by Nicole Fox
“Ready for breakfast?” she asked, her smile wide and cheery. “We can go to John's, that little place next town over?”
I shook my head and blinked my eyes. “Micah, I ain't got that kind of cash. Why do you think I wanna try and knock over Daddy Williams?”
She laughed, throwing her head back. “Don't worry, the neighbors are paying. I told them we're newlyweds and you left your wallet back at the chapel. They gave us enough cash to pay for gas to get there.”
I laughed and shook my head again, this time in complete disbelief. “You conned that poor couple out of money?”
“Geez, Ford,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “It's not like I stole a hundred bucks or something from them. Just a fifty. No big deal.”
I sighed. “Fine, lemme just get some pants on, okay? Then we'll get some food and figure out how we're going to get your friend out.”
A few minutes later, we were out the door. We waved goodbye from the car to the nice couple who'd unknowingly fed us breakfast, then pulled out and headed to John's in the next town over. There, we got inside and grabbed a booth near the back. Hopefully we'd be able to lay low here, and not have any of the usual suspects spot us.
Unfortunately, I hadn't really figured on Micah's way of drawing attention to herself. She could just sit there and eat her pancakes and draw a fucking crowd. I was used to going out to eat by myself, where everyone was too terrified to make eye contact with me, lest I beat them into the ground for their having disturbed me.
It wasn't the case, of course. I'd never do that. But I certainly wouldn't have flashed them that star-powered smile of Micah's, that was for damn sure.
As we sat there sipping on our coffee and orange juice, waiting on our sausage, eggs, and pancakes, a man in his early forties came over to our table, his eyes practically fastened to Micah. He'd been staring the whole time, and I was worried he might have recognized her, or me, from some place less than savory.
“Excuse me, miss?” he asked as he approached, his baseball cap held in front of him with both hands. “Would you happen to have been in the film After the Day?”
Micah laughed and shook her head, those beautiful lips of hers parting just slightly so you could see her perfect, pearly whites. “No, I'm sorry, I wasn't.”
“Well, shucks,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Guess I lost that bet with the wife. You know, you really should think of acting. You've really got the face for it.”
She blushed a little and looked away with a little false modesty. “Well, thank you for the compliment! It's always been a dream of mine to be an actress, and it's always nice to hear encouragement from strangers. I sure appreciate it.”
“Well, I'm sure you'll make it big, miss,” he gushed. “You really are just a striking woman.”
She shrugged and smiled. “Thank you again,” she said, before he turned around and went to rejoin his wife at their table.
“Told you she wasn't famous,” I heard the wife say.
“Swear she looked like that woman, Matilda. Swear it!”
“Get that a lot?” I asked as the waiter delivered our food. I noticed Micah had an extra pancake, free of charge, on her stack.
“Get what a lot?” she asked as she put butter on her pancakes, a little slice in between each perfectly round cake.
“Don't play stupid,” I replied as I began putting butter on my own. “You know what I mean.”
“What? People coming up to me like that?”
“Yeah.”
“Kind of,” she said, getting to the maple syrup first and drizzling it all over the cakes. “It is my dream, though.”
“What? To be an actress?”
“Of course,” she said, cutting a piece of pancake from the big stack and stabbing it delicately with the tines of her fork. “Who wouldn't want to star in films? Get to travel all over the world, go to fancy parties?”
“Well, I couldn't ever do it. Doesn't feel like real work to me.”
“What do you mean it isn't real work?” she asked with a smile. “Actors and actresses get up earlier than my grandpa used to, and he was a farmer. Most films start going at five, maybe six in the morning, and you work till eight or nine most nights. Sometimes later, with barely a day off during the shoot. What about that doesn't sound like work?”
I laughed. “Well, you're not sweating or having to do anything strenuous.”
“You saying lawyers aren't working? Or doctors? They work hard, don't they?”
“Fine, fine,” I said, still laughing. “Guess you made your point. It's real work, all right?”
She stabbed another piece of pancake with her fork, but paused with it halfway to her mouth. “Ford,” she said, the bit of pancake hovering in the air just in front of her suddenly serious face for a moment before she set it back down on the plate, “I grew up in the middle of nowhere, born to a bunch of nobodies. And now I'm here, and I almost ended up doing what I ended up doing, you know? If I don't dream, if I don't try for it, what's the point? Want me to marry some banker, then worry about how I could've been a star when I'm on my deathbed?”
I smiled and nodded. I understood. I'd taken my shot and tried to be a fighter. It just didn't happen for me, though. I didn't have the draw for the crowds, or the star power. Not like this beauty did. Micah could walk into a dump like this and shake it to its foundations just by glancing around and giving everyone one of her perfect smiles.
“You know what?” I asked, a slow grin growing on my face. “You're right. I think you could do it, too.”
