Deuce's Dancer

by Patricia Green

  She gasped—this time with pleasure—as he slid two fingers through her folds. She was wet from her before-spanking excitement, and his sensual rubbing was making more moisture accumulate. How she could be in so much pain and be excited all at the same time, she didn't know, but she wasn't about to tear it apart at that moment. The tips of his fingers brushed her swollen clit and she jumped as a bolt of electricity shot through her.

  Moaning, she wriggled under his hand.

  "Easy, woman," he told her in Spanish. Hearing the language of her childhood, so lovingly spoken during an intimate moment coiled a spring in her belly.

  Two fingers entered her and she sighed with pleasure.

  "Your cock," she whispered. "Please."

  "Feelin' bossy?" There was a grin in his voice. He moved his fingers in and out, in the age-old motion, and the spring in her belly began to wind tighter and tighter. He had the key to release the pressure, but he was keeping it from her.

  "Dios, that feels good."

  As he withdrew his fingers, she whimpered. She wanted more. She was greedy with need. His zipper slid down and a she heard a wrapper being torn. A few moments later, hardness probed the entrance to her pussy.

  "Ah, sugar. I've missed you." Slowly, he entered her. It was impossible not to squirm and press back against him, trying to speed things up, to coax him deeper, but he swatted her stinging ass and warned her not to do that again. "Slow and easy."

  "No, Deuce. I want it hard and fast."

  He laughed, his motions calculated to drive her right through the roof. But eventually, when she couldn't stand waiting anymore, he picked up the pace. His strokes became deeper, harder. They came more rapidly, his cock barely reaching the opening of her pussy before he slammed home again.

  Pilar felt like an over-wound clock. Her cuckoos were going to come bursting out any minute to chime midnight. Slam, slam, slam, he drove her higher and higher until she balanced there, right on the precipice, exactly at the edge. Teetering, teetering, and then he swatted her one last time and the spring broke. She fell over the edge, spiraling down, her brain whirling in a kaleidoscope as she shuddered with release. Moaning his name, she panted as he pistoned a few more times into her and then came with a low growl.

  Two minutes passed, then three, and finally he stepped back and slid out of her. She collapsed on the bed, curling into a little, satisfied ball, all moist and warm.

  "No more deceit," he reminded her, and her sense of satisfaction slipped. He was sure to hate her on Friday, no matter how much he cared for her today.

  * * *

  "Daddy?"

  Deuce cringed; it always went this way. "Hi, Eddie. You shouldn't call me that."

  "You're like my daddy, right?" The little boy's voice was welcome, even if they did have the same conversation over and over again.

  "I'm not your daddy, buddy. Your daddy's name is Don."

  There was a childish sigh on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, I know. But I like you better."

  It brought a smile to his face to know that he'd made a positive impression on the boy in the two years his mother and he had lived with Deuce. Eddie was only seven, so he really didn't understand how people he cared about could part ways. Still, he had to learn that he couldn't make things true just by wishing. "You should be calling me Deuce. You remember that now, hear?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Deuce shifted in his office chair. He was working late at the office, but he always made time for Eddie. Stacy never discouraged the boy from calling, and, although it was sometimes inconvenient, Deuce didn't have the heart to end the relationship with Eddie in the abrupt way he'd ended it with Eddie's mother. "So, how has baseball practice been?"

  "Good. I got a home run yesterday!"

  "I'll bet that's what you were calling to tell me about."

  "Yeah! Mom said you'd want to know."

  Of course she did. Stacy took any opportunity to keep her finger on Deuce's pulse, even if it meant using her son. "I'm proud of you."

  "Just like a real daddy would be?"

  "I'm sure your real daddy is proud of you, too, Eddie."

  "I dunno. He hardly ever answers his phone."

  "Be persistent. He calls you back eventually." Don Armintier was an asshole. Don and Stacy had broken up when Eddie was two years old after being together for six years, and Don had hardly looked back to see what he left behind. He talked to Eddie, so long as Eddie initiated the calls, and he was responsible with his child support payments. Apparently, that's all he could manage to do. He was an emotional deadbeat.

