by L. Nicole
Leaving the pot to brew, I pull out some of the homemade cookies that I made last night. It’s my own special recipe. It’s non gluten and healthy—well, as healthy as chocolate chip cookies can be. I take the plate to a small table out by the store’s front window.
The smell of fresh brewing coffee fills the shop, and I breathe in the aroma. Nothing like that smell, I muse. Unless it might be the scent of Jack Clayton passing close by. There is something so tantalizing about him. It commands all of my attention. He commands my attention.
I notice the man in question leaving the hardware store and do my best to ignore the way my heart speeds up. I shake my head at my silliness and then hurry to the back for the coffee.
“Brandi?” Jack calls, clomping into the shop. “I got the part. I’ll go down and get it fixed. Should only take a few minutes.”
“Okay, Jack. I’ll have your coffee ready,” she answer. “How do you take it?”
“However I can get it, but black is my favorite,” he responds, and I hear him going down the steps.
“Got it,” I call down after him.
True to his word, he reappears in the shop just a few minutes later. “I need to wash up,” he mumbles. “I don’t want to mess up your stuff.”
“Oh, here. Come in here,” I lead him into my workroom, and motion toward the sink. “Just help yourself. And listen, I really appreciate your help. One more day of that furnace and I was going to run out into the street naked and dive into the snow,” I rattle nervously, not even realizing what I’m saying until it’s too late.
Jack’s turns to me, one of his eyebrows cocked, and amusement clear on his face. That’s when I feel my face go red. “I mean . . .. I’m just saying . . . Oh, never mind!”
He grins. “It almost makes me want to go turn the heat up,” he purrs. “The only thing stopping me is that I’m not sure I like the idea of the whole town seeing the same show.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that things pop out of my mouth before I think about them.” I mutter, not bothering to tell him that it mostly happens when I’m nervous—or in extreme lust. I hand him some paper towels.
“Coffee smells good,” he comments, drying his hands.
“Let’s have some,” I offer, carrying the pot to the table out front. I fill his cup and then my own before sitting across from him.
“How much do I owe you,” I ask, passing him the plate of cookies.
“Oh, you don’t owe me anything,” Jack replied. “I’m happy to help.”
“But I can’t—”
“We’re good. And you can certainly brew a good pot of joe. My compliments.”
We fall into easy conversation. It feels comfortable, despite the fact that Jack is virtually a stranger. I even find myself telling him about my mother’s death.
“You’ve certainly had a strenuous year,” he murmurs, his gaze glued on my face. It feels like he’s searching for something, and I can’t figure out what it is. “How old you are?” he asks.
“I’m twenty-three. And you?”
I watch him blanch at my words.
“I’m forty.” It feels like he bites the words out and my brow furrows in confusion, because suddenly there feels like a tension enters the room and puts this unseen wall between us.
Silence reigns as I try to search for something to say. I know he’s not happy about our age difference. Excitement and despair both fill me in equal measures. Excitement because this all means that Jack’s attracted to me, but despair because he clearly thinks he’s too old for me. I don’t feel that way, but what can I say? Seventeen years is a big difference, and it clearly bothers him. A sense of sadness swamps me, and I have to fight through it to try and talk normally.
“Well,” I finally answer with a dash of false cheerfulness. “If I can’t pay you for saving me from roasting alive, could I offer you something in the store?”
His eyes dart around the shop. “I don’t know, maybe. Do you have anything for headaches? I have them a lot.”
“Sure. Just a minute.” I get up from my chair to search the shelves behind the cash register. The entire time I can feel his eyes burning into my back. I have to resist the urge to beg him to ignore the differences in our ages, maybe even beg him to kiss me. “Here we go,” I finally add, turning to bring the box to the table. I accidentally knock a napkin to the floor, and as I bend over to catch it, the clasp on my necklace gives way, causing my heart pendant to plop down into Jack’s coffee cup.
