by Lane Hart
“It’s good,” I tell her, figuring that much was clear based on how fast I devoured my plate and the furious shoveling of pie into my mouth to keep it busy before it attacks her.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. A homecooked meal is the least I could do to thank you for everything,” she says, pouring ice on my head to instantly make me feel guilty instead of horny.
“Stop thanking me,” I huff as I scrape up every last crumb of pie crust. Climbing off the stool to take some of the pressure of my blue balls, I tell her, “I’m going to take a shower and hit the sack.”
“So soon? It’s early,” Cora says, resting her elbows on the counter so that her cleavage is on full display, right in front of my face, adding something else to the list of her body parts I want to feast on.
“Yeah, gotta head out early tomorrow. Be up by seven to go over self-defense shit,” I tell her tits. Good thing she can’t see my erection under the counter or my hand gripping it, shifting my cock around behind my zipper so that it can’t poke anyone’s eye out.
“You know, I could really use another shower myself,” she replies, her tongue wetting her lips seductively. “We could double up to save water.”
And there it is – her blatant invitation, practically begging me to fuck her.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” I mutter. “Besides, you need to go make that red flag on your head go away.”
Cora gasps as her hand goes up to her hair. “Oh, right. Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing!” I shout at her. Then I make myself leave the kitchen before I give in and fuck all of the gratitude and apologies right out of her sexy, little body.
Instead, I take a long, cold shower, refusing to stroke my cock and give it any relief. I deserve the ache, the constant pain I’ve been in since the second I saw that woman.
Chapter Ten
Cora
* * *
The worst-case scenario turned out to be harsher than I expected it to be. I knew the rejection would sting, but I didn’t think it would make me wish the ocean would suddenly rise and take me out to sea with it so I wouldn’t have to face Sam again in the morning.
Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll be so embarrassed for me that he’ll just sneak out in the morning without saying goodbye.
After I clean up the kitchen, I head upstairs and put on my pajamas before falling into the bed. It’s comfortable enough, though not as nice as the mattresses in my parents’ house. Oh well, it will get the job done.
My face and the rest of my body are still burning with humiliation, so I just lay on top of the bed covers, staring up at the ceiling while I listen to the shower running down the hall.
How desperate must he think I am to throw myself at him like that?
Even through the shame I can’t help but wonder how good he looks naked. If the rest of his body is as muscular as his arms, then he must be a god-like work of art from the chest down. His face isn’t unattractive, it’s just hard to read. Sam’s brow and dark eyes are always a little…severe, as if he expects people to just do whatever he says.
Me. As if he expects me to do whatever he says.
Except, that assessment must be fictional, just a figment of my imagination since he made it clear he’s not interested in me in a sexual way.
Since sleep isn’t going to happen anytime soon, I remember the order Sam gave me before he stormed out of the kitchen. I don’t want to disappoint him, so I roll out of bed and retrieve the box of hair color from downstairs. As I take it up to my room, I read over the directions carefully since this will be the first time I’ve ever put anything in my all-natural hair.
Who knows, maybe tomorrow once I’m a brunette, I’ll try something different, like blowing out the curls so that it’s straight.
Unfortunately, though, the humidity here will just leave my hair to swell up like a pumpkin on my shoulders. At least it will no longer be an orangish red pumpkin but more of a brown mushroom.
Guess I’ll have to stick to ponytails that tame my mane.
It seems like it takes forever to get the hair chemicals mixed, then squeeze the bottle to make sure the foul-smelling liquid covers every inch of my roots and thick curls. I sit outside during the thirty-minute wait instead of stinking up the house. It’s nice to be able to watch the sunset turn the sky above the ocean beautiful shades of purple and pink. I have to get up and glance inside every few minutes to keep an eye on the alarm clock since I don’t have a cell phone anymore. That’s something I need to ask Sam about before he leaves tomorrow.
He’s already given me so much that I hate to ask for anything; but at the same time, once he leaves, I’ll feel safer with a phone in case of an emergency.
Silas
* * *
Thanks to passing out before ten o’clock last night, I’m up bright and early, and yet Cora still beats me. By the time I take another ice-cold shower to get rid of my morning wood, she’s already in the kitchen, making French toast that smells delicious, while wearing a short yellow summer dress that hugs all her curves. Although, I do a double take when my eyes finally lift to above her neck and I notice her ponytail is no longer the beautiful red.
Glancing over her shoulder when she hears my footsteps, she says, “Morning” before turning back to the stove.
“Morning,” I reply, taking a seat at the bar. “You’re up early.”
“I wanted to make sure you had something to eat before you leave,” she says, which is ridiculous.
“I can feed myself,” I assure her, causing her shoulders and back to tense.
“I don’t mind,” Cora responds. “It’ll only be a few more minutes, if you can wait.”
“I’m not leaving until I show you how to shoot a gun, remember?”
“Oh, right,” she says without turning around. “I wasn’t sure if you still wanted to do that or not.”
“I get that you’re not a fan of guns, but I guarantee you’ll feel safer with the gun than without it while you’re here alone.”