  Of course, Stacy had her issues, too, so he could understand how Armintier might want to put some distance between himself and his ex-wife. But Deuce couldn't countenance how the man could also distance himself from his son so harshly.

  "Can you come to my baseball game on Friday? We're playing the Barracudas."

  He had a full schedule on Friday, and a speaking engagement on Friday night. "No, kiddo, I can't. Is your mom going to take you to the Astros game on Saturday?"

  "No. She's getting her nails waxed."

  Deuce chuckled. "Okay. How about if you ask her if it's okay for me to take you to the game? We'll use those season tickets I gave you for your birthday."

  "Can't. Mom sold 'em."

  He had to take a deep breath. Stacy didn't need the money that bad. She was a successful dietician. She'd likely done it in order to create some reason for Deuce to confront her. She didn't seem to care if their encounters were positive or negative, so long as they had them. But none of that was Eddie's fault and the boy deserved better than to be put in the middle. "Okay, bud. I'll try to score us some tickets. Ask your mom if you can go."

  "Can you ask her?"

  Eddie was a good kid, a really good kid. But he naturally had a child's simplistic way of viewing the world. To his young mind, if Deuce spent time with Stacy, even the time it took to have a conversation on the phone, they might get back together. It played right into Stacy's hands. "Yeah, okay. Put her on."

  "Okay." There was some shuffling and Deuce could hear Eddie calling for his mother. The boy was running; Deuce heard his feet slapping the wood floors. More shuffling, and Stacy came on the line.

  "Hi, Deuce." Her voice was a purr. It had once made Deuce feel like she'd caressed him with sound, but no more.

  "Stacy. What happened with the Astros tickets?"

  "Oh, I got into a little fender-bender and needed to have repairs done. It was so expensive!"

  "I see." He could have checked up on her, but it wasn't worth the trouble. If she was lying to him, it would be far from the first time. "Are you going to make it up to Eddie?"

  "He understands."

  Deuce's blood began to boil. How could a seven-year-old understand something like that? "You really are a bitch, Stacy."

  She laughed. "So, maybe you'd like to come spank me and teach me a lesson?"

  "I'm taking Eddie to the Astros game on Saturday. Have him ready by eleven."

  "Can I come, too?"

  "No."

  "Aww, Deuce. You're so mean to me. You know how much I love fun and games."

  The innuendo dripped from the phone, like so much mucilage. "Get your mind back on track, Stacy."

  "Oh, it's on track. Believe me."

  "Eddie. Saturday. Eleven. Got it?"

  "I've got it. Will you stay for dinner afterwards? Eddie would like that so much. I would, too."

  "Is he standing there listening to you?"

  "Aha."

  Deuce thought of about ten different epithets he'd like to throw at her, but he refrained. His father hadn't raised a barbarian, no matter the provocation. "I'll take Eddie for pizza. You can fend for yourself."

  There was a pause. He knew she was trying to think of some way to get her way. "Maybe I'll see you at church on Sunday."

  That would be the day. He went to mass every Sunday morning, had done so for as long as he could remember, but Stacy was anything but a church-goer. If she went o
n Christmas and Easter, it was enough for her. He hoped fervently that she wasn't going to start going regularly in order to have a new opportunity to buttonhole him. "Don't go on my account, Stacy. Much as your immortal soul needs redemption, I think it takes sincerity, along with knees on the kneeler."

  "You want kneeling, Deuce? I can do that. I remember doing it."

  He wanted to growl. "Enough. I'll see you on Saturday. Good night."

  Fuming, he sat at his desk for another half hour and then packed up to leave. Concentration had fled, and all he wanted was to find his way home.

  It was a cold comfort. He knew it would be lonely. Pilar had gone to work at around the same time as Deuce was heading off for the day. They'd agreed to talk on the phone that night, but nothing else had been planned. He was going to miss her.

  * * *

  "I'm sorry, Ms. Peréz, but we can't take payments of less than $200 per month on a bill that large. We have an office policy. I thought I made that clear when you called the last time."

