by Max Monroe
Her back became my focus as she turned away with a flick of her hair and a wave of her arm, before bending at the hip like a hinge. Excited eyes sought mine from the gap between her legs, but the sight of her ass in the air made compliance a struggle.
“You okay, Thatcher?” she asked, her voice a tease.
My answer came out in a hearty rasp. “Yeah, baby. I’m real fucking good.”
Back up to standing, she moved quickly, spinning her way to my head and dropping to her knees directly behind it. I dropped flat to my back, pushing my elbows down into the blanket roughly.
She leaned over my face, her tits swinging the front of her dress with every sweet movement. I was fucking spellbound.
Her dance was more sensual than overtly sexual, but my dick obviously didn’t know the difference.
Sweet Jesus.
I reached behind my head with the cock of an arm until the palm of my hand met the warm skin of her thigh. It was soft and luscious, and I could feel the muscle move underneath it as she continued her torture.
And then my hand wasn’t on her anymore as that leg kicked up behind her into a full extension. Her whole body turned on a pivot with a flourish until she fell to my chest—executing a split directly on top of me as though I was an apparatus.
“Holy fuck,” I muttered to myself, and she smiled.
“Strip aerobics, baby. You wanna be my pole?” she asked with a wink of her own.
Goddamn.
“Count me in seven nights a week.”
As we sat at the bar, drinking beers, eating peanuts, and enjoying the ambiance that was a small-town bar, I could still feel the pulse of Thatch between my thighs.
There’d been no stopping him after showing him some of my best naked dance moves under the stars. One orgasm, two, he’d worked me over like we weren’t outside on the edge of some random lake, but instead, like we were putting on a porny performance for millions. Just the thought of it made me smile.
But the sex had done the opposite of its usual, waking me up to a level that I knew I’d need something else to soothe the pounding pulse of my energy enough that I could fall asleep. So I had convinced him to take me to the infamous Sticky Pickle for a nightcap.
The satisfied look in his eyes told me I could have swayed him into pretty much anything.
He kept up a steady stream of affection in my direction—kissing my forehead, sliding a lock of hair behind my ear, flashing flirty winks and charming smiles. And every time he grabbed my left hand and kissed my ring, I’d threatened to slap him in the dick again.
Honestly, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun.
“Shit,” Thatch muttered as his eyes glanced toward the front of the bar.
“What?” I asked and swiveled on my stool to watch three guys stroll in through the door. They were loud and boisterous, and my initial thought was that they looked like small-town douchebags looking for trouble.
I turned back toward Thatch. “You know those guys?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I grew up with them.”
“They look like assholes.”
He smirked. “Hit the nail on the head, honey.”
One of the guys made his way to the bar and stood as close to Thatch as was humanly possible without sitting in his lap. “I’ll take three Buds, Charlie,” he told the bartender before turning his attention to us. “Oh, hey, Thatch,” he greeted, and it was anything but friendly. “You brought a friend. How fucking precious.”
Thatch ignored him, stood, and turned to me. “Wanna shoot some pool?”
His blatant avoidance had me tilting my head in confusion.
“Uh, sure, okay,” I agreed and took his outstretched hand. I let him lead me over to the back corner where three pool tables stood in a row before I started asking questions.
“What was that about?”
He handed me a pool stick and grabbed the rack. “That was me avoiding trouble.”
“Was this the same kind of trouble that I had to bail you out of?”
“Exactly that kind of trouble,” he muttered.
His body language was all off—stiff neck, clenched jaw, and his normally playful brown eyes were practically black with irritation. I hated seeing him like that, strung so tight that I feared he might snap in half. Thatch needed a distraction, and he needed it quick.
I set my pool stick down and slid my body under and between the long arms that were currently racking the balls. My back was pressed against the green felt, and our faces were mere inches from one another.
His brows rose in curiosity. “What are you doing?”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and grinned. “Just flirting with my fiancé.”
“Is that right?” His mouth turned soft, quirking up at the corners.
“That’s right, baby,” I whispered against his lips before taking his mouth in a slow kiss. My tongue teased his in a slow circuit.
He grabbed my hips and responded with a dirty, sexy, wet fuck of my mouth as he pressed himself against me. My body was practically clinging to his by the time he found the willpower to pull away.
“Thank you.” He pressed one final kiss to the corner of my lips. He knew my game, but he didn’t make a big thing of it, so I didn’t either.
I grinned while he stood and straightened the bulge in his jeans with amused eyes pointed in my direction.
“Can I break?” I asked as my fingers slid the chalk over the tip of my pool stick.
“Be my guest.” He gestured toward the table.
Things had managed to stay pretty smooth after that. We played two rounds of pool without any trouble from the three dickheads milling about the bar. Thatch had won both times and was adamant each win equaled three blow jobs.
“Your math is all wrong,” I retorted with a hand on my hip. “One round. One blow job.”
“I’m a numbers guy, honey. My math is never wrong.”
I laughed and flipped him off.
“Just rack the balls while I go play some songs,” I ordered and walked over toward the jukebox, sliding a few dollars out of my back pocket.
