by Kade, Teagan
She takes the helmet reluctantly. “It’s got two wheels and a motor, doesn’t it?”
“And room for two,” I smile.
She goes to put on the helmet before pausing. I catch a hint of her perfume—dark and mysterious, spicy. “I thought your friend handled all your booty call drop-offs and pick-ups?”
“Bart?” I laugh. “Drinking and driving would be the bad boy cliché now, wouldn’t it?”
Her weight shifts over her right leg, hips turning ever so slightly in that tight sleeve of a dress I’d do anything to rip off right now, bend her over the fender… maybe show her who’s really boss. “You’re calling yourself a bad boy?” she laughs.
I reach down and cup my crotch. “I’ve got two legs and a motor, don’t I?”
That elicits a significant eye roll, but she slides the helmet on regardless with more finesse than I expect, swinging her leg over the back of the bike and giving me the briefest glimpse of silky satin between those heavenly legs of hers.
I can feel myself stiffening in my jeans.
Down boy, I command, her thighs hot around my waist.
Her hands slide around me. I gun the throttle, hurtling us out of the motel.
Five minutes later we’ve arrived.
Gisele swings off the back of the bike, tussling her helmet hair, which somehow, paradoxically, looks even better than before.
“I thought you said the best place in town?”
I cut the ignition and stand, removing my helmet. “I said the best, not the most expensive.”
Another eyeroll.
I lead her up the stairs of the River Rat Bar & Grill. My hand automatically moves to run down her back, but I leave it hovering there, unsure if I should push the limits just yet, because this one doesn’t seem like she’d be into such overt displays of affection.
Still, I glance down at her ass, the peachy perfection of it shifting together saying, ‘Touch me, feel how firm and tight I am.’ I smile as I imagine myself set up behind it, pounding hard into that wet little pussy I know she’s hiding under there. She’d be so dick-dazed come morning the whole buy-your-boat thing would be gone—temporary amnesia.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fucked someone back in time, my dick a veritable DeLorean.
“You enjoying the view?” She doesn’t even turn around.
I let my eyes linger a moment longer. “I’ve seen better.”
“I doubt that,” she chirps.
We’re seated out on the deck away from the usual riff-raff, but it’s still far from fine dining. I wave off a few familiar faces at the window of the bar craning for a look at Miss Congeniality here.
The waitress, Dani, arrives, smiling when she sees me—recalling the consecutive orgasms I gave her, probably—the smile dropping when she notices I have company.
“Drink?” I offer.
“Sure,” Gisele nods, that airy halo of superiority remaining.
“Two Firecrackers,” I tell Dani, my hand almost moving to slap her ass before I spot Gisele’s careful gaze.
Dani wanders off. I lean back. “So, where’d you learn to fish like that?”
Her legs cross under the table, a cool breeze blowing up from the water lifting her hair ever so slightly. “My grandfather.”
Interesting. “He’s here, in the Ozarks?”
“Was,” she corrects.
Shit.
I rub my nose. “I’m sorry. He must have been a hell of a pop, though.”
There’s the briefest moment where whatever façade she’s running with falls away—the shadow of a genuine smile. But it’s gone as soon as it appears. “Taught me everything I know, and I’m not just talking about fishing. And you? Who taught you?”
I don’t like to get personal on dates. Hell, usually by now I’d have a handful of hair doing her doggystyle in the bathroom, but I decide to play along. “My Dad, also passed.” I look out to the lake. “Mom vanished when I was younger. You could say the lack of a female authority figure in my life explains a lot, but I’d like to think I turned out okay.”
The Firecrackers arrive, Dani giving me the evil eye before darting away without taking our order.
Gisele picks hers up. “Do I even ask?”
“All you need to know is that it’s red, orange, and packed full of punch.” I down mine in one go, the alcohol a welcome burn against the back of my throat.
