“Um...sorry, Frank. I have many things on my mind today. Tell me now, how’s our petition going?”
His face roughens up as he leans closer to me. “Most of the people in the town have signed it. Now we only have to make it official.”
I’m ready to say something when he stops me. “Heather, are you sure this is the right thing to do? The man hasn’t done anything to provoke us, and...and he just wants to open up his shop. Aren’t we a tad too rough with him?” he says.
Without losing any time, I reply to him: "He’s an ex-convict, Frank, one that isn’t ashamed to share this fact with a stranger like me. What will happen if he decides to go back to his old ways? I mean, God knows what he was jailed for. Domestic violence? Burglary? Drugs? What if the tattoo studio is just to mask his real business? This is a peaceful community- do we want to change it? So, no, Frank, it isn’t right, but there are thousands of towns in America. He can go somewhere else to open up his studio."
Frank nods to my sayings, agreeing to my logic. He has a wife and two kids. He can’t do otherwise.
At that moment, Mitch passes in front of my shop again. For a split second, he stops. He tilts his head, ready to turn and look inside my shop, but he doesn’t. He walks away in a hurry.
I’m blushing. I turn around so that Frank can’t see me. No matter what my heart feels - I need to stay strong and protect what I have worked for so hard.
***
MITCH
I’m working hard to get my tattoo studio finally ready. But the whole process takes too long. I needed to do some major and unexpected construction work to meet strict hygiene criteria for a tattoo studio. Though I did everything myself it was a big blow up to my budget. I am still trying to get the machines somewhere cheaper but so far no luck. This frustrates me because without them I cannot work and the longer I don’t work the longer I am without income and food to put on the table.
I don’t sleep well because of the money worry. I have invested so much into this place, yet I am no near to opening. And there still seems to be so much work to be done.
I’m thinking of painting the outside of this place too, but I need to watch my finances. This dream could only happen thanks to my uncle’s inheritance, God bless him. When I left the jail, I had nothing - just the desire to start a new, better life.
Generally, I’m excited about this whole thing. Excited and afraid at the same time. After the incident with Heather, I don’t know if my studio will be a success. I’m nearing the end of my budget and if things don’t get well in here fast, I might not even open for one day.
The good thing is that tattoo has been undemonized and now everyone has one on some part of their bodies. Even older ladies are using tattoos to express themselves nowadays. What’s concerning me is Heather telling everyone that I’m an ex-convict. I’m not sure the people of this town would walk into a shop owned by a criminal.
I sigh and look at the watch. It’s late in the afternoon so I decide it’s time to call it a day. There’s no point in staying any longer since there are not many things left to do. Come Monday, I’m opening the shop. I check everything one more time before closing and head outside. Heather, next door, is still inside her bakery, probably doing something annoying like she always does.
Passing outside, I stop for a second and glance inside her shop. I can see her figure stepping up and down in her kitchen. “It’s a shame,” I whisper to myself and continue on my way.
It’s a shame that she must be so narrow-minded. If she could stop and listen for a moment, then we probably would have hit it off already. She’s beautiful with her long, brown hair and her big, brown eyes. She’s stunning in a next-door kind of girl. But someone that doesn’t have in her mind to forgive and forget doesn’t belong to my life.
I shake my head and try to ignore the smell of warm cakes coming from her shop. I’m broke and haven’t been able to eat a proper meal for around a week now, but I’m sure that I’m getting there. Any day now, the cash will start flowing in.
I climb the staircase up to my apartment. The building is dark, but I don’t mind. I’m used to dark places by now. I arrive at the front door to my apartment when I see an envelope on the floor next to it. It has my name on with big, black letters.
MITCH GRAVES
I pick it up and bring it inside. The envelope is big and heavy. It must be something important, I think. I tear off the upper part and bring out all the papers and spread them on the small shabby kitchen table. I turn on the lights and start reading them.
The letters jump and dance on the crowded paper. “I... I can’t read this,” I mumble to myself.
And yet, I try again. It’s something that’s addressed to me. If it’s important, I’d like to reply back.
No use. I have to ask someone to read it for me. The only person that comes to my mind is Heather. But I know that she hates me. She would never help me. That, and I don’t want to give her another leverage to use against me. “If she finds out that I’m dyslexic, then she’ll have one more reason to have me kicked out of here in a jiffy,” I say to myself.
I cannot read. As much as I am ashamed of my condition, this is a pure fact. When you are going in and out of foster homes and prisons, no one gives a shit about you or your disadvantages. To them, you are just a fucking dumb ass - meant to stay that way all your worthless life.
But moaning about the past isn’t going to do any good here. I need to find out what these papers say. It could be some official document requiring some action from me. I don’t want to risk getting into trouble just because my pride doesn’t allow me to seek the help.