“If you say so,” she mutters. Cora scoops up the toast with a spatula, plopping them down on two plates to drizzle syrup on them. After adding a fork, she slides one of the plates in front of me and says, “Here you go” before she goes over and eats hers while standing near the stove.
Even though my abs haven’t recovered after the pork, potatoes, and pie last night, I still dig in, unable to resist the sweet-smelling breakfast.
I’ve just swallowed my first piece when Cora asks, “Is it okay if I get a new phone? I won’t call anyone I knew from before, but it would be nice to have it.”
Fuck.
I should’ve realized she would need a phone. In fact, one with my number in it would be a good idea in case anything happens, like if someone recognizes her as a missing person.
“Yes, you can have a phone,” I tell her. “Sorry I didn’t think about it before.”
“Now who’s apologizing?” she asks with a small smile.
A grunt is my only response to that before I go back to my breakfast.
Neither of us say anything else. When Cora finishes eating, she puts her plate in the sink and reaches for mine, washing up everything while I lean back on the stool and wait.
When she spends a long ass time scrubbing, I think she’s intentionally drawing this out because she’s dreading the gun lesson I’m about to give her. Since that’s all my fault, I refrain from yelling at her to hurry the fuck up. Barely.
Finally, after it takes half an hour to wash up a handful of dishes, even though there’s a dishwasher, I get up and go into the kitchen, opening cabinets until I find what I’m looking for – three brightly colored glasses.
“What are those for?” Cora asks.
“These are going to be your targets,” I explain, holding up the blue, red, and green glasses.
“You want me to shoot at them?” she says in disbelief.
“They’re the best I can do on short notice,” I tell her. “Now come on,” I say, lea
ding the way to the back doors to go out on the enormous deck. This place really does have the best view.
I place each of the glasses about three feet apart on the far railing. Retrieving my gun from my underarm holster, I remove the full clip and shove it in my pocket, then pull the slide to make sure it’s empty before offering it to Cora. Out of my entire, extensive collection of guns, the Smith & Wesson is my favorite. I’ve carried this same gun on me for years, even used it to kill several men the night we busted into Harold Cox’s house. But since it’s the only one I have on me and I seriously doubt there’s a handgun store on the island, I’ll suck it up and give it to Cora.
“Here. This is a nine-millimeter Smith & Wesson. Take it. Hold it. Get familiar with it while it’s impossible for you to blow a hole through me by accident.”
Cora hesitates at first but finally holds out both hands for me to place the gun in her palms. “Oh,” she says, her still red eyebrows lifting in surprise when I let go. “It’s not as heavy as I thought it would be.”
“It’s a lot heavier loaded, I dropped the clip out of it. The nine is slim and only weighs a little more than a pound, but it’s plenty big enough to do the job,” I explain. Pointing to the side, I tell her, “This is the safety. When it’s down, it’s off; when it’s up, it’s on. You can flip it either way with your thumb.”
“Okay,” Cora says as she stares down at the gun. “How do I hold it?”
“You really want your feet about shoulder width apart, with the foot on your dominant side a little behind the other.”
“Like this?” she asks when she’s in position.
“Yeah, but don’t worry too much about your feet. If a time comes when you have to shoot an intruder, it’ll be the last thing on your mind. The most important part to remember is how to hold the gun in your hands and aim. You need to hold it with both. If you’re right-handed, that hand will go first, with your index finger beside but not over the trigger and your left hand wrapped around the handle and other hand.” She adjusts her grip, and I go around behind her to lift her arms. “Good. Extend your arms up and forward until you’ve got the sight at eye level. That’s this part,” I say when I point to the post sticking up on the barrel. “Get the sight centered up on one of the glasses.”
“Oh, okay,” she replies. “Got it on the blue one I think.”
“When I put the bullets back in it, we’ll let you try shooting it. But first, you need to be prepared for the recoil,” I explain.
“How bad is that going to be?” she asks.
“It’ll take a few tries to get used to it. That’s why you don’t want the gun right in front of your face where you can hit yourself.”
Pressing the front of my body to her backside, I try to ignore the soft swells of her ass cheeks against my crotch when I reach around and cover her hands with mine. “Go ahead and pull the trigger so I can show you how the recoil will feel,” I say. As soon as I hear the click, I give her hands and the gun a harsh, sudden jerk up and backward. Cora, of course, startles at the motion, which causes her ass to slam back against my dick. It instantly hardens in anticipation of more sexy thrusts.
“Each and every time you fire the gun, all eight times if you empty the entire clip, it’s going to recoil like that,” I tell her. And because I’m a desperate man with an even more desperate cock, I repeat the same jerking action seven more times, enjoying the little bit of friction more than I should. Cora has to have noticed how I’m poking her from behind. I think I even heard her moan softly once.
Like a horny teenager alone with a girl for the first time, I’m thick and swollen, my heartrate speeding up while my panting breaths come faster and faster. I need to finish this fucking lesson and get the hell out of here before I do something stupid.
“You ready to shoot it with bullets?” I ask Cora.
