by Lane Hart
"Um, okay?" I reply. What else is there for me to say besides too late? After I spotted her, I lied about how long it would take to make it over to her because I wanted to see if she would have any sort of physical reaction to me. It was so fucking worth it too, seeing those big blue eyes of hers gobble me up in obvious appreciation of my years of kicking ass in the cage. Her nipples turned on the high beams and she couldn’t even speak to me or her brother in full sentences. Her brother who is not even close to being done with his warning.
"She's better than all those cage cunts in your harem put together and she’s…emotionally fragile,” he snaps. “I don’t care how goddamn big you are; if you lay even a fuckin’ finger on her, I will kick your ass all the way back to Durham!"
I've given the protective brother speech plenty of times, but never as ferociously as Linc. Damn. He's serious, so much so that I'm pretty sure he just threatened to boot me out of training at Havoc if I mess with his sister. Havoc is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me to get good enough for an IFC contract where the real money is. I could never have afforded the fees and shit for all the one-on-one time with some of the best coaches in the country if Linc hadn't taken a chance and given me a free ride at the gym where he's half owner. The fact is, before my sister met Linc, I was fighting underground for chump change and selling weed on the side. Now that I’m training full time, I’ve given up the pit fighting and dealing. So how do I pay the bills? Well, let’s just say that all my hard work in the gym during the day pays off late at night.
“I’m fuckin’ serious, Mace,” Linc says, like I hadn't figured that shit out yet. “You were the only option for gettin’ her here, otherwise I wouldn’t even leave you in the same room with her.”
Damn, that’s harsher than a knee to my balls.
“Look, I’m not tryin’ to be an asshole,” he tells me as I silently absorb his brutal words. “But you know firsthand what it’s like to worry about your sisters gettin’ hurt by dickheads.”
“Yeah, I do,” I admit. It sucks when you realize that you can’t protect them from the world. And apparently, Linc thinks I’m one of those “dickheads.” I'll be the first to admit that monogamy has never really been my thing, but I don't fuck and run. That means I never do one-night stands. My girls get what they see with me, a good time whenever they want, but definitely not exclusively. That much is always clear up front before I sleep with them the first of many, many times. Like the song claims, if I hit once, I hit twice. Or a hundred times. What can I say? I like repeat performances. The sex is better when the girl knows exactly what I like because she’s done it a few times before.
“Good, I’m glad you understand,” Linc says. “Now get your ass on the road and be careful.”
“Will do,” I assure him, then hand the phone back to Hailey. “Ready?” I ask, figuring we need to get this road trip over with as fast as possible. The longer I’m near her without any buffers, the harder it will be to keep my hands off her. Or my mouth. I really want to put my tongue between those long, gorgeous legs; and based on her flirting and ogling, I’m pretty damn sure she wouldn’t mind spreading them for me.
Fuck.
After Hailey fills out all the necessary forms and shit for her luggage to be returned when found, if found, we head out to the parking lot. Sally’s chrome fender winks at us in the sunlight as we approach. I fucking love my car, a 1966 model that I rebuilt myself. It took three years and more money than I planned, but she’s finally perfect from fender to fender.
“This is me,” I tell Hailey as I unlock the trunk with the key to put her one small bag inside next to my duffle.
“Oh my God. You drive a purple Mustang convertible?” Hailey asks and then slaps a hand over her mouth, trying to muffle her sudden outburst of giggles. My body instantly reacts to the sweet sound like it’s a light, playful stroke grazing my cock. The tickling sensation even makes its way up through my lower belly, making me cough up my own laugh before she says, “Only an uber-masculine guy can pull off a freakin’ purple convertible.”
“I don’t just pull it off,” I tell her as I open the passenger door for her, and then whip out my dark shades from my jean pocket to slide them on my face. “I make it look damn good.” With my eyes hidden, I take the opportunity to dive head first into the deep end of all that luscious cleavage. I’m pretty sure I could drown in between her perfect tits. My dick is begging to take his own dip. I wanna lick ‘em, suck ‘em, get ‘em nice and wet before I fuck ‘em. I shake the lyrics and the erotic fantasy out of my head. “So, are you ready to ride my pony or what, sweetheart?” I ask, intentionally heavy on the innuendo when she continues to stand frozen in front of me.
