by Frankie Love
She smiles and takes her hand back, tucking it under her chin. “I’m not exactly the most trusting person in the world,” she explains. “But your mom told me to call you if I needed anything, so I’m assuming she wouldn’t care if you came back to the kitchen with me.”
“And you want me back there, in the kitchen with you?”
Her cheeks flush, and she runs her hand over her collarbone. “Um. If you want.”
I stand from the booth. “Oh,” I tell her. “I want.”
4
Buck follows me in the kitchen and I admit that I did a little more swaying of my hips than is absolutely necessary. But there is something about this man that draws me in.
Which is interesting because the only way I’ve ever felt around men before is scared, disgusted, and used.
I’m usually cowering in the corner averting my eyes, and crossing my arms to cover myself, not wanting to demand any attention; knowing if any of my uncle’s partners find me desirable, they would up the ante for my body.
I don’t want to be purchased.
But Buck is not like my uncle or his friends.
Buck has gentle eyes, an auburn beard and a smattering of freckles on his cheekbones. Like he spends time in the sun, in the beautiful forest that surrounds us and not in dark nightclubs making shady deals.
No. Buck is a gust of fresh air, but more than that he looks gentle. Not in a weak way, but in an I’d never lay a finger on you way. In a there’s no reason to be scared because when a woman is near me she has my undying protection sorta way.
In a way that makes me want to make something out of nothing in this bare bones kitchen and offer this stranger a feast. I want to make his stomach full and his heart happy. I want to take care of him; and there is no rhyme or reason for that other than a relentless desire to have a man who makes me feel safe, by my side.
“Let’s see here,” I say, pulling open the fridge. I grab a carton of eggs and a gallon of milk, and a single stick of butter. Closing the fridge I see a few potatoes on the shelf, too, and add them to my growing pile.
Oil, salt, pepper, flour, sugar, and baking powder are all in the pantry, and though it’s dusty, I figure these staples won’t have an expiration date that will cause Buck any harm. “You have any idea why she has two random potatoes?”
“No fucking clue,” Buck answers. “God knows my mother can’t cook.”
“Why did she open a diner then?”
“There was already a gas station and bar in town. She took what was left.”
Buck leans against the counter, watching me fire up the grill, then cracking eggs, whisking flour and salt together, adding a cup of milk. I chop the potatoes, and turn on the deep fryer.
“You don’t need a recipe book?” he asks.
I shake my head, smiling for real, which is something my face barely remembers how to do. “I don’t have a ton of marketable skills, but I do know how to cook.”
He nods. “You don’t need to know how to do everything, just one thing well, that’s what I always say.”
“And what do you do, Buck?” I ask, raising my eyes to his as I melt a pat of butter on the large grill.
“I carve wood with a chainsaw. Large sculptures. I also hunt and fish, but every man out here does that.”
I wasn’t expecting him to tell me he is an artist, but I notice his strong forearms, his large hands, his broad shoulders, muscles straining the seams and I can imagine the strength he must wield to use a chainsaw.
“That’s incredible,” I tell him. “I’d love to see your work.”
“Well, my cabin’s hard to miss. You take a left off the highway at Eagle Canyon, and a mile up is a marker for my place. A massive, carved bald eagle is perched out on the gravel road.”
“Impressive,” I tell him, pouring circles of batter on the hot grill, then cracking a few eggs, watching them sizzle next to the pancakes. I drop the chopped potatoes in the fryer and let them snap, crackle, and pop.
“This is pretty damn impressive too, Rosie.” Buck takes a step toward me, and I inhale, feeling his presence behind me. Close behind me. I have an urge to arch my back ever so slightly, putting my ass in a more prominent view. I may want that, but I don’t have the guts to put myself out there.
I’m a virgin who’s never so much as been kissed.
But damn, I’ve spent plenty of nights with my hands between my thighs, tempted to press a finger deep inside of me, imagining a real man taking me to bed, spreading my legs, and marking me as his. But I have never so much as gotten myself off.
I’ve always wanted to save everything I could for the man who made me his own.
Then I remember my uncle is coming for me. How my virginity is the prize that will up the price he can get for me.
And I realize that if I were no longer “pure” in his eyes maybe he wouldn’t want to sell me at all. Maybe I would be worthless.
Maybe I would be free.
I flip a pancake.
And arch my back.
Bite my bottom lip, and look at Buck with a desire that is not only real, but also palpable.
His for the taking.
“Those look about ready to burn.” Buck juts his chin toward the deep fryer where the potatoes are sizzling.
“Oh, you’re right,” I say, blinking back my distraction. I raise the basket, letting the grease drip off the fried potatoes, and then grab a few plates from the shelf. “Your mom said I could eat on the job.”
“You don’t need to explain nothing to me, Rosie. I’m just pretty fucking glad I decided to come to town for lunch.”
“Oh, yeah?” I plate the pancakes, fried eggs, and the hash browns. I turn off the hot grill and the fryer while Buck grabs us a few mugs of coffee.
“Sugar? Cream?”
“Both,” I tell him, marveling at the simple fact that the guy asked how I liked my coffee. My uncle never cared what I liked.