“Oh, geez! I’m so sorry,” I exclaim, mortified. The necklace belonged to my mother, and I keep meaning to get the clasp fix—I just never have. My hands go to Jack’s sweater trying to brush away the drops of coffee that have splashed on him inadvertently.
“No, it’s okay,” Jack assures me.
“Let me at least dry it up so that it doesn’t stain,” I mutter, having no idea what I’m doing, just feeling horrible. In my rush, however, I knock over Jack’s cup and douse his jeans.
“Well, shit a brick,” I blurt.
Jack grabs at my hands, trying to catch them before I reach his lap to sop up the coffee. He doesn’t quite get there in time, and I gasp as I feel the rigid outline of Jack’s obviously hard cock. I feel color invade my face, as Jack gathers my hands in one of his and brings them up between us.
“I think it might be best if we stop right here, Miss Brandi Kelly.”
I nod, biting my lip. “Maybe you could just go now so I can die of mortification all alone?” I whisper.
“Thanks for the coffee—on my clothes and in my cup,” he says, kissing my forehead.
It’s a simple kiss. There’s nothing sexual about it, but it feels as if it marks me. It feels as if now that he’s done that, I’ll never be the same again. I watch him leave, wishing for all the world that he would come back to me.
CHAPTER THREE
JACK
I CRANK up the radio in my truck as I drive back to my isolated home in the mountains. I’m still half-aroused, and I’m pissed at myself for that—and more.
What was I thinking?
Brandi is barely out of high school! She said she was twenty-three, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she was even younger. I alternate between my outrage and doing my best to recall the image of her tight jeans stretched across that luscious bottom of hers. Occasionally the memory of her bending down to retrieve her necklace, exposing the cleavage that was almost too much, floats into my mind too. Hell, my mouth is watering just from the memory, not to mention it brings me to the point of a full-on cock stand.
I can’t allow this shit. I’m too old for her. She’s way too young for me. I have to nip this in the bud. There can be no more trips to “Pure and Sweet.” No more drinking coffee with a hot, young redhead who just happens to be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. All of it is over.
It has to be.
I pull onto the private road leading back to my house, throwing gravel as I take the turn way too fast. Damn it! She has me so worked up that I forgot to go by and get my groceries! Now I’ll have to go back into town, when I hate that shit to begin with. I have half a mind to turn around now and get it over with. But I know that wouldn’t wise. There are more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.
“Damn furnace,” I mutter, throwing the truck into park and slamming out the door. I stomp through the door of the cabin. “Damn store!” I slam the door, tossing my keys on the entrance table and yanking my sweater over my head, marching into my bedroom. “Damn sexy woman who is way too young!” I yell, kicking off my shoes. “Damn fucking curves that go on for days!” I add, sounding as desperate as my body feels. I shove my jeans off my body, throwing myself bare ass naked—except for my fucking socks—into a chair. I lay my head back, resting it against the chair. “Damn hard cock that won’t settle down,” I practically moan, taking it into my hand.
Closing my eyes, I imagine Brandi’s face. So pure and sweet. I laugh harshly at my play on words. I imagine her standing before me naked.
My own private amusement park to do what I want with. My hand is ruthless on my cock, it’s nothing like what Brandi’s would feel like, but as I slowly set a rhythm and stroke my swollen, engorged cock, pre-cum leaks down the head coating the shaft and making it easier. I begin rubbing my thumb over the head of my cock, coaxing more creamy wetness to come out and play. I imagine Brandi’s hand in place of mine, her beautiful red hair around her face like a fiery halo, her green eyes sparkling with desire and hunger. She’d lick those full lips of hers, silently pleading for more. She’s a goddess on her knees and willing to do whatever I demand.
“Suck it, baby,” I whisper. “Show Daddy what you can do,” I groan.
I’m too old and too dirty for someone as sweet and innocent as Brandi looks. I’ve always been rough around the edges, but the need to have a woman submit, the need for her to depend on me in the bedroom and give me full control only got worse after the war. The problem is, there hasn’t been any women. I didn’t want to expose myself to a woman. I may not mind my scars, but I’m not stupid how others would view them. Add in the fact that I haven’t even found a woman I wanted…
Not until Brandi.