As I scrolled through the depressing list of song choices, I wondered if I’d find anything worth playing.
Conway Twitty? No.
“The Thong Song”? Nope.
“She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy”? Jesus, take the wheel before someone in this small town dies from shitty music.
R. Kelly, “Stuck in the Closet”? Fuck no.
Shania Twain, “Any Man of Mine”? Okay, now this I can handle.
As I waited for the machine to process my credits, the dickhead from earlier decided to make his appearance. He leaned one greasy elbow against the wall and crowded my personal space.
“I’m Johnny. And you must be one of Thatch’s fuck buddies.” His skeevy gaze honed in on my chest before it finally met my eyes.
I glanced around the room to find none of Johnny’s friends in sight and Thatch chatting with an older guy by the pool tables, his back to me.
Looks like I’m handling this asshole by myself. Game on.
“I’m his only fuck buddy,” I corrected. “I’m his fiancée.”
“Oh, that’s fucking fresh.”
I feigned confusion and battened down the hatches. This fuckface was going to do his best to surprise me, but he didn’t have one goddamn clue who he was dealing with. “What was that, Joanie?”
“It’s Johnny, and I said that’s fucking fresh.” He flashed an evil smile. “How much are New York hookers these days, dollface? I’m sure I’ve got enough cash on me tonight to take your pussy for a ride.”
Dollface? Man, oh man, this guy really had no idea who he was trying to fuck with.
“Joanie, you wouldn’t know what to do with a pussy if it smacked you in the face and said lick my clit.”
His face turned hard as stone.
Obviously, I’d hit a nerve. Which wasn’t that hard to figure out. Guys like Johnny didn’t get pussy. Guys like Johnny got their
right hand, a bottle of lube, and fuzzy porn in their parents’ basement. And if they did somehow manage to get some, they juggled and jostled it until it couldn’t take one more fucking second.
“Aw, Joanie. It’s okay.” I schooled my face into a sympathetic smile. “One day you’ll find your perfect hooker who’s willing to take one for the team and let you pay her to fuck you. Keep your chin up, Joanie. It’ll happen.”
He got all up in my personal space, his harsh breath smacking me in the face. “You must be a special kind of bitch. You’d have to be to marry a murderer.”
Murderer? Yeah. I knew without a doubt whatever bullshit Joanie was peddling was purely fiction. And now I understood why Thatch had ended up in jail the last time he was home.
The asshole just stood there, staring down at me, and his mouth morphed into a devious grin. That’s it, motherfucker. Keep smiling, I thought to myself as I stared up at him, a spineless man picking fights with women who were half his size.
He had some balls; that was for fucking sure.
But so did I. And mine were bigger.
“Cass—” Thatch called from behind me, but he was too late. No way was I walking away from this fight. And it’s not like I couldn’t defend myself. You didn’t walk around with a mouth like mine without knowing how to throw punches.
I reared back with my right arm and upper-cut Johnny hard enough to knock the grin straight off his face. His body crumpled to the ground within seconds.
I ignored the sting in my hand as I stood over his prone form and looked down at the pathetic display. “Who’s the bitch now, motherfucker?”
“Cassie.” Thatch’s concerned voice grabbed my attention. He lifted me up and away from the scene of the crime, and his hands moved over my face, my arms, my shoulders, searching for any sign of injury. “Shit, honey. Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine, T.”
His gaze was wild with concern. “What the fuck happened?”
Thatch’s desire to kill the asswipe showed plainly on his face, so I chose my words carefully.
I pointed to Johnny, who was now being tapped in the stomach by the foot of the bartender.
“That guy, Joanie,” I responded. “He doesn’t have any manners.”
Thatch blinked three times like he couldn’t process what I was saying.
“Wait…did you just call him Joanie?”
“Oh, is that not his name?” I feigned confusion.
He barked out a laugh. “His name is Johnny. But I have a feeling you already knew that.”
I flashed a knowing smirk.
Thatch’s eyes turned from murderously concerned to filled with hilarity in the span of a heartbeat. “So, you took it upon yourself to teach Joanie some manners?”
I shrugged. “Obviously, someone had to.”
“This shit can’t keep happening every time you stop by, Thatch,” Charlie grumbled behind us as he tried to rouse a snoozing Johnny. “I’m calling the sheriff.”
“C’mon, Charlie,” Thatch begged as he stared down at me with a tickled grin. “Just let it go. He assaulted my fiancée.”
I grinned back.
God, we were both fucking insane. It made my belly flutter and my smile consume my face until I felt like my cheeks might burst.
Charlie laughed incredulously. “He didn’t lay a finger on your fiancée. I watched it all from behind the bar. And you know this cocksucker is gonna try to press charges the second he comes to. Hell if I’m going to be the one who has to deal with Miller tomorrow morning.”
Thatch put both of his hands on my shoulders. “Honey,” he said with amusement in his voice, “I have a feeling I’m going to be the one bailing you out of jail this time.”
“Well…” I shrugged. “It was worth it.”
“Hey, Sheriff Miller, do you mind if I use the ladies’ room and grab a snack from the vending machine?”