I swallow, realizing I waited way too long to run away.
We sit in the corner booth and pour maple syrup on our pancakes. I watch him add hot sauce to his hash browns, salt and pepper on his eggs, the way he sips his black coffee. I am memorizing him and feel my cheeks redden as he catches me staring.
“Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude,” I tell him, taking a bite of pancake. He is eating quickly, clearly hungry. “It’s just, you’re really easy to be around. Does anyone tell you that?”
Buck raises an eye. “Not many people come around these parts, Rosie.”
“So you don’t have a woman at home?”
He sets down his coffee, no trace of a smile left on his face and my heart stops. Maybe I read him all wrong; maybe I am a fool with no experience in the real world. Maybe Buck has a girlfriend or wife at home, in that cabin of his in the woods.
“You think I’d be looking at you like this, like I want to push all these plates off this table and take you right here, right now, if I had a woman at home?”
I manage to eek out a no, but I can hardly make a sound. My pussy is suddenly wet with desire, suddenly stirred from sleep. Suddenly wanting Buck to do just what he is imagining.
But then I hear a car skid into the parking lot. My eyes jump from Buck’s mouth to the window.
A black car that I recognize pulls to a stop. Two men step out, flicking cigarette buds to the ground. Stomping on them as they walk toward the entrance.
“Oh my god. Don’t let them come in.” I stand, running toward the kitchen.
Buck grabs my arm. “What is it? Who are they?”
“They’re coming for me. Please, let me hide,” I plead.
As I run to the bathroom, where I intend to lock myself in, the men swing open the door, catching my eyes as they do.
Shit.
5
“Rosalind, get out here, you little bliad’,” the man in a black trench coat insists, not noticing–or not caring–that I’m here. “Or I’m coming after you, and you’ll regret it you yobanaya suka!”
“You best be
turning around and walking out that door,” I tell the two men, not having any problem with making myself known. Not when Rosie asked me to keep her safe.
I’ll fucking watch over her until the day I die, if she wants me to.
“You backwoods svoloch’, you can’t tell me what to do. Victor,” the man tells the other guy, “go get Rosalind, smack that suka around and make her listen. I’ll take care of him.”
“Over my dead body,” I roar. “You need to go, now.”
Victor foolishly makes a run for the bathroom, where Rosie has locked herself in.
“Don’t you think about laying a finger on her,” I yell, grabbing Victor by the shoulders as he tries to barrel past me. I slam into him, but his brass knuckles crash against my jaw, drawing blood.
I’m not taking this fucker’s shit. Instead of grabbing my jaw, I fucking sock that bastard in the face, pulverizing him, as I pound him to the ground.
With one guy taken care of, I focus on the other man.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I tell him, pulling out my gun. “And get this fucker out of here too.
“You going to play dirty, is that it?” the man asks, reaching for his own gun.
“Don’t you even think about it,” I say, coming behind him, wrapping my arm around his throat in a chokehold and then removing his gun from its holster. “You need to back the fuck up,” I tell Victor, who tries to pull himself off the ground where I tossed him. He steps backwards, towards the door, knowing this is about to get fucking messy if he doesn’t leave. Now. I’m holding his buddy around the neck, with a gun pointed to him.
“You are going to leave this diner, pull your car out of this lot, and never come back, do you fucking understand me?” I tell him, not really asking a question.
The man trembles in my arms, literally crying as I tighten my hold.
“You understand?” I shout, as Victor nods, skittering out the door. Wanting to be sure they know I mean it, I grab him by the shoulder and throw him to the ground, too. Making sure his head hits first. There is something satisfying about that thunking sound of a skull hitting linoleum.
The men may be Russian gangsters but they don’t know how to fight a fucking mountain man.
“Now,” I shout, holding both guns in my hands, forcing them out the door. “You better not come after me or Rosie, understood?”
The men scramble toward their car, and peel away. Weak ass motherfuckers.
I lock the diner door, turn the sign to closed. In the safe beneath the register, I place the guy’s gun, and my gun, too. Then I flick off the lights and turn toward the bathroom. We don’t need any more interruptions.
I knock on the door. “You okay? You’re safe now, Rosie. They’re gone.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“I’m sure, darlin’, open the door and let me have a look at you.”
The doorknob turns, and I feel my cock twitch in anticipation. I want to see this woman’s face again. I need to see her face.
Rosie opens the door slowly and steps back until she is in the corner by the sink, trembling. Her eyes are rimmed in red and her heart is pounding – I know because I can see her pulse beat in her throat. Her chest heaves with every breath she takes as if the simple act requires concentration.
“Darlin’,” I say, stepping into the bathroom.
She is safe here with me.
She must know it, too, because I pull her in my arms, and she doesn’t pull away. Quite the opposite; she sinks into my chest as if I’m the one sure thing she can hold onto.
“Who were those men?”
She shakes her head, her face buried in my flannel shirt. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does if they want to hurt you.”
“Why do you care who hurts me, Buck?” she asks. “I’m just a girl. I know my worth.”