“Man up, Mitch. She’s not the heartless bitch you’ve made her be. She’ll help you, I’m sure,” I say and stand up to head downstairs.
All the lights in her bakery are still turned on but the door is locked. What is she doing there so late?
She sees me from inside but doesn’t make a move to come and open - hostile as ever. I wave my hand awkwardly and show her the lock. Finally, she decides to let me in.
One short click later, I’m standing next to her under the doorframe. She doesn’t seem happy.
“What do you want?” she asks me as soon as I’m in. I already regret my decision to come here. I could’ve waited til morning and ask someone in the library.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you this late, Heather. I just wanted to ask you a favor,” I say to her. She doesn’t reply, so I take up the chance to continue. “Would you mind reading these papers for me? I... I’m not good with letters.”
For a moment, her face freezes. Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything to her. “What do you mean? Are you dyslexic?” she asks me.
This time, I don’t reply. I just push the envelope on the counter next to her. “Can you do this one favor for me? I promise I won’t bother you again.”
She lowered her head without even looking at the letter. “I know what these papers say, Mitch.”
Once again, I’m surprised by how this woman knows without even having to ask me. “People in this town can’t keep their hands to themselves, huh? God, and I’m the criminal around here,” I say.
Heather stretches her hand and pushes the envelope in my way. “I’m sorry, Mitch, but this is a petition from the citizens of this town for you not to open the tattoo studio and leave as soon as possible. We have gathered quite a lot of signs for this purpose, so you can say you’re not wanted in this town anymore.”
The meaning of the words hit me like a hard punch. “Am I kicked out from the town?” I mumble.
Heather doesn’t even reply.
Chapter 4
HEATHER
His eyes darken the moment I tell him what’s going on. I didn’t mean to sound harsh, but this is how things are. Mitch is an ex-convict, a dangerous man. He might be good-looking, with those bulging muscles and beautiful eyes, and I might miss seeing him run up and down the street, but this has nothing to do with me.
I have to think about
my business. This is my life we’re discussing here. I’m sure he’ll understand if I explain it to him.
“Look, I know this is hard, but really, it isn’t about you.”
His face twists at the sound of my voice. “It isn’t? Are you sure you have any idea what you are talking about? Because I’m fucking sure that all that’s happened since I’ve got here, it’s about me. Me and my past.”
Mitch wasn’t moving but the tension of his body was making him seem larger, dangerous. My hair prickles as I see a vein on the side of his neck pumping. What in the hell am I doing? I have to run away; I have to hide.
But, when did common sense last work with me?
“You have to admit that going around shouting at people about being in jail wasn’t quite a tactic. Or opening a tattoo studio in a small town. People are here to get away from all these things, to shed the big city away from their lives. Think what the children are going to think.”
“I don’t give a fuck what a bunch of teenagers is thinking. I only came here because that’s the only place I’ve got since I came out of jail. Do you think I would visit this shithole of a place if it wasn’t for the apartment and the shop downstairs?”
Mitch sighs as he takes a step back. His hands are trembling; I can see them as they pass over his head, wiping his short hair back. My chest is feeling heavy. I know I’ve done the right thing, I know it.
So why does it feel like I’m in the wrong here?
“Look, at least you didn’t open the shop yet. You can take your things and start over in another town. If you don’t bring up anything about your past, then I’m sure they won’t mind welcoming you somewhere else.”
At that moment, I realize my fingers are aching; I look down and see them clutching in the edge of the counter, my knuckles white from the effort.
“Why did you mind, then? Why didn’t you give me a chance to prove I’m not the criminal you all make me be? What has you thinking that if I leave this place, I’ll have better luck somewhere else?”
He hunches over the other end of the counter, devastated by the news. I’ve never seen a man react so bad about a shortcoming in his life, especially a life-hardened one like Mitch. I step closer to him, my heart beating fast. What are you doing? He is emotional. What if he thinks you’re the one to blame?
I stop in my tracks and come up with an answer from the distance. “I told you, Mitch. It has nothing to do with you. I had to protect my business. Can you imagine a tattoo studio opening next to a small-town bakery? I certainly can’t. People in these parts don’t forgive or forget easy. When something is out of the bag, then it’s almost impossible to make it go back. But, if--” Suddenly, he straightens his back and with two firm strides comes to my side. “What are you doing?” I scream and raise my hands in my defense.
He grabs them and starts shaking me violently. “You have no fucking idea what I had to go through to end up here, Heather! NO FUCKING IDEA!”
My eyes get wet from fear. I shouldn’t have provoked him. “I’m sorry...I’m sorry. I... did not...God, I’m sorry.” My cries seem to put him to a stop.
He doesn’t release me from his grip, though. “I’m not a murderer, Heather. I’m a man in tattoos, an ex-convict that can’t read. All I have had in my life was my bad-boy behavior and my art, but it isn’t worth it anymore, not when it brings beautiful women like you to tears.”
