Single Dad Boss: A Small Town Romance

by Kara Hart

  I put my pistol away and decide I need another beer before I put all the furniture back to normal. I grab the handle to the fridge, but stop short of opening it when I see a note hanging by a magnet. “What the…”

  It’s typed up and basic: “I know about Afghanistan.” That’s all it says. I swallow hard and open the fridge, trying to ignore it. All I want is a damn beer and to think about flipping Lena over on her back in my bed, and now my night’s ruined.

  I slam the fridge door angrily and turn around, fuming. It’s not long before I slam my fist against it, until it’s good and dented. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I scream. My knuckles are a bloody mess now. I fall to the floor and lean my back against the broken fridge door.

  It never gets easier. My demons follow me wherever I go, like ghosts. I know about Afghanistan. The words were trouble. It implied that soon everyone else would know.

  Soon, I’d be front-page news.

  102

  Lena

  I’m just browsing the selection, I told myself. It’s not much different from shopping for new clothes or finding that perfect necklace, one that matches your dress and your shoes. That’s why I’m here at my sister’s bar alone. I’m just browsing.

  Deep down, I know I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t go to bars alone to browse or to talk with men. I stay at home and write. I think of how my piece will need to sound or about how I need to change the motive of the story. I sure as hell don’t fall for men. Even Elijah, as good as it was in the beginning, was just superfluous junk.

  Then why am I here? The other night got to me. Thinking about him, pressed below me, head tucked under my dress and tongue inside me, got me feeling crazy. Like, totally insane, teenage-crush type crazy. I’m sitting at the bar, drinking a plain gin and tonic, staring at the door. I’m waiting to see those dog tags and that wide, muscular chest push through the door. Hoping, really.

  And when he finally does, I nearly fall off my chair. I look away and my hair falls in my eye, effectively shielding my vision from him. “Two whisky sodas,” he says. The bartender pours two drinks and hands them to him. He slides on of them across the bar toward me and I feel my heart nearly pound out of my chest.

  “What’s your name, doll?” he asks. He’s dressed in a tight, heather grey shirt and it’s wrapped tightly around his biceps and abs. I glance at them and feel my skin prickle as my inner thighs grow warm.

  I swallow hard and decide to play along. “I’m Lexi,” I say, smiling. This is so cheesy, I can barely contain my laughter. Instead, my eyes trail down to the hard bulge in his jeans. I gulp loudly and feel my cheeks grow red.

  “Lexi. I’m Jordan. What’s a beautiful woman like you doing in a shit-hole bar like this?” He scoots closer to me. The bartender, pissed someone would call The Cat’s Bag a shit-hole, shakes his head and cleans a glass.

  I’m wearing a black skirt with matching garter belt I bought years ago from Victoria’s Secret. Elijah never once complimented me on it, but it made me feel sexy and that’s all that matters.

  I smile and bite my bottom lip. “My husband’s on duty. He’s a cop,” I say. “He’s been… well, he’s been neglecting me lately. I thought I’d get out of the house for a while and relax.” I uncross my legs. I can’t believe I’m even doing this right now. My heart is hammering.

  “He doesn’t like it when you leave the house. Does he? He wants you locked up. He’s possessive, isn’t he?” His muscles are calling to me, practically begging me to touch them. I turn to my drink and take another sip, feeling the whisky burn my throat.

  “He’s not possessive enough,” I say.

  “You like it when men are possessive?” he asks, eyes on my tits. I’m wearing a low-cut, white top and I know he can barely resist looking at it.

  “I like it when men take control,” I correct him. “Do you like to take control, Jordan?” I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth and watch as endorphins flood his body. He needs me. I know it. I wonder how hard he is right now. I’m wondering how much he wants to whip his hard cock out of his pants and take me against the pool table. Just the thought of him doing that gets me wet.

  The whole time he’s staring, I know I should just pay my tab and head home. I know it’s not a good idea to mess around with a SEAL. They’re practically trained killers, for Christ’s sake. But then I hear Julie’s voice in my head saying “Don’t be such a square, Lena.” And I can’t help but feel like she’s right. All my life I’ve made my own choices, mostly at the expense of myself. I’ve always been the responsible one. So, for now, I want to try being irresponsible. I want to have some fun.