“Uh-huh. I think so,” she says with a nod.
Without moving even an inch away from her ass, I pull the clip from my pocket and shove it up into the gun Cora’s still holding tightly.
Placing my hands on either of her hips, I tell her, “Now, before you can shoot it, you need to pull the slide along the top back.”
She performs the move like she’s done it before, then readjusts her grip, ready to fire the gun.
“Put your finger in front of the trigger now, but don’t apply any pressure,” I instruct her. “You need to line up your shot first. When you’re ready, you’re going to hold your breath and then finally pull the trigger.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Cora says.
“Sure you can. Just pull your finger back on the trigger hard and it’ll fire.”
“I’m afraid of dropping it when it goes off,” she admits.
“It’s okay if you drop the gun, but I’ll make sure you don’t,” I say when I cover her hands again. “Pull the trigger when you’re ready.”
I stand completely still, trying not to breathe while waiting for her to shoot it the first time. I’m about to give up when I feel her back heave against my chest with a deep breath that she holds.
The gun fires, the harsh noise making us both flinch as I steady her hands from the recoil.
“Ear plugs. I should’ve gotten us some fucking ear plugs for this,” I say when I release her hands, figuring she’ll be even more traumatized by guns now.
“I hit it!” Cora exclaims. “I broke the glass.”
I finally put some space between our bodies to look over at the rail. And sure enough, the top half of the blue glass is missing.
“Damn, woman,” I mutter in surprise. “Nice shot. You want to try and break the others?”
“Yes,” she agrees excitedly before taking aim. Before she shoots, though, she steps back until she’s flush against my chest, torturing my dick yet again. The first shot misses the red glass completely, but on the second, she blows the bottom out of it, almost putting a hole in the wooden rail. By the time she gets to the green glass, she hits it on the first try, so she goes back and finishes off the blue one until the gun clicks and nothing happens when the clip is empty.
“I’ve got an extra full clip, but I’ll have to send you more bullets,” I admit sheepishly when I remove the other clip from my pocket.
“Oh, that’s fine,” Cora says when she turns around to face me, lowering the gun and holding it next to her thigh to take the extra clip from my hand.
She’s standing so close that in the morning sunlight I can count all the pale freckles over her cheeks and nose. I can still feel the heat from her body and miss having it pressed up against mine. A strange urge to lean down and kiss her full, ruby red lips comes over me, which is so fucking stupid I want to shoot myself in the face.
“I’ll go inside and find something to write on,” I tell her before I make my escape. It’s high time I hit the road and say goodbye to Cora once and for all.
Chapter Eleven
Cora
* * *
He wants me.
Sam wants me.
I wasn’t sure before because he’s so hard to read, but I had a hunch, even when he rejected me.
Then, just now, I felt how turned on he was pressing his erection into my body over and over again. I just wish he had done it when we were both wearing less clothing.
I guess he’s wanted me this whole time, but maybe kept his hands off me because of his job. He would likely get fired if anyone found out he fooled around with me. And while I don’t want that to happen, he can count on me to keep a secret. Doesn’t he know that by now?
Ugh, if only we had a little more time together, I think he would give in. I don’t want to be alone here without him. Even though I know nothing between us could be more than a hot night, I want him to stay. I want that one night! It’ll be something to get me through the loneliness I’ll face for the next few months or, who knows, maybe years.
When Sam hurries back inside the house, I follow him, watching as he scribbles on the back of another realtor flier.
“Th
ere,” he says, tossing the pen down. “And, ah, you should have everything you need for now. The fridge and pantry are stocked. Here’s your new ID and shit,” he says, pulling them from his pocket to place them on the counter. “Go get a phone when you can or just order one. You can even defend yourself with a gun, so I’ll get out of here and, ah, get back to the office.”
“Yes, well, thanks,” I tell him. “I appreciate everything…”
“You’re welcome,” he says in a rush, rubbing the back of his neck before he starts toward the door. “I’ve got to head out. I’ll walk to the ferry and leave your golf cart here…”
“Wait,” I say, grabbing his elbow to stop him from opening the front door. I try to figure out what to say to keep him from leaving and can only think of one thing. “What if they find me?”
“Trust me, nobody is going to bother you here,” Sam says without an ounce of hesitation.
“But how can you be so sure?” I ask. “What if you’re wrong and as soon as you’re gone, they come and kill me?”
“No one is going to kill you, Cora. You’re safe; and if someone bothers you, now you know how to use a gun.”
“I’m safe right now because you’re here!” I exclaim. “Can’t you just stay a little longer?”
“I’m supposed to get you settled in and then leave. That’s it. That’s the job.”
“Please stay for a few more days,” I beg.
“Days? There’s no way the, um, office would approve that.”
“Well, don’t you have vacation time? You could relax and enjoy the beach. I could cook you three homemade meals a day!”
Chuckling, he says, “I don’t need that much food.”
“Then what do you need?” I ask. “What can I do to convince you to stay a little longer, until I know for sure that I’m safe?”
“You are safe, woman!”
“But I would feel safer with you here in the house. Please?” I beg him.