I close my eyes, letting the darkness surround me while I imagine Brandi’s glossy pink lips, so perfectly full, wrap around the head of my cock. She would swirl her tongue over it, gathering the pre-cum that is pooling over the head.
“More, Brandi,” I demand, my voice rough and full of hunger. “Show Daddy how you can suck me. Take me all the way to the back of that pretty little throat of yours.”
I can practically feel my hands holding onto her legs. I grieve that I can’t wrap my hands into her hair and pull her down on my cock, teaching her just how to take me deep. My hand tightens until it is almost painful on my cock. I imagine her sliding that hot little mouth deeper on my shaft, sucking me so hard my balls tighten with the need to give her my cum.
If she were real, I would teach her exactly what I like and how I like it. I would tease her until she would be eager to please me, knowing I’d give her body everything it could handle and then some. Hell, I’d send her to the brink and then push her to the point where the pleasure was almost too much. Brandi would be my sweet, innocent little baby girl, a slave to the passion only I can give her.
I imagine her bobbing her head up and down, as her mouth moves back and forth over my cock, slipping farther along toward the base with each stroke.
“Fuck, baby,” I growl, wishing it was real. Wishing she was real.
In a few deft moves, my balls tighten, and I know I’m going to erupt at any moment. My hand works furiously as my mind creates a vision of Brandi looking up at me with those big, beautiful eyes of hers. She slides off my cock, a popping noise echoing around us. Then, her sweet little tongue comes out to play, flattening against my shaft, pressing against the pulsating vein, torturing me with pleasure. In my ongoing fantasy, she licks my head, her gaze locked with mine the entire time. Her sweet little tongue tunnels against the slit, seeking more pre-cum, before swallowing me back down, humming around my cock, causing a vibration that I can feel all the way to my damn toes.
“Brandi,” I moan.
“Does Daddy like that?” my fantasy purrs.
She’s begging for me to take over, to take complete control. I imagine my hand fisting into her hair, showing her exactly how I need her to suck me.
“That’s it, baby girl, suck my big cock down. Show Daddy how much you need him.”
My hips begin lifting as the scene plays in my head, and I imagine coming into Brandi’s sweet mouth. My dream girl looks up at me, my cum painted on her lips, as she swallows me down.
If this was real, I’d pull my woman up in my lap and sculpt her sweet little pussy to fit my cock perfectly—because it would be the only cock she would ever know.
I would own her. Much like she already owns me. I growl looking down at the mess I’ve made. She definitely owns me. How the fuck has this happened?
When I can finally breathe normally, I go to the bathroom to wash up. I look in the mirror, disgusted with myself. I’m a pathetic old man who is lusting after a girl who is barely legal. I have to put a stop to it. It ends here.
There can be no more thinking about her, no more fantasies, and no more pretending that innocent young thing was here doing things she probably didn’t even know how to do! I finish washing up, comb my hair, and put my damn clothes back on.
Fencing.
That’s exactly what I need to do. I’ll go out into the field and start fencing until it’s too dark to see. Later, I can come back to the house and write. I’ll dive into the goriest murder my mind can fathom. That will keep my dick under control.
I finish lacing up my boots when I hear a vehicle outside. Grabbing my hat, I step out on the porch and throw my hand up to McKenzie.
“Hey, man. That was quick,” I greet him.
“The way you were tearing out of town, I thought I’d better get on out here,” McKenzie replies with a knowing smirk. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I just can’t handle town that long. I don’t know how you do it. Besides, I wanted to get started on my fence.”
“Well, I got the rest of your stuff. Give me a hand unloading this crap.”
I climb into the bed of the truck, beginning to help get the supplies off the big flat-bed truck. “I’m hoping to get this done before spring. Think I’ll buy some Black Angus.”
“Maybe you should consider another breed,” McKenzie laughs. “Everyone has Angus.”