  “What else do you like?” he asks me. I quickly realize that this little game of ours has gone one step forward.

  “Don’t you want to find out?” I ask him, feeling my legs start to prickle with goose bumps. The excitement wells up inside of me. That body of his, my god. The way he held onto my hips on the hill the other night. Fuck it, the way he ate my pussy and stroked his cock until he burst. It was so fucking dirty. It was so wrong!

  “I think I need to find out.” He smiles at me and looks down at my skirt.

  “Do you like my skirt?” I ask as his eyes stop.

  He doesn’t even hesitate. He knows exactly what he wants and if I let him, he’s going take every bit of it. That’s how hungry he is. “Go ahead,” I say, “Touch the fabric. It’s Italian fibers.” I have no idea if that’s true or if Italian fibers are still some of the best in the world, but I can tell the invitation turns him on.

  He reaches out slowly and places his hand on the upper part of my thigh, right where my skirt hits my patterned pantyhose. “It’s so soft,” he moans. The word soft sends shivers down my spine and I bet it makes him ache. I imagine just how hard his cock really is right now. I couldn’t get a glimpse in the darkness the other night. How would it feel as it slid past my soft lips?

  Don’t you stop talking. Don’t you dare stop talking! My thoughts are too fast for me to keep up with. “Don’t you want to know what I like?” he asks me, feeling up the top of my skirt.

  “I don’t give a shit what you like.” I gulp. My body is near shivering. Of course I give a shit what he likes. It’s all I’m wondering right now. I just want him to say the right words. I want him to know what pushes my buttons.

  That’s when he says exactly what I want to hear: “Then I’ll have to show you what I like.” He grabs my hand roughly and pulls me past the pool tables and old pinball machines. In the back, there’s a door that reads “Employees Only.” A row of booths and tables is placed right next to the door and a few bar patrons look up as he hurriedly opens the door and pushes me in.

  He closes the door and suddenly, we’re in a small, dark room. The sound of our breathing falls loud and flat and outside are the noises from the bar. “I’m going to show you what I like,” he says.

  “Do I really want to know? I just met you.” I say with enough fear in my voice to make it actually believable. Of course I want to know. I want to know every bit of what he likes. I want him to show me, to take me to his world and ravage me.

  “No more games,” he says. “I’m going to make you quiver.” It’s dark and I can’t see a thing, but he guides my hand down until it touches his meaty cock, and I don’t have to use my eyes to feel just how huge he really is.

  “No more games…” I whisper back. Within a split second, he has me pinned against the wall and I can feel the vibration from the jukebox outside.

  He smells so fucking good, like vintage whisky, wood, and cologne I’ve never smelled before. His scent is everything a man should carry, but most hardly ever do. When I breathe him in, I’m dizzy with excitement and total lust.

  I feel his lips hovering over mine and I breathe out lightly, waiting for him to kiss me. But he pulls back instead, teasing me. Instead, he kisses at the curve of my neck, sucking lightly. He scrapes his teeth on my shoulder and pulls down my shirt. He cups my tits as they fall out and I’m against the wall, tot
ally his.

  He kisses my cheek and unbuttons my skirt. “I want you naked and pure,” he whispers. His cock is in my hand and I’m stroking it slow and light. Finally, he takes off my clothes and runs his hand across the pattern of my garter.

  “Spit on it,” he says. “Spit all over it.”

  I can only see his eyes and they’re as dark as night. Everything is telling me to leave, yet my body is saying, stay here. Stay here forever.

  “But there are people right outside,” I protest.

  “Good. Let them hear us,” I can just barely see his smile, the white gleam of his teeth, as he spits down on his hand and rubs it against his shaft. “Your turn.”

  I’m so fucking turned on. I rip off my garter and drip my spit all over his cock, until I feel it grow to an even bigger size. He’s massive. Like, way too big for me. I start to shake when he trails his hand down to the small of my back, all the way to the bottom of my ass. With two fingers, he opens me up and starts massaging me in a circular motion.