My jaw tenses and I wish I could drag those fuckers back here, smash their skulls together until they bleed across the linoleum floor. No one has a right to make a woman feel as if she’s worthless.
“Rosie,” I tell her, lifting her chin with my finger so I can see her gorgeous brown eyes. “You aren’t just anything.”
She shakes her head, not believing me. But her eyes are locked on mine, and that makes me think she wants to believe. Wants to feel like the angel she is. The fucking gift dropped into my day that I plan on unwrapping.
“Don’t shake your head at me, Rosie. I know you’re scared, so maybe we should get you back to wherever you live, get you off your feet. Help you into bed and make sure you feel safe.”
She shakes her head again.
“No, Buck. I’m working. I have to stay.”
“Hell, no you don’t,” I tell her, her body pressed against mine, and I feel my cock getting hard with such a perfect woman so close to me. “Two men just stormed in here demanding you get in their black fucking sedan, wanting to take you back to who knows where. You’re in no state to work.”
She swallows, considering my words. “They’ll come back,” she says. “It’s just a matter of time.”
“They’re not here now.” I look down at her, knowing my desire is written plainly across my face. I’ve been waiting my entire life for a woman to take my fucking breath away. I’m not letting her go so easy.
“Thank you for making them leave,” she tells me, her eyes brimming with tears. “No one ever makes them back down; but you did, Buck. You made them run.”
“For you, I’d do anything.”
“You don’t even know me.”
I shrug, holding her in my arms. “Maybe not, but does it matter? You are a woman who needs a man to protect her. I’m here and willing. Let me be that for you.”
“Buck,” she says softly, her mouth parting. “Let me thank you for saving me.”
My hands run over her back, and then they cup her face, our gazes held on one another. “How do you want to thank me?”
“I want to thank you with the one thing I have to offer you.”
Now it’s my turn to shake my head. “Rosie, you have more than one thing to offer,” I tell her, not wanting her to believe that her only worth is in her body.
“Maybe so,” she says, licking her lips, her fingers on the front zipper of her uniform. “But this is the way I want to thank you. This is what I want to give.”
She pulls the zipper down and my cock goes rock hard.
This woman is giving me more than a thank you.
She’s giving me a fucking dream come true.
6
With the zipper down, my breasts are exposed. I didn’t wear a bra, the strap on mine broke this morning as I dressed, and I didn’t have time to find a new one.
“Good god, woman,” Buck says, stepping away from me.
“What?” I ask, knowing my insecurity flashes across my face. I immediately want to cover myself, thinking the plan is a bad one.
But it is the only plan that makes any sense at all.
My uncle’s men will be back for me, and resisting for long is only trouble. Trouble for me, but also for Buck. And he doesn’t deserve to be pulled into my crap.
Besides, I know he wants me. And the truth is, my pussy is already wet thinking about him.
Besides, if I give Buck my body then I have the upper hand with my Uncle.
If my unused body is an asset he plans on selling – then I will ruin his plans by giving Buck – the nicest man I’ve ever laid eyes on – my virginity.
I feel emboldened by this plan.
I want my first time to be with a good, solid man. A gentle man. A man who isn’t looking at me like he wants to ruin me.
Buck looks at me like he wants to cherish me.
I’m not good enough for a man like that. I come from a dark place, with dark people, and Buck deserves a woman who glows. He has no idea how messy I am, how much baggage I carry.
So I won’t let him take care of me for longer than this afternoon.
But I will thank him for giving me a few hours to figure out what I
want before I go back to my uncle’s men.
I was foolish to ever think I’d be able to stay away for long.
“You are so fucking beautiful, Rosie.” Buck shakes his head, his eye on my large breasts, the chill of the bathroom causing my nipples to stand erect, hard and tight.
It gives me a thrill, hearing his compliments. I’ve never had a man who so generously offered me anything besides a stack of dirty plates, piles of unwashed clothes. I grew up as a glorified slave.
However, standing before Buck, it doesn’t feel like I am a being used. Standing before him, I feel like I’m something precious. The way his eyes rake over me doesn’t feel dirty, it feels seductive.
He wants me and I want him.
I shimmy the dress from my arms and my fingers slip under the waistband of my panties.
“You want me to take these off, Buck?”
He shakes his head. My eyes narrow in confusion.
He smiles, his voice light. “No, darling, I want to take them off you.”
My face breaks into a smile; relieved to hear he isn’t rethinking this.
Buck shuts and locks the door of the bathroom. It’s clean and tidy as far as bathrooms go. Cherri may not be a good cook, but she certainly knows how to keep things clean.
Buck unbuttons his flannel shirt, and tosses it to the floor. His abs are a ladder and there are too many rungs to count. He has the image of a buck tattooed on his chest, the soft lines reflect his personality; his inked flesh turns me on even more. Maybe because the men I grew up around were covered in harsh ink depicting dark stories.
“You sure you don’t have a woman at home?” I ask, not quite believing a man like him would be single.
“I promise.” He lowers himself to the floor, wrapping his hands around my waist, looking up at me. He may be on his knees, but this position is anything but weak.
It’s powerful. Him knowing he’s going to take all of me.