  Deuce put down the chart he'd been making notations on, and listened to the office manager's conversation. The name Peréz had gotten his attention. Was this Pilar? Dr. Stone must have more than one Peréz on her patient roster. But still…

  "I understand that you want to pay, and we appreciate that, but it's our policy. The bill is well into the thousands. It would take quite a while to pay it off." There was a pause and then Joyce went on. "I know your father is uninsured. That's a shame. We can take ten percent off the total, Ms. Peréz, but that's all." She listened, twiddling with a pen and swiveling her head around to watch her receptionist doing her job. "I'm sorry, but Dr. Stone isn't expected back in the office for at least another two weeks."

  Rather than letting it go on any further, Deuce gestured to her to put the call on hold.

  "Can you hold a moment, please? Thank you." She pressed a button. "Yes, Dr. Journey?"

  "Is that Pilar Peréz, Juan Peréz's daughter?"

  "Yes, it is."

  "Look," he said. "I know it's really up to Dr. Stone… What were the payments Ms. Peréz was proposing?"

  "One hundred per month. But that's half of what we'd normally accept on a bill that size."

  He nodded, wondering how far he could take his authority—both with Dr. Stone's practice and with Pilar. "Go with what she's offering. I'll talk to Dr. Stone myself. I'm sure she'll be alright with this."

  "I don't know. Dr. Stone is pretty firm about her payment plans."

  He held up a hand to stop her from going on. "Don't worry about it. I don't plan to get in the habit. Pilar Peréz is a friend of mine and her family could use a break."

  Joyce's gray eyes got a little more interested. "A friend of yours?"

  Deuce frowned. He didn't much need gossip going around. "Just make the arrangements, Joyce. And don't mention to Pilar that I'm doing this."

  "Don't mention…

  "You heard me right."

  "Yes. Of course."

  Despite having a full schedule the rest of the day, Deuce couldn't get Pilar's request for payment assistance off his mind. If things were that tight for them with regard to this medical bill, why didn't she ask him to help out after Joyce had turned down her first request? Oh sure, she'd never actually ask him for money; he could understand that. But she could have asked him if he could organize a payment arrangement. He'd have gladly done so.

  She was too proud and independent by half. She had to let some of that go if they were going to make the relationship work. He wanted to be there for her and help her with this kind of thing, especially in matters he was involved with.

  It made him irritated and disappointed that, once again, she'd kept him out.

  Deuce finished his work for the day and went home. He had a date with the stubborn Señorita and it was going to be an evening to remember.

  * * *

  Deuce's breath caught as Pilar opened her apartment door to him. She looked like the quintessential 1950's homemaker, complete with scooped-neck pink dress, white high-heels, and an adorable lace-edged apron with bright red apples silkscreened on it. Her long, dark hair was pulled back from her face with a pink headband. She couldn't have been more desirable had she worn a teddy and hooker heels.

  Deuce offered her a bottle of good quality cabernet sauvignon and took a hug that ended up being a hot clinch. He took the time to explore her sweet mouth thoroughly with his tongue, nibbling on her lips. She was anything but passive to his ardor, matching his movements and adding a few new ones of her own. When they broke, Pilar was half-panting and her eyes had darkened with arousal.

  "Something smells good," he said, nuzzling her neck.

  She hummed and tilted her head, encouraging him. "Enchiladas."

  He laughed softly. "I meant you, chiquita."

  "Oh, well… I suppose I'm glad I don't smell like enchiladas, though I would hope I'd smell as tasty."

  "I'd like to eat you up."

  She grinned as she carefully pushed him away. "You're making me squirmy, spank-man."

  He gave her a swat on the rump as she took the wine deeper into her apartment. It was only a few steps into her tiny kitchen, but he could have found it easily by the mouthwatering aroma coming from it.

  It was a bright white space, decorated with apple-themed calendar, pot-holders, canisters. Cheerful and homey though small, it reflected her sweetness perfectly.

  She searched around until she came up with a corkscrew, then struggled with getting the foil off the top of the wine bottle.