It sounds like she makes some sort of quiet squeak of agreement before she turns away, finally climbing in the car so I can shut her door. Hopping into the driver side, a quick twist of my wrist later and Sally roars to life. Best. Sound. Ever. Hailey’s tinkling laugh and the way she says the word Mustang heavy on the “stang”, and my name, stretching it into two words, “May-Son” are now right up there with it. My cock twitches just imaging how good it would sound if he could make her scream out “Oh May-Son!” while buried balls deep inside of her. I decide then and there to never let her shorten my name and start calling me Mace like everyone else except for my sisters. Sister. There’s only one now.
Trying to distract myself from the aching hole in my chest that has been there since losing Mandy, I reach over and turn on my satellite radio. I love being able to listen to all the great classic rap and R&B jams, back when Biggie and Tupac were still alive. Jay-Z’s “Big Pimpin’” is the current hit blasting out of my custom Bose speakers. I turn the song down for Hailey’s sake, and then order my eyes to not look down to see how far her dress hitched up now that she’s sitting. Nope, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. She’s off limits.
I’m not even able to put the car in reverse before I glance down at her lap.
Fuck. Me. Sideways.
Good thing the car wasn’t in gear, or in all probability, I would’ve just creamed another vehicle and dinged up my baby. Speaking of which, I’m about to cream all over something else like a motherfucker. There's so much golden brown thigh showing that I want to jump on top of Hailey right here with God and everyone watching, and then use my cock to whip up some cream in between those gorgeous legs. I'm so turned on that just the mere thought of being inside her has my heart racing and chest heaving with panting breaths like I just went three brutal rounds in the cage. I have never, and I mean never, wanted a woman as much as I want the one beside me. Is it because Linc told me not to touch her? Hell no, my mouth started watering like a fat kid smelling bacon as soon as I laid eyes on Hailey.
“Um, you do know how to drive this thang, right?” Hailey asks. An uncontrollable grin spreads across my face when I hear her say “thang.” I want her to play with my thang, and then maybe we could bang, in the backseat of my ‘stang. Boom! More perfect lyrics. I really should be writing this shit down. Too bad I don’t have a pen in my pocket, although, looking down, the outline of my hard as fuck cock against my zipper kind of looks like one of those chubby pencils we had to use in Kindergarten. Okay, so now I really need to concentrate on getting this chubby under control.
I inhale a deep breath and let it out slowly while I stare straight ahead at the rows of parked cars, trying to think of engines, spark plugs and brake pads to calm down my hormones and erase the fantasy of mounting and fucking Hailey from my brain. Hard to do though since she’s still sitting right beside me, a constant, beautiful temptation smelling absolutely edible. Her cock teasing dress is practically begging for a mouth to dive right underneath the short hem to get a taste of those white, cotton panties with goddamn cherries on top. As if she wasn’t sexy enough, the woman went and made her pussy a fucking banana split. I’d love to go straight Pac-Man on her ass and eat my way right through her. Nom. Nom. Nom.
Fuck, my cock is so achingly hard and contorted in my jeans that I’m gonna be sust
aining permanent damage if I don’t do something soon.
“Holy shit, a plane!” I exclaim, pointing over to the airport terminals on Hailey’s right. As soon as her head turns, I tug on the crotch of my jeans and shift my chubby buddy to give him a little breathing room.
“What? Whare?” Hailey asks, pulling out a pair of big, white, cat eye sunglasses from her purse and shoving them over her eyes to search the sky.
“Must’ve missed it landing,” I lie.
Hearing her say whare, I actually have to reach up with my thumb and index finger to lower my lips to stop smiling before she sees. If I tell her the twang is cute, she’ll just get pissed off and think I’m making fun of her, which I most definitely am not. I think her accent is really damn adorable. And if she didn’t look like a pin-up girl before, she sure as hell does now with the vintage accessory covering her eyes, bright red lips shining, and all around classic beauty.