Gisele takes a sip, eyes squinting. “Good God,” she exclaims, coughing. “This a cocktail or rocket fuel? I mean, if you’re looking to get me drunk I’m pretty sure there are better ways.”
I have to laugh at that. “And why would I want to get you drunk now?”
Without a blink of her eye, she replies, “To show me this supposed giant cock of yours, I assume, bedazzle me with its shafty glory.”
I cough-laugh so hard I practically choke. “‘Shafty glory’. Well, at least I know you’re not a journalist, not with phrases like that. Romance novelist, maybe.”
“You think ‘Gisele’ is a pseudonym?”
I smile. “I think it’s a cover, sure.”
“You don’t think I’m being truthful?” she asks.
I lean over the table. “I think you’re not being completely honest about why you want my boat so bad.”
She nods, lips pursed. “Alright then.” She takes her Firecracker and throws it down like a frat boy, smacking her lips. “Better order another if you want to have your way with me.”
CHAPTER NINE
GISELE
Dinner’s better than expected given we’re sitting in what amounts to a carbon copy of the Haunted Mansion.
I wipe my mouth with a napkin, reaching for the third of these so-called Firecrackers. They’re fairly mild, in truth, but I’m not about to let Pretty Boy here know I could drink him under the table any day of the week.
He leans back, surveying me with something close to curiosity. “You ready to tell me why you really want Roxanne?”
God, the fact he calls his houseboat that should be all I need to know. I’ve met plenty of guys like him before—arrogant, rife with ego inflation thinking they’re God’s gift to women. Still, I’m fifty percent disgusted but also fifty percent curious about this infamous penis. He should just hang a sign on the door charging twenty dollars to see it, could become the next big tourist attraction ’round here right up there with the giant bass.
I take my time answering, folding my legs over one another beneath the table. “Do you really need a reason? I’m prepared to offer you this.” I take a pre-prepared card from my pocket and slide it across the table. “That will buy you a whole fleet of Roxannes, her friends… the whole damn gang.”
He picks up the card, flicking the corner of it with his thumb. “My, my, that is quite a figure, and you’re fronting this kind of cash yourself?”
I stay quiet. Sometimes this throws them off. They feel compelled to fill the silence and stumble up, and that’s all I need to close—an opening.
But not this guy. He’s wise to my games. It’s a full minute before he replies. He places the card on the table carefully. “I’ll tell you what, Ms. Cole. You tell me who’s buying and why, and she’s all yours.”
“I can’t do that, though there is room for negotiation on the price.”
He shakes his head. “Nah-ah, the money doesn’t really matter to me.”
I chortle. “You’d rather live out your life floating on the river there than living like a king where it’s a little cooler, a little less,” I search the word, “quaint.”
He cracks up, tutting his finger at me. “‘Quaint’. I like that.”
Three Firecrackers in himself and he’s starting to slur ever so slightly.
“I have a counteroffer,” he says.
I’d roll my eyes if I could. “Go on, but if it’s got anything to do with me sleeping with you, you can think again.”
“No, I’m intending to do that for fun,” he replies with a smirk.
And I’m sure it would be. The
y’re not lining up at his door for novelty alone, and yes, I could do with a good, solid dicking, but not tonight when business is so pressing. I can practically feel my client breathing down my neck. This should have been wrapped up already. If Bobby here doesn’t play ball soon I’m going to have to start looking for leverage, and that’s never fun for anyone—not me, not the mark, not the client’s wallet.
I nod slowly, standing and making a show of collecting my things. “Have fun with Mrs. Palmer then.”
He stands to stop me. “Oh, come on now. We’re just having a bit of harmless fun, aren’t we? Why you being so god damn serious about this all?”
“Maybe I have a boyfriend to get back to, a husband.”
“Or a girlfriend?” he asks optimistically.
“You can get the bill,” I smile.
I’m starting to walk off when he runs to jump in front of me. “We haven’t even had dessert yet.”