“Call me Bill, darling,” he responded from his comfortable position behind his desk—chair leaned back, boots kicked up on the metal table. “And help yourself to the snacks in the break room.”
“Thanks, honey.”
After I knocked Johnny out in one shot, I got arrested by the Frogstown Police. Sheriff Miller had placed me in cuffs and put me in the back of his patrol car while Thatch had tried to convince him otherwise.
But it hadn’t worked. Obviously, my fiancé had been a troublemaker back in the day and had zero pull in his hometown. The sheriff had actually made it pretty clear that if Thatch tried to come with me right away, he’d put him in cuffs right next to me. The sweet fucking giant had looked like he was considering it.
But thirty minutes of flirty banter and fluttering eyelashes had gotten me on the sheriff’s good side, and he had taken the cuffs off and given me free rein of the station.
He had even apologized for having to keep me for the required six hours.
Yeah, Bill and I were good buddies now.
Once I took a quick pee break and grabbed a bag of chips from the station’s break room, I plopped down behind one of the deputies’ desks and mimicked the same position as the sheriff. “Mind if I use my phone for a minute?”
“Go ahead, darling.” Bill flashed a grin in my direction before returning his attention to the small TV across from his desk. He was three episodes deep into a Bonanza marathon.
Thatch answered on the first ring. “You okay, honey?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. You can pick me up in about thirty minutes.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Fantastic. See you in a few.” I ended the call and relocated to a chair beside Bill. “Mind if I join you?”
He glanced over his shoulder and shook his head.
“I love these old shows,” I said as I opened my bag of chips. “I used to watch them all the time with my dad when I was a kid.”
“They don’t make ’em like they used to, that’s for damn sure,” he answered with a wistful smile.
Bill and I got through another episode of Bonanza before Thatch powered into the station to pick me up exactly thirty minutes later. He’d obviously timed it so I didn’t have to be here even a minute longer than necessary. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me sitting behind the sheriff’s desk, teaching him how to use Facebook.
“Honestly, Bill, it’s not as hard as you think it is,” I told him as I scrolled through my newsfeed. “Plus, it’s pretty awesome how you can keep in touch with pretty much everyone in your life without having to pick up the phone.”
He chuckled. “I think I could get used to that.”
“Well, my ride is here,” I said as I logged out of my account. “But don’t be a stranger, okay?”
Bill grinned. “Same goes for you.”
“Did you get me all bailed out?” I asked Thatch as I stood up from my chair and threw my snack wrappers away in the trash.
“Pretty ladies don’t pay, darling.” The sheriff didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Now, you’ve had a late night, so be sure to go home and get a good night’s rest, okay?”
“Thanks, Bill.” I leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Don’t work too hard.”
I grabbed my purse and walked over to Thatch. “Ready?”
He glanced around the room in confusion. “Did they change jail?”
“What?”
His chocolate eyes were equal parts amused and surprised. “This is not the kind of jail experience I got the last time I was here.”
I grinned up at him.
“I should’ve fucking known,” he said as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and led me toward the doors.
“Should’ve known what?”
“That you’d be the one person to get Sheriff Miller wrapped around your finger.”
Once we got in his car, I turned in his direction.
“Can I ask you a question?”
His eyes met mine. “Of course, honey.”
“And you’ll be honest with me?”
He nodded. “Always.”
/> “Why did Johnny call you a murderer?”
Thatch’s face grew tight. His jaw ticked several times in response. “Is that what pushed you to hit him?”
“Yeah,” I answered honestly. “Obviously, I knew his words were complete shit. But it was the fact he had the balls to say something like that. It didn’t sit well with me, Thatch. Someone saying something like that about you.”
He watched me for a few quiet moments, and I gave him his space.
“When Margo died, she was with me,” he explained. “She was spontaneous and stubborn, and when she was set on doing something, there was no stopping her. She made a reckless decision that took her life, and I couldn’t stop her. I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t.”
I grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. There was more to tell, but he’d tell me in his own time if he wanted too. Knowing that much was enough. “Thanks for telling me, Thatch.”
He stared out the window while his thumb rubbed soothing circles over my hand. “Thanks for being you, Cassie.”
Eventually, he glanced over at me and smirked. “And thanks for defending my honor.”
I grinned. “Thanks for letting me go all Fight Club on someone and for stopping by McDonald’s on the way home.”
He chuckled. “You’re hungry?”
“So hungry,” I groaned. “The Frogstown Police have shit snacks in their break room.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You were in their break room?”
“I’m not kidding about that or the fact that I’m hungry.” I snapped at the windshield and held my stomach. “Get moving, baby. I’ve got a Big Mac with my name on it.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kline said as he and Georgia walked up to us arm in arm. “You brought the pig? To this?”
“Hey! Watch it, Big Dick. Not everyone’s animal is an asshole,” Cassie retorted.
“Um, excuse me?” Georgia cut in, and I tuned the women out.
“We couldn’t get our usual sitter,” I told Kline ridiculously. He looked like he was constipated with amusement—fucking dying to get it out, but it was all backed up in there.