This is gonna be a longgg road trip. Hell, the way she looks right now, I’ll even be endangering our lives trying to sneak peeks at the taunting gaps between her thighs and tits.
“We need to find you some more clothes and get you covered up,” I grumble before finally putting the car in reverse and driving us out of the lot.
The silent current under the noise of the radio is epic for whatever reason. I glance over, but Hailey’s head is turned away from me, her sunglasses shielding her eyes so I can’t read anything from her expression.
“So, where we going? I ask her when we hit the highway.
“My parents’ house.”
Well shit, I guess we won’t be shopping for panties together after all.
“Okay, I’ve been there a few times,” I tell her, and it’s a good thing I know the way, since she doesn’t offer up any directions.
The rest of the fifteen-minute drive to the upper-middle-class neighborhood is just song after song, no chitchat. I miss our flirty bantering that was so fun and easy from the second we met. Now, with Linc’s threat hanging over me like a black, angry cloud, I’m not sure what to say to her if I can’t tell her how sexy she is or that I want her.
When I come to a stop in the middle of the semi-circle driveway, I offer to go inside the house with her, but Hailey simply grabs a set of keys from her purse and mumbles for me to wait in the car before getting out and slamming her door. Probably best I stay here and keep my seatbelt on to restrain me. I’m too weak-willed to be near her in that dress with access to beds. I’d have no choice but to fuck Goldilocks on all of them to find the one that’s just right.
Once she’s out of sight, I realize that there’s something I just can’t shake about her prominent frown and lack of eye contact since we left the airport. I get the feeling that she’s giving me the cold shoulder for some reason. And again, she doesn’t exactly seem pissed at me specifically, but she just seems…deflated.
What was it that Linc said on the phone about her when he was reaming me out? Oh yeah, that she’s “emotionally fragile.” What the fuck does that mean? Growing up in a house with three women, I thought “emotionally fragile” was pretty much par for the course for all females. Why else would they boohoo during movies that are based on fictional characters, and god-forbid, flood the house with tears if the news showed a military man surprising his wife and/or children with his homecoming? Okay, so I tear up at those stories too, but women are by nature more emotional and more sensitive than men are. Knowing this fact is how I’ve managed to juggle my rather…full social life. Another reason I can’t go inside and fuck Hailey is that I would have a hoard of angry women to deal with afterwards.
Shit.
When Hailey steps out of the front door of the house, I suddenly have a pretty good guess about what Linc was referring to. Rolling a big black suitcase down the sidewalk, she’s now wearing jeans and a baggy, navy blue University of North Carolina t-shirt. Oh, you have got to be kidding me! Did she actually take my words above covering up literally? Now I sure as fuck regret that I said them, mostly because she took the statement the wrong way, but also because now, as I asked, all that lovely tan skin of hers is covered up from my perverted viewing pleasure.
“I miss the devil in the blue dress,” I tell her, unbuckling and getting out to help her load her luggage in the trunk. “But you could probably rock a Mumu and make it look sexy.”
“We should hurry,” she exhales softly, completely ignoring my compliment. That’s fine. I’ll just have to keep giving them to her until she learns to accept them and maybe believes them. “We're already running really late.” Now that was a snippy prod at me.
Standing next to Hailey behind my car, I realize she’s switched out her sexy, three-inch, fuck-me heels for flats, so the top of her head only comes to my chin now. Although she’s still several inches taller than any other woman I’ve ever met, I can’t help but suddenly see her as…fragile in the casual clothes with her hands resting in her back pockets, bright blue eyes lowered. The blonde bombshell model from the airport is gone, replaced with a shy, self-conscious girl.
I think I like this casual, girl next-door version of Hailey better. I’d never stand a chance in hell with the sexy devil in the blue dress Hailey, but this version seems just slightly more attainable, even if she is still way out of my league.