“What were you hoping for? A bit of gateau aux noisettes and my panties will fall off?”
“I was thinking more like some good old-fashioned Ozark puddin’, but I’m open to suggestion.”
Clearly not, you stubborn prick. I walk around him, trilling, “Good night, Mr. Silver.”
“Am I going to see you tomorrow?”
I simply smile, back straight, and keep on walking.
CHAPTER TEN
BOBBY
Gisele’s clearly surprised to see me when I knock on her motel door at six in the morning.
She’s in a silk slip, the faint shape of her breasts showing, nipples dimpled against the fine fabric. Her hair’s out but still somehow perfect, glossy in the morning light. I wonder if she always rolls out of bed looking like this.
She makes no attempt to hide herself behind the door, standing there openly.
“Put on some clothes,” I tell her. “We’re going out.”
“Where?” she asks.
“Fishing, of course.”
She closes the door—not fast, not slow, but certainly with enough force to leave me standing with cock in hand wondering if this was such a good idea after all.
I stand there for a full five minutes before the door opens again and a dressed, surprisingly casual Gisele Cole stands before me looking every bit the local. “You know how to dress the part.”
She breezes past me, that same scent I smelled last night drifting past in her wake and doing strange, wicked things to my southerly regions. “When I want to.”
She opens the passenger door to my faithful Ford F150 and swings herself easily up and inside, waiting there expressionless. I decided against the bike today. Too cliché, and I’m quite sure Ms. Cole isn’t going to fall for my usual charms. No, it’s going to take something extraordinary, a performance worthy of an Oscar.
I smile. “Alright then,” I tell myself. “Let’s fucking do this thing.”
*
“You didn’t mention you owned a speedboat,” she says, voice loud to be heard over the boat engine down back.
Ahead of us the rising sun’s turned the river gold and brass. We’ve got it all to ourselves.
“Molly? Yeah, been in the family since I was a boy. Had a couple of engines over the years, but she’s still a beaut.”
“You name all your watercraft after women?”
“Wait to I show you Gisele,” I smile, adding more throttle.
I navigate my way to a side estuary. It’s tight, hidden away. You’d never know it was there if you didn’t know what to look for.
We both duck as we pass by low-hanging branches. I power down and concentrate on steering us through the narrow corridor, a sharp turn taking us down another.
Finally, we pop out into the Cove.
I don’t need to look across to know her jaw is dropping.
I cut the ignition and walk down back to drop anchor.
“What is this place?” she asks, spellbound.
Anchor dropped, I return to her side. “Something of a secret spot my father showed me.”
She looks at me. “I see. You bring all your ‘catches,’” air-quoting, “out here, don’t you? Nice and quiet, nobody around… I bet the thrill of being here in the outdoors, the wild, is enough to strip away inhibitions.”
“Amongst other things,” I add, winking and kicking myself for it. I know that kind of overt play isn’t going to work on her.
I lean on the windshield, looking out over the Cove and its perfect stillness, mist rising ethereal from the water. “If you want the truth, you’re the first woman I’ve ever brought out here.”
“Bullshit,” she snorts.
I place my hand on my heart. “Truly.”
She looks at me with amusement. “You’re fucking with me.”
I let go of the windshield and pop open the rear seat, taking out equipment from the storage box below, talking all the while. “My father said it was a no place for a female. He was a bit like that.”
“A misogynist?”
“I guess you could say that, but I gave him my word I’d keep it secret, our own little slice of heaven out here in the Ozarks, which is hard to find, trust you me.” I hand Gisele a line. “Fishing’s pretty fucking good, too.”
She looks at the large reel in her hand. “A hand line? Seriously?”
I start setting up the bait and jig. “I thought we’d go back to basics, keep it simple.”
“That seems like your life in a nutshell—living on your boat, drinking, screwing…”
“What more do you need?” I ask.