  My high-pitched breath envelops the room and I begin stroking his cock faster now. He pushes forward, lightly thrusting into my hand, as his lips finally meet mine. He whispers “You’re wet.”

  His right hand is on my cunt, and he’s moving my wetness over my clit. I can barely hang on. Never in my life have I had a man like this before. I’ve always been so conventional. Now I’m in a fucking bar closet, stroking some stranger’s cock. Okay, he’s not exactly a stranger. But I don’t know much about him.

  “Stop,” I say. “I’m going to cum already. Stop.” I’m moaning, practically purring against him. His lips press hard against mine, sucking back lightly as our tongues twist and turn against one another.

  “Good. I want to make you cum over and over again. There’s nothing I want more from you,” he moans, and it’s possibly the hottest thing a man has ever said to me.

  He inserts his ring and middle finger inside of me and curls his thumb against my clit. He hits it, my button, and puts all his pressure against it. He circles his thumb and sucks on my tongue, making the small hairs on the back of my neck shoot up with electricity. My ass prickles with goose bumps.

  I nearly fall forward when it hits me. His tongue is deep in my mouth, but he pulls back and bites my lip. “Cum.” He moans deep and runs his hands through my hair, pulling lightly.

  “Do it for me,” he says. I’m stroking his cock fast now, but I have to slow down as I reach a precipice. Something clicks and it’s like every muscle inside of me starts to spasm, stopping me short of existing.

  “Yes,” I’m moaning. “I’m cumming.” I can barely get out the words. My eyes grow hazy and my mouth opens wide, sucking in air. Colt falls to his knees and laps at me, sucking on my clit and fingering against my g-spot. He knows exactly how to please me, what makes me tick. Within seconds, I am falling against his face and gyrating on his tongue. “Yes!” I scream. I don’t care who can hear me now. I’ve found the entrance to the kingdom of heaven and it’s through Colt’s mouth.

  He’s stroking his cock wildly now and he’s not letting up on me. I slowly fall down the wall and feel my ass hit the cold cement floor. Colt follows me down, my pussy still in his mouth and his back muscles shine against a sliver of slight from a crack in the door. “Cum for me,” I whisper between rapid breaths.

  He lifts his head from my core and strokes his growing cock. I can tell he’s about to explode by the way he’s looking at me. He’s glancing wildly over every part of my body, trying to experience it all before he comes. He can barely see me, but that’s part of the excitement.

  It’s coming. I can sense it. He makes a groan, almost like he’s trying to shake off something big, and he lifts his cock against my lips. “I’m fucking cumming, baby,” he moans loudly. “Oh, fuck!”

  He shoots his load on my pussy lips, pelvis, and my navel. It comes out in pumps, and he groans like an animal. I look down and my whole lower half is covered. He dips his finger and wipes the cum away and says with that deep voice of his “Lick it clean.”

  I don’t say a word, but I open my mouth wide and taste him. My lips wrap around his fingers and they slide out clean. I swallow and hear him say “I want to feast on you.”

  He’s back on all fours, lifting my legs around his face. And he’s licking and sucking with more veracity than ever. “Holy shit!” I moan, trying not to cum so fast. It’s nearly impossible with his three fingers inside me, and his tongue massaging against my clit.

  “I can taste us both,” he moans. Just as the words come out, I feel my legs tremble against him. He runs his free hand up my thigh and to my breast, rubbing around my nipple lightly. “I want to taste more of you.” His mouth is full of me and I can’t take it any longer. There’s a pressure inside of me that won’t let up. It’s like a wall and it’s surely about to break.

  The pressure pulses against my clit and he swipes his tongue against it and sucks, releases, and then does it again. I grow numb and then everything explodes. I’m writhing against him and the floor, throwing my head back. I’m holding onto a metal table in the corner and cleaning supplies fall all around us. I’m cumming way too hard and much too fast to care about any of it.

  I fall back against the cold cement, floating in pure ecstasy, and he wipes himself clean and puts on his clothing. “Thanks, darling,” he says. I can hear the jingle of his dog-tags as he fumbles his shirt back on. “You should call me sometime. We can go on that date we talked about.” He gives me a ripped piece of paper with his number and address on it. He opens the door slightly and leaves me, shaking and glistening. My hair is a wreck and I probably look like an insane person now.