The vulnerability I saw in her before is even more prominent now, and the muscles in my arms tense with the urge to reach out and wrap them around her. But noooo, Linc said not to “lay a fuckin’ finger on her.” He should’ve been more thorough in his warning, because he didn’t say I couldn’t lay my cock or my tongue on her or in her. Still, even if the thought of getting naked with Hailey is more than tempting, I won’t touch her because he’s right – I’ll never be good enough for a goddess like her. She might very well be up for slumming with someone like me this week, but then I would only be a distant memory. Probably even a regret.
Tossing her suitcase in, I slam the trunk and walk around to join her in the front seat of the car.
“Mind if we keep the top down?” I ask as we both buckle up.
“No, it’s fine,” she says, pushing her sunglasses back up her nose. “The breeze is really nice, actually.” The way she says nice is heavy on the ‘I’ sound, so it’s more like “n-eyes,” making me smile.
“Okay, good,” I tell her. Cranking the engine, Color Me Bad’s old school hit, “I Wanna Sex You Up” fills the air. Like most songs on the Sirius XM Fly station, it’s a jam older than me, but still one I know well. It’s probably never been more appropriate than at this moment with a centerfold riding next to me.
When I glance over, Hailey’s smirking at me in amusement with her eyebrows raised, making double rainbows over her big sunglasses. She doesn’t say anything, so I just reach over and turn up the volume before we finally start for the highway, heading to the beach.
Seventy miles later, quiet other than me singing along with the radio, my stomach roars at me again to put something in it. “I’m starving,” I shout to Hailey, reaching to turn the radio down so she can hear me over the music and the wind. “Any requests?”
“Nope, not hungry,” she says quickly.
“Did you eat at the airport?” I ask and barely hear her mutter of “Uh-huh.”
She’s lying. I’ve only known her for maybe two hours now, but for whatever reason, this I know for a fact. Instead of saying yes or no she’s making a non-committal response so that she’s not technically lying when she lies. So what do I do? I decide to call her on it.
“What did you eat?” I ask, trying to dig for the truth.
“Ah, well…I had a burger and, um, some fries.” Quickly glancing over, I see her fingers fidgeting nervously with the black hair tie on her wrist. I file that particular tell away for future reference.
“Liar,” I accuse, directing my eyes back to the highway.
“Excuse me?” Hailey asks, jerking her head in my direction; and when I steal a quick glance, I see that she’s scowling at me. She actually sounds pissy for th
e first time all day. Not because I was almost two hours late, and not because the airport lost her luggage, but because I called her out for being a liar and I'm right.
I blow out a depressing huff of air since I’m starting to get a good idea of her insecurities. Linc snapping at me about not using the term “Amazon” should’ve been the first giveaway. Maybe it took me so long to figure out because it doesn’t make sense how someone as knockout, punch in the face, beautiful as her could ever think they were anything else.
“It was too early for burgers to be served,” I explain. “You could’ve had a biscuit or a muffin, but not burgers and fries for breakfast.”
When she doesn’t reply to try and push the issue, I know I’ve busted her. And it sucks. A lot. I can’t help but worry about how deep this self-consciousness goes, but you better believe that I intend to find the fuck out.
Since we’re currently driving through the small, rural town of Wilson, there’s not a whole helluva lot of places to eat at. Definitely no convenient fast-food chains for a broke dude like me. I eventually take an exit that advertises, Parker’s, a home cookin’ restaurant. Sure enough, as soon as we walk through the door and seat ourselves, I look around and notice that the décor is a few decades old. The red leather booths and chairs are worn and tattered with shreds of cotton lining exposed, and there’s a black and white checkered floor. To me, all those things just add up to the conclusion that the food is gonna be fucking delicious.
“Well, now, ain’t you two just a match made in heaven,” a heavyset waitress with a hairnet covering her short salt and pepper hair says to us when she places plastic menus down in front of me and Hailey.
“Why, thank you, ma’am,” I reply and then wink at Hailey when I see her flustered, wide-eyed, gaping mouth expression, since I fail to correct the waitress’s wrong assumption that we’re together.
“What canna getcha to drank?” she asks with a heavier southern drawl since now we’re getting further away from the city and deeper into the smaller, rural communities in North Carolina.