Then, he kisses me.
All the rage from the previous couple of weeks, all the accumulated anger, explodes into a loud cry of agony. I shut my eyes again; I shut them and hold my breath.
I try to move my hand close to his face and I realize that he doesn’t resist. He’s still holding my wrists tightly, but he doesn’t stop me from moving. I cover the distance between us in moments. When I touch his stubble beard, Mitch snaps like he was in a dream.
But he doesn’t do a thing; Mitch is just staring at me with the eyes of a man that has been through hell and back. I’m scared of those eyes. Then why do I want to protect them? Why do I want to see them glistening in happiness?
I stare him deep in the eyes. His glance is sensual, a flame that’s drawing me closer, making me a moth ready to burn. I’m hanging on his words, my body void of a will of its own. If he wants to kill me, then now it’s the time.
***
MITCH
How did we end up here? I’ve been thinking of kissing her since I first saw her. I was wondering how her lips would taste. Vanilla and chocolate, I think. But that’s the least of my worries right now. Amidst my pain, I’ve done the worst thing I could think of; kissing Heather inside her shop.
We connect and our tongues start dancing in our mouths. For some reason, she doesn’t pull back. Instead, she responds to my kiss and we start making out. I feel her hot breath caressing the skin of my face, something I haven’t felt in a long time. Her lips are trying to dominate over mine, but I don’t allow for even a tinge of control. She’s mine now to teach her that ex-convicts are not as she imagines them to be.
All that sensation makes my dick grow harder in my pants. I’m sure that if she lowered her head now, she could see the struggling hard-on between my legs. Luckily, it’s late in the evening and the shop is empty. That and the people of this town don’t make late night visits to their local bakery.
However, I don’t feel comfortable having a massive window behind me while doing this.
We stop kissing; Heather is panting. She’s hungry for some air. “What in the world was that?” she whispers.
I don’t intend to reply to her. I have bigger plans for my mouth right now. I bend and cross my hands around her beautiful ass. With a quick push, I lift her on my arms.
“Put me down! Mitch, put me down!” she’s yelling, but I don’t listen to her.
I open the door to the kitchen with my back and get inside. I put her on a preparation counter. Heather is still in awe but not resisting. I cup her breast in my huge hand. My touch is rough at the beginning, but that’s because I haven’t been with a woman in a very long time. But quickly I adjust to a gentler caressing.
“I’m not a bad person, Heather,” I say as I lean closer to her lady parts.
“Mitch! Please stop. Please, I don’t--,” she sighs, but she knows one thing better than I do.
I’m not holding her back; she can leave if she really wants to. Instead, she chooses to stay.
I unbuckle her belt and pull down her pair of jeans easily. She’s in her underwear now, pulling me closer to her. I bend my head between her thighs and start wetting her panties.
She doesn’t talk anymore; only moans are coming out of her mouth.
I don’t stop teasing her; instead, I pull her panties to the side and creep my tongue in her labia. She's hot and wet. Heather has lied back now and is eagerly opening her legs for my tongue. She doesn’t want me to stop; she’s pushing her pelvis up and down. She does it rhythmically, fast.
I’m working my way to her clit. “Oh God! Yeah. Oh my...” she keeps saying, panting. I use both my hands to pull her even closer and penetrate my tongue in her vagina. It’s still tight, so I decide to use my fingers.
All the muscles of her body tense; her pussy, clutching my finger, is more reactive than the rest of her body.
“Please...faster,” she begs me, “please oh...oooh!”
Her vagina starts dripping as her orgasm shakes her world. I continue sucking her labia and clit as she’s coming, wiping her clean. My dick is hard and I don’t think I can resist any longer.
I stand up and reach to my back pocket for my wallet. I find a condom and quickly tear it open. Heather hears the sound and lifts her head to see what I’m doing. She’s still dumbstruck from everything that has happened since we started kissing. However, she doesn’t stop me from continuing.
I pull down my pants and underwear, remove my t-shirt and put on the condom. Then, I enfold her ass with my hand and lift her in the air again. This time, though, I carry her to the other side of the kitchen, against a wall next
to a big sack of flour. I lower her into my throbbing cock, red from anticipation. She gladly receives me.
“Damn it,” I hiss as the walls of her vagina rub my skin. “Things could have been so different between us,” I mumble, mostly to myself.
She doesn’t reply to me. She has closed her eyes, moaning, pumping on my cock like crazy. At a moment, Heather spreads her arms. In her right, there’s some metal tool I have no fucking idea what it's for. She tosses it on the floor and that, in its stead, drops the sack of flour.
The air suddenly fills with dust.
“Harder,” I hear her say.
I reply to her command with a hard thrust that makes her lose her breath. I continue for few minutes like that until I begin to lose control.
Big Bad Billionaires [Volume 2] Page 26
