudly against the passenger door, his chin thrust unflatteringly toward the place where the car roof would have been.
“Gross.” An affront to the barely post-pubescent delicacy, “He smells like beer.”
“Sorry. Thanks for picking him up.” I wasn’t though. Not sorry at all to be rid of him, not sorry to no longer be in my twenties like Delta and putting up with way more than I should have for the sake of keeping the peace with a man who didn’t deserve me.
Her motor started right up, and the head-turning, deep thrum of the Mustang pulled away from my place, leaving me standing alongside a human being who seemed as loyal as the puppies I raised. He gave his affection without condition. Even his discipline was devotion, “keeping me safe.” My choice whether I obeyed him; I always had the option to say “Red.”
The only way to stay unharmed was to guard my heart from any man who did not care to protect it. I would never fall for the betrayal trick again. Never again would I be a Delta.
Aiden
I had been calling Scarlett’s phone repeatedly over the last four hours. On the first call I left a message and asked her what to pick up at the farmer’s market in order to make her a meal this evening.
The next message simply said she was constantly on my mind and wanted to hold her down and make her come with my mouth, have her thrust her pussy onto my face.
The third message to tell her she needed to text or call me immediately. We had a date that night, and I wanted to ask about her favorite dessert. I needed to memorize her favorite everything.
The final appeal said, “Pick up the phone now, Scarlett, or I’m coming over.”
When I pulled up to her place, her car was parked next to the garage. Toby gave a welcome “woof” and trotted over for a scratch. I followed him into the barn, where he lead me. A Lassie moment, “Who said dogs can’t talk?”
“Scarlett?” I shouted louder than I meant to—a sign I worried more than I wanted to admit. “Where are you?”
“I’m right here. Pipe down a little, please.”
I walked through the barn and out the other side where Scarlett worked with a black stallion. I’d be damned if that horse didn’t display his jealous aggression toward me by rearing up on its hind legs and jerking it’s front hoofs. He was a beauty, I’d give her that. Scarlett had told me he arrived this week, and that she’d been waiting practically her entire life to save up enough to afford a horse like him. His arched neck and widely flared nostrils were visually striking; practically criminal for one single animal to be bestowed with so many of God’s gifts.
And this one was toast.
I ran and climbed the fence, swinging both legs over, and landed in front of the spirited steed, ducking myself in front of Scarlett and telling her, “Get out of this paddock right now, little girl, or you won’t be able to sit down until Christmas.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Horses were herd animals after all and sensed the dominant beast versus the one more likely to be eaten. The gorgeous dude pranced away from me, snorting and arching his tail, when I waved my arms at him.
After making a point of my place in the food chain, that being way above his, I slowly climbed back out of the round pen and tossed him half a flake of alfalfa. Then I spun on her.
“You wanna tell me what the hell you think you’re doing trying to work with a new horse, a stallion of all ever-loving things, when you are all by yourself?”
Unbelievably, she sassed me. “Oh please, the only reason he reared is because you surprised him. Of course he saw you as a challenge. Besides, I’ve been working horses for years with no one else around!”
“Oh yeah, and how did that near concussion go for you?”
“Bump on the head! Since it brought Mr. Bossy Pants into my life, you’re right! Maybe it didn’t go so great!”
I grabbed her hand and marched her toward her house. She stumbled and scuffed on the gravel path behind me. “You’re just making it worse.” I warned. “Stop dragging your heels. What’s rule number two?” I turned to glance at her, my arms crossed over my chest.
“Are you serious?” She raised both eyebrows.
“Rule number two, Scarlett.”
My infamous daddy’s-not-messing-around tone never failed to strike fear into the heart of a little girl.
“Accept my punishments,” she said with her jaw clenched.
“And?” I cocked my head at her.
“And no fussing.” She actually stopped on the path, kicking her cowboy boot into the ground
in front of her. “But it wasn’t my fault! I was super excited that Dante got here finally, and he needed a workout. He never would have reared up if you hadn’t frightened him!”
My patience snapped at the accusation. I wrapped her ponytail around my wrist and used it as a lead rope to march her to the house and enter the front porch. I forced her to sit on the bench, and I pulled her boots off one by one before snapping my fingers and indicating her clothing had to go. “Take it off.”
Surprisingly, she undressed herself.
“Good girl. Leave your panties and your bra on so Daddy can rip them off of you. Go wash your hands and join me in the kitchen.” It occurred to me then that Scarlett’s kitchen table height would place her at my disposal for whatever explorations I wanted to make of her body.
She came out of the bathroom and walked stiffly toward me.
“Come here, Scarlett.” My voice stern as I patted the table, indicating that she needed to lay facedown on it. The perfect placement for my baby to learn once and for all that she needed to take precautions with her safety.
The punishment always fit the crime, and it needed to sting. If she didn’t respect my need to keep her out of harm’s way, I wouldn’t be able to care for her like I ached to do. It wouldn’t work for me to be with a woman reckless with her well-being, and this second time Scarlett had shown me her considerable carelessness required discipline. Watching my woman putting herself in peril was unacceptable. I needed to teach her a lesson.