“You think so?” she asked, her mood changing like it was going from night to day. She beamed at me.
“Yep, I really do.”
She got up from her side of the booth and came around next to me. “Scooch,” she said, bumping me with her shapely hip.
I laughed and slid over while she repositioned her breakfast plates in front of the new spot. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed this much, or the last time I'd been able to forget all my problems. It had taken a near-prostitute to get me shaken from my funk, but she'd done it.
She picked up her fork with her left hand and began to eat, then put her right on my thigh.
“What're you—”
“Shhhhh,” she said, smiling and turning to me. “Just enjoy it.” She had my zipper down and my length fished out of my boxer briefs in no time, her agile, soft fingers dancing up and down my cock.
I looked around frantically. I was into some rough stuff, kinky, even, but in public like this? Admittedly, something about it was incredibly erotic, like getting a blowjob or a handy while driving down the road. But this was a restaurant! “You can't—”
She silenced me with her thumb, swirling it around my head.
Pleasure lanced through my body, and I groaned low as she kept up the action.
“I like sausage with my breakfast,” she idly said, her voice low and daring, that little smirk still on her lips.
My breath came faster as she worked her hand up and down my now turgid member, her grasp firm but smooth, and most importantly, soft.
“You like that, don't you?” she murmured in between bites. “Having some naughty woman playing with you beneath the table where anyone might see?”
I nodded silently, only a groan escaping my throat.
“You don't have to hold back, Ford,” she whispered, her eyebrows waggling up and down, the tip of her tongue snaking out and licking her lips. “I love feeling your hard meat sliding in my hand. It's like holding a piece of fire when you're all into it.”
The cum was building in my sack; I could feel it. The way her hand, slick from my precum, felt was just fucking wonderful, magical, even. I moved my hips a little, the booth bench creaking with each subtle thrust from my hips. I braced myself on the table with both hands, my breath coming faster and faster. “I'm close,” I growled under my voice.
“Then cum for me, handsome,” she said, her lips turned up at the corner, her eyes laughing darkly, but still filled wit
h so much lust. “I wanna get you ready to bend me over as soon as we're back at the hotel. I want you to last forever while you're slamming that cock into me from behind.”
That was it. That was exactly what I needed. I groaned low, grunting as I clamped my eyes shut and thrust hard into her fist. Pleasure seemed to blossom in me, filling my whole body with warmth as I came in her hand.
I could feel all eyes in the restaurant on me as I panted, my cum flowing over her hand and down my cock, even though I knew no one was paying me any attention.
“You liked that, didn't you?” she purred just before leaning forward and taking another bite of pancake.
This woman was a little fucking hellion! I'd never had anything that hot or unexpected happen to me, and I'd been around the block more than a few times. I nodded, still breathless, and gathered some napkins from the dispenser. She took her hand from me as I reached below and began to clean myself up with the napkins.
“Hey, Ford,” she whispered, getting my attention. “Can you hand me a napkin, too?”
I smiled a little. “Clean it up yourself.”
She smiled wickedly, biting her lower lip as she shook her head a little.
“Go ahead,” I whispered. “You all of a sudden some kind of prim little princess? Do it.”
She brought a finger up, giving me a little wink. She closed her lips around it and shut her eyes as she sucked me from it with a little moan. She showed me her newly cleaned, now wet digit. “Can I have a napkin, now?” she asked with a giggle.
“Good girl,” I said, handing her one.
Yep. She was a hellion, all right. I realized I was getting hard again already, thoughts of her naked body bent over the little table in my room, of her riding me hard, my hands crushing those beautiful breasts, of us holding each other tight afterward, whispering our dreams and secrets from our past to each other.
Wait. What was that last part?
Shit.
I couldn't give her back to Daddy Williams now, could I?
We finished our breakfast with her pressed against my side and my arm around her shoulder.
Sure, I could, I figured. Why not? It had been her choice that had gotten her into this in the first place, right?
Chapter Nine
Micah
We'd finished paying and were headed out the front door of the diner. I could still taste Ford, from when I'd licked him from my finger, and I was still mortified at what I'd done. I was more or less a proper woman, wasn't I?
Of course, if that had been the case, I probably wouldn't have been giving Ford a handjob beneath the diner table. I smirked to myself as he came around to unlock my door.
“What's so funny?” he asked as he opened the old Pontiac's passenger side for me.
“Us,” I said.
He barked a little shot of laughter and closed the door. He started to go around to the driver’s side, but I heard his feet shift as he stopped in the gravel of the parking lot. He stayed back there for a long moment, long enough for me to get worried.
I rolled down the window and stuck my head out. “What's wrong, Ford? Why aren't you in the car yet?”
“Get back in the car,” he snapped.
“I'm already in!”
“Then fucking stay there!”