  Did he really just leave me here? I can barely get a grasp on what just happened. I can’t tell if I’m pissed at him or thankful. That was probably the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me. The way he demands what he wants. The way he serves me…

  I gather my things and put on my clothes, stuffing my lingerie in my bag. When I exit the room, no one seems to notice, thank God, and I quickly walk out of the bar. I look at the paper he gave me and examine the street he lives on: “Sugar Pine Ave.” Well, it’s not really a street at all. It’s far in the woods. I didn’t think anyone lived out there.

  I shrug and take a deep breath. Who are you, Colt? I call Julie and hear her tired voice. It’s nearly two A.M. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she asks me.

  “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all.” I burst out laughing. “I’m, uh, going to need a ride. Oh, and better bring a towel and a change of clothes too.”

  103

  Colt

  I still can't get the taste of her out of my mouth. Hell, like I'd ever want to. If I could, I'd eat that pussy off a plate seven days a week. The way I left her might have been a little abrupt, but I think I was a good enough host that she'd forgive me.

  All day long I lay in bed, fantasizing about her thick legs. They were as smooth as silk, as elegant as marble. Damn, she was a goddess and she didn't even know it. Maybe it was good to leave the woods after all. I couldn't stop smelling my shirt. Her scent lingered like a ghost. I smelled like hibiscus, sex, and coconut. Fragrant and wild.

  I kept checking my phone almost every hour. Nothing. Well, Bowen has been texting me the usual memes and funny videos, but I stopped responding hours ago. I guess that's something.

  Shit. What am I doing wasting my time over this woman? It's going to be like the last time. You pour your heart into something only to find it ripped out and thrown in the dirt. She'd see my leg or find out about my past and judge the shit out of me. When the going gets tough, she’ll leave me in a second. I do my best to shake off the thought of her sweet stomach and full tits, and head out to the backyard to get some hiking on. That always did the trick. Nature doesn’t judge like humans do. Instead, it welcomed you with open arms.

  I climb the massive hill in my backyard until I get to the top. Sweat pours down my body, my shirt clinging to my chest, and I know I'm only halfway through the t
rail, but I'm moving quick.

  Thoughts move through my mind, through open doors and closed off barracks. Suddenly, I'm back in the sand. The sun beats against my face, adding insult to the 113 degree temperature in the desert. I'm not only getting obliterated by the heat and terrain, I'm also getting fired at by fifty civilians. God damn.

  They don't know why we’re here. All they know is that they've been waiting for a chance to prove themselves to their village. Today is their day to eradicate the western invaders. Here I am, poised with this dilemma. I don't have an ounce of hate for them in my heart. I get it. They're just like me. So when I fire back, it's with a heavy heart. I’m just trying to stay alive.

  The look on Bowen’s face is exactly how I feel. How the fuck can I get out of this alive, without harming anyone? This is what we were trained for. You'd think it would be easy but it's not. It's the most difficult situation of our lives.

  Another SEAL, Loke, is screaming bloody murder. He thinks this is a video game. He's been staring at his television screen since he was a young boy and that was all the training he ever needed. Now, lives are at stake. A woman cries against the wall. Smoke and rubble everywhere. A drone flies overhead and drops a bomb. All goes white.

  I'm at the top of the mountain, looking down on the cabin I built for myself. I went from the desert to the woods for a reason. Up here I can find peace. In nature, I can block it all out and just breathe. I sit down and close my eyes, feeling the nice breeze wrap around my face.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, effectively snapping me out of my meditation. I click it open and see a text:

  It’s Lena. Can I come over?

  A smile breaks out onto my face as I type my response.

  You can come for me anytime you want, pretty lady.

  I see those three dots pop up, telling me she's typing back. My heart is actually moving faster than normal. My stomach tightens and I feel a certain level of pleasure just from the small fact that she's texting me. What the hell is wrong with me? When did I become such a wuss? Hell, she just makes me feel… Well, she makes me feel. She makes me want to get out of the house. Shit, I haven't even fired my guns in over three days. I am a wuss. She texts back.