We discuss the pros and cons of cattle raising while we unload the rest of the supplies. I run into the house to grab him a beer because we are both sweating.
“Did you get Sherry’s furnace fixed?”
“Brandi,” I reply, nodding. “Her name is Brandi, and yes, I fixed it.”
“Hmm,” McKenzie comments, looking out toward the truck. “She sure is pretty. I wonder how old she is.”
Jack shrugged. “Young, I think.”
“That’s obvious. But how young?”
“I think she said twenty-three.”
McKenzie whistled. “That’s better than nineteen.”
“Fuck, that’d be a hard no for me,” I mutter, thinking if it meant making Brandi mine and claiming her before another damn man could try and touch her, I’d still do it.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Yeah, you’d think,” McKenzie mutters, making me think he’s not really talking about me and Brandi at all.
“You okay, man?”
“Yeah, I better get going,” he says, walking back to the driver’s side of his truck.
“Thanks again,” I call out. He gives a wave and heads out.
I spend the next six hours digging post holes then go into the house for a shower. After a frozen dinner nuked to an edible temperature, I pull a beer from the fridge and sit down at my desk to work on my latest novel. I get lost in the words, and before I know it, it’s just past two in the morning, the killer has managed to trap his victim inside an old barn, but I’m nodding off. I have to quit for the night.
I feel like I can finally go to sleep and put this strange day behind me. Staggering off to bed, I strip and fall between the rumpled sheets. I must have fallen asleep quickly, but I awake with a start. My gaze moves to the side table, and I groan when I see the clock. I’ve barely been asleep two hours. I fall back against my pillow with a groan. Two hours in which I’ve been dreaming of her.
Brandi.
The vixen crept into my dreams, and if I needed more evidence, the fact my cock is wet with pre-cum gives it away. I groan. What the fuck is wrong with me? Flashes of the dream play through my mind. Her face looking down at me, her hands soft on my skin, and the delicious feel of her thighs hugging my hips.
I growl, getting out of the bed. Sleep is over for me. I don’t know what I’m going to do. The dream of her even overshadowed the nightmares that I’ve lived with for years. That spells trouble any way I look at it. I have to get this gir
l out of his head.
I just wish I knew how.
CHAPTER FOUR
BRANDI
I SMILE when my friend walks into the shop. Pauline Decker works at Sweetheart’s one and only post office. We clicked immediately and now she always comes over after she gets off work to share some coffee and talk.
“Hey, Pauline,” I call from behind the counter. “How are you?”
“I’m good. How’s it going with you?” She takes a seat at the table in front of the window. “Have you sold anything yet?”
“Nah, not in here. But my internet sales are really picking up. In fact,” I confided, “I’ll be sending off a boatload of packages tomorrow.” Even I can hear the relief in my voice. I’m praying I can make a go of this shop, because I love it. It’d be nice if I could make the store as profitable as my online business, but at this point, I’ll take money any way I can get it.
“Hey, that’s killer,” Pauline responds, and it warms me that I can hear her genuine happiness for me. “The people here in town will catch on, you know. They don’t even realize the scope of internet shopping, but once they discover you, watch out,” she says, and I’m praying she’s right.
“From your lips to God’s ears,” I laugh. I bring over some cups and a coffee pot, looking forward to spending time with my friend. “Mocha Frost today. It’s good, I promise. You’ll like it.”
“You haven’t let me down yet. Besides, it smells awesome,” she answers. “Check this out. I stopped by the bakery and bought some brownies.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out two brownies that have been individually wrapped.
“Is it any wonder I love you?” I laugh, taking one of them.
“I’m pretty damn loveable,” she jokes.
“My ass doesn’t need them, but you only live once, right?”
“Oh please, you’re gorgeous,” Pauline laughs.
“Yeah, right.” I give out a sigh, a picture of Jack appearing in my mind.
“You seem preoccupied. What’s on your mind?” Pauline asks, after taking a drink of coffee and humming her approval.