She starts to list things off the fingers of her free hand. “Friends, purpose, a job…”
I tie off the line and work on my own. “Hey, I’ve got a job.”
Gisele sits on the side of the boat and drops her line in, letting it out like a seasoned pro, not that you need a nuclear degree to use a hand line. The sun catches the inside of her thigh, lights up the hidden space there and the hint of white lace beyond. I make no attempt to avert my eyes. “I don’t think acting as a moonlight gigolo qualifies.”
I sit beside her, my view lost as she brings her legs together, and drop in my line, running it deep to where the water’s colder… and fish bigger. “You’re implying I’m paid for my services?”
She looks at me with surprise. “You aren’t?”
“Only in sexual satisfaction. No hard currency passes hands if that’s what you’re implying.”
She nods quietly, returning to stare out at the water. A flock of killdeer is making its way across the bank on the far side of the Cove, shockingly white against the dark scrub there, chalk against a blackboard.
“I heard you were a quarterback?” Gisele asks, finger tugging the line gently, feeling for any movement.
“Was it the framed jersey on the wall that gave it away?”
“I like to do my research.”
I can imagine. I wouldn’t be half-surprised if she’s been asking around town about me, digging through the internet for the scant information on offer. I decide to assume she knows everything. The truth will play well here. If I open up, maybe she will… or at least those glorious legs will.
I stare at the lake pensively, micro-managing my expression. “I was quarterback, once upon a time, had a real winning streak going on. But I fucked it up. My father, well, he was something of an alcoholic, had me drinking beers with him by the time I was ten. I got used to it, as kids do, got used to his moods and the way he’d act around my mother, his first wife.”
I pause, surprised at how emotional I feel saying it all aloud. I jam it back inside, push it right down into that black hole in my gut. “He lost his job at the pig farm over Coulson county, had a bit of trouble finding another. My mother wasn’t working, so you can imagine how things started to heat up. The drinking got worse, the mood swings, but it was all in the background, you know, all in the periphery because I was too busy playing ball and fucking my way through the yearbook to care.”
“Something happened?” she asks, genuinely curious.
> “Oh, something happened alright,” I nod, testing the line when I feel a nibble. “I came home after a game, our biggest win of the season, and found him sitting there in the lounge dead drunk, his bloody hand around a bottle of Beam. I found my mother in the kitchen, bleeding from the head, confused. He’d beaten her half to hell. Her panties, what was left of them, had been kicked into the corner, the bruising on her legs fresh. No prizes for guessing what I did next.”
“Called the police?”
I shake my head. “No, I went back into that loungeroom and I beat him, hard, held him by the collar of the shirt and went to town, but he was so drunk he barely felt it, blubbering away something about the game, asking how many touchdowns I scored.
“I took the bottle out of his hand and went outside to my truck, drove over to my best friend’s house and told him to hop in, that we were going to go and celebrate. Of course, he knew something was up, my bloody knuckles and the Beam I was swigging from like a fucking milk bottle probably gave it away, but he agreed, reluctantly.”
Gisele actually shifts closer, her head pulling closer to hear, her entire body wanting more.
“My friend, he told me to stop drinking when I blew a red light coming through town,” I continue, “told me to take him back. I wouldn’t do it. I just wanted to get the fuck away. When we got out of town, into the backroads, he tried to reach across and grab the wheel. I pushed him away and that’s when it happened.”
I pause here, and although it’s a performance, it still takes everything I have not to fall into that hole. “The power pole was there, right in fucking front of us. Next thing I know I’m being lifted up, smell like gasoline and I see Dan, my friend, his legs all twisted and fucked up, being carried away by two firemen. That was it. He became a quadriplegic and my life turned to shit.” I slap my thigh. “No more football, no more anything, really, until I joined the Army, but I’m pretty sure you know all this, don’t you?”
“And if I do?” she replies.
“Maybe you’ll understand why I’m happy ‘keeping it simple,’ as you say.”