Gravel and rocks crunched beneath wheels as another car pulled into the parking lot.
Stay in here? Heck, no. I wanted to see what the hell was going on! I climbed out of Ford's car and looked around.
A Lincoln Town Car was creeping up on us, slowing to a stop nearby. That was the same kind of car some of Daddy's men drove when they were taking us girls out to meet our dates. Ford was still at the rear of the Pontiac, his eyes set on it like a dog watching his owner's property, his teeth slightly bared in aggression.
A sinking feeling took over my stomach, and I immediately regretted eating all those pancakes and syrup. “Ford?” I asked, taking an unsure step towards him.
“Back in the goddamn car, Micah,” he said slowly, his voice deliberate and not to be misunderstood, without even turning my direction. “Now.”
I didn't listen. Instead, I just turned and watched as two men got out of the Town Car, one from the passenger’s side, and one from the driver’s. They both wore black suits and black glasses like Mike, Daddy's personal bodyguard.
The one on the left, the passenger’s side one, was older than Mike. He looked to be pushing his mid-40s, white, with a receding hair line, and a smoothly shaved face. Despite his age, though, he looked like he kept in shape, lifting weights at least a few times a week. The driver was a shorter Hispanic guy, with slicked back black hair, darkly complected olive skin, and a goatee and mustache. He was more muscular than the other guy, so much he looked like he might have to turn sideways to get through John's Cafe's front door.
I didn't recognize either of them, but that was probably because they worked the front of the Mansion. The guys weren't allowed back in our dorm areas, for the most part.
“Help you with something?” Ford asked as the one on the passenger’s side turned his attention to me.
“Drove by just now,” the one on the passenger’s side said, taking his sunglasses off and carefully folding them up, putting them in his breast pocket. “Glanced over, and 'lo and behold, thought we saw something we'd been looking for all night. Figured we'd pull in here and look to see if we right.”
“Stack of pancakes?” Ford deadpanned.
Laughing, the guys turned to each other. “This guy's a funny man,” the passenger said.
“You should catch my improv nights,” Ford replied.
Driver closed his door and came up, standing next to the Town Car's fender, edging closer to Ford. “Give us the girl and we'll forget all about this, buddy. Make it easy on yourself.”
“Yeah, pal,” Passenger added. “You wanna make us do this the hard way? ’Cause you make us do that, we'll make it harder on her when we're done with you.”
My heart began to hammer in my chest at their words. Were they talking about beating me? About knocking me around before they gave me back to Daddy? Ford wouldn't let them do that, would he? Would he?
Ford's jaw set harder at the words, his lips pressed together as he squared up his shoulders.
“I ain't got my dick wet in weeks,” Driver confided. “And our boss has told us we get free rein if we bring her in.”
Oh, God, no! They were talking about rape! They were going to fuck me before they gave me back to that monster, and Daddy was going to allow it, even encourage it! I shook my head, my teeth almost chattering with my sudden case of the nerves. I took a step back, bumping into the Pontiac's open car door with my butt.
“So, do you and your lady friend, Micah, here, a favor and just give her up,” Passenger continued, shutting the door and hitching up his slacks.
“Why bother looking for her?” Ford asked, taking a step forward, towards them. His eyes were lit up, just like I remembered from that first night I'd seen him, when he almost set into the whole roadhouse.
“Why bother?” Passenger asked, laughing. “What do you mean, pal? Don't you get it? She's his.”
“Well, clearly she doesn't matter to him,” Ford said, taking another step in their direction.
“Doesn't matter?” Driver asked, turning back to his partner. “Look at this guy, Frank. You get a load of him? Thinks a piece of ass like her don't matter to the boss.”
I knew I should have run, just taken my chances bolting out of there. But I couldn't. No matter how much I commanded my feet to move, to just turn and run, they wouldn't listen. It was like I was planted in the gravelly concrete, a redheaded tree that could just look at the world and watch it pass her by.
“Well, if she did matter,” Ford said through nearly clenched teeth as he took another step towards Driver, who still had his side to him, “he wouldn't have sent the dickless wonders to pound pavement after her, would he?”
Passenger guffawed laughter just as Ford made his move. I'd nev
er seen anybody go like that, like a pouncing lion, or a sprinting cheetah. He covered the distance between him and Driver in two long, powerful strides, his fist reared back as he roared, “Would he?”
Driver spun back around, his face lining up perfectly with Ford's fist. His nose exploded in a spray of blood, his sunglasses shattering around the giant fist. He fell back to the asphalt, one shot from Ford being all it took.
Passenger was sprinting around the car by the time Ford had his fist pulled back. He took a couple wild swings at Ford, but my protector just bobbed and weaved, dodging them both. He stepped in and delivered three cruel blows to the man's belly, knocking Passenger to his knees as he gasped for air.