  "How about if I do that for you?"

  "I can manage."

  "Don't cut yourself."

  She scowled. "I'm perfectly capable…" The bottle slipped as she tried to twist the corkscrew into the cork. "Ack."

  He swiped the bottle out of her hands and made quick work of the cork. "Don't drink much wine?"

  Pilar took the bottle he offered, open and ready to be poured. "No. I don't drink much in general."

  "Except tequila," he reminded her with a chuckle. "Because it doesn't make you drunk."

  That got him a dirty look, quickly followed by a bratty grin. "You're just disappointed because it's not going to get you into my panties."

  Deuce let his gaze travel over her slowly, head to foot and back up again, noting that her nipples got hard as he stared. "I don't think I need liquor for that."

  She glanced down where he was looking and grinned. "Caught me. I guess I can't hide anything from you."

  He took the glass of wine she offered as he said, "Which reminds me. I found out something about you today, and it made me a little unhappy."

  A cloud passed over her face but she gave him a smile that was clearly forced. "Oh?"

  Grabbing her by the waist with one hand, he pulled her closer. "Yeah. Why didn't you tell me that your father's medical bills were a problem?"

  The muscles under his hand relaxed noticeably. Something was wrong besides the bills, but he didn't know what. "I didn't think it was any of your business, quite frankly."

  "I can help."

  She pushed him away and turned to the oven, checking on the enchiladas as they baked. "I don't want your money."

  "Did I offer money?"

  "Men always offer money," she said. "I mean, I can take care of it."

  He watched her adorable rump and the swing of her bright pink skirt as she bent over the oven door. "I took care of it for you."

  Pilar straightened up quickly. "You what?"

  "I okayed the payment arrangements you made today. I'll talk to Dr. Stone and-"

  A flush rose up her chest and face as her brows lowered. "How dare you!"

  It was his turn to frown. "Hold on a minute, Pilar. You still have to pay the debt. I only got them to accept your payment offer."

  She plunked down her wine with a glassy tink. "You arrogant bastard. I can take care of myself and my family. We don't need your Anglo charity!"

  His temper rose. "Are you done being a bigot now?"

  "Bigo
t? Me? Are you loco?" Her fists were tight by her sides. It was obvious that she'd like to take a swing at him.

  "Pilar, get hold of yourself or our discussion is going to get messy."

  "I can't believe you interfered like this, Deuce. I didn't ask for your help, and I don't want it."

  Her slender shoulders were stiff under his hands as he pulled her close. "Just what do you want, chica?"

  She struggled against him and his cock stood at attention. "Let me go."

  He lowered his head until their lips were so close he could smell the intoxicating scent of wine on her breath. "Kiss me."

  She licked her lips, then caught herself and squirmed against him, trying to push him away. He let her wriggle there, feeling the heat of her body against his, her nipples hard against his chest, and the way her hands began to grasp at his shirt instead of press against his shoulders.

  "Diablo!" she whispered, moments before she hungrily kissed him.

  Their mouths melded, the kiss rough and forceful from both sides. When she bit his lower lip hard, he grabbed her butt and rubbed his groin hard against her firm belly.

  She reached between them and kneaded his erection, her movements rough and greedy.

  Deuce took a breast in hand and squeezed until she gasped, then found its hard nipple and pinched. "Two can play at that game, sugar."

  Unrelenting, she grasped him and ground herself against him in a frenzy of lust.

  He let go of her breast and tugged her skirt up until he could run his hand down her belly and into the front of her panties. Unerringly, his fingers slid into her folds and rubbed against her swollen clit. She was hot and wet, and his cock was throbbing. "Where's the bedroom?" he growled into her ear.

  "Now. Here," she said as her head tilted back on her neck so that he could lick and nibble at the column of her throat.

  The kitchen was so small, but the countertop was right behind her. He maneuvered her back against the Formica and pushed a few cooking implements into the sink where they clattered. She moaned deeply when he bit the join of her neck and shoulder firmly, and pulled him closer, licking his ear, making little guttural noises.