The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever

by Jennifer Tate

  "Fortunately for you, you have a low maintenance princess. A bunch of hugs and kisses, plus a couple of tune-ups each day, and your Tawny Cat will be purring for you like a kitten."

  "I'm thrilled about the purring, but I want our love to do more than last. I want it to flourish and grow."

  She kissed him. "I think I have part of the solution. When I told daddy that I was moving in with you, he asked me if I loved you. I told him that I would always love you, but that I didn't know why. "Tiger", he said, "don't worry about the why of it. 'The heart has its reasons, which reason does not understand.'"

  "'The heart has its reasons, which reason does not understand,'" Brad repeated. That's the first thing that's made any sense to me since I met you."

  "Then daddy said, 'Always set aside time each day to discuss your hopes, your fears, and your dreams. If you always make time for each other, your love can only grow stronger and deeper.'"

  "That's not a problem. My problem will be making time for anything other than you."

  Betty-Jo took Brad in her arms, and kissed him again. It was the sexy one, like the one she'd given him at the amusement park: it opened doors, captured rainbows, and set reality adrift.

  -30-

  BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN

  A Tawny Working Girl?

  Brad was excited about taking Betty-Jo for dinner at The Lover's Place at Murrels Inlet. Apparently, so was she, because she used more makeup than usual: mascara, smoky-green eye shadow with a dark green liner, a hint of blush, and neutral pink lipstick with a touch of sheer gloss. She scrunched her hair with mousse to create a windblown tawny-animal effect; painted her normally unpolished nails the emerald-green color of her eyes, and added a splash of lavender perfume to make herself irresistible. Then it was his turn. He dressed her in a clinging, white workout-top, a white garter-belt with white stockings, a white cotton and linen peasant-skirt, and large silver hoop earrings. For contrast, he selected a black-suede belt and her black-velvet choker—no panties.

  His work complete, he stepped back for a panoramic view, and could not believe the wonder he'd created. The white spandex top fit Betty-Jo like a second skin, accentuating the rounded contours of her breasts with their perky tips. She was beyond stunning, but more than anything, it was her emerald-green eyes that captivated him. They embraced and seduced him.

  "A dish fit for the gods," he said. "They should make you buy a permit to look that gorgeous."

  * * *

  Brad moved her to the mirror, and she watched him kiss and nibble the nape of her neck, while his hands caressed her breasts, before moving down her flat belly, and then out along her jutting hips.

  "'Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of us all?'" he said. She studied herself in the mirror, and smiled—big time. I've never looked so good, she thought. "And the mirror replied?"

  "...Tawny Cat."

  "Nope. The mirror said, 'It's you, Brad.'"

  "You rotten lover! You set me up! So now it's your turn to look in the mirror."

  Brad took his turn

  "Look down in the corner. It says, "'objects in the mirror are dumber than they appear.'"

  Brad laughed. "Stop that, Tawny Cat," he said. "The mirror knows that you're the fairest. And if it doesn't, we'll break it and buy one that does. Now let's get out of here, before you have me so spellbound that the only dinner that interests me is you."

  Love that lavender perfume....

  When they arrived outside The Lover's Place, Brad reached under Betty-Jo's skirt.

  "Just checking to make sure you're still pantyless."

  "You're a real humanitarian. First you evict my panties from their home, and then you move in."

  "While normally I hate to see anything without a home, there's something intoxicating about the thought of you without panties."

  "It's nice that you think that way," she said, while doing nothing to discourage his reconnaissance, "but you already know that I'm not wearing panties, because it was you who dressed me."

  His eyes grinned at her. "You can never be too vigilant with a quality playmate. Someone might covertly cover you when I'm not looking."

  "Sure. Under the cover of darkness, when I'm not looking either."

  His grin moved to his mouth. "Before you sit down in the restaurant, I want you to lift the back of your skirt so you're next to the seat."

  When she sat down on the leather chair in The Lover's Place, she lifted her skirt. "A bad girl runs around inside all women, and somehow you've discovered where my bad girl lives."

  "Speaking of bad, I can't decided which of your two lounging outfits I want you to wear when we get home: your peasant skirt with no panties or bra, or your black blouse with your black lounging panties, garter belt, and stockings."

  I should try to be helpful, she thought. "Why don't you have me try on both outfits, then you can decide which you prefer."

  "I considered that. But once you put on either one, I'm afraid I won't be able to stop making love with you for the rest of the evening."

  I have to find a way to speed up dinner, Betty-Jo thought. And it was a fabulous dinner. She chose the chicken and shrimp Creole, while Brad went with a swordfish steak with lime and coriander, in a tomato salsa sauce. He also ordered a dry Chardonnay to go with the meal, and for later, a Green Goblin liqueur: a creative blend of chartreuse, crème de cacao, and cream.

  "This swordfish is delicious," he said. "If it was wearing a teddy, I'd sleep with it." The gallant fool moved a bite of his tasty fish to her lips—soon she'd eaten half of it.

  "Let that be a lesson to you. Don't take female athletes out for dinner, they eat too much."

  "Unfortunately, I'm really fond of a certain female athlete. But from now on, I'll only take her to places that give you all you can eat at a fixed price, and I'll bring my own candles."

  "Who says romance is dead?"

  He fed her another bite of his swordfish. "Has it occurred to you that maybe you're being fattened up so you won't be able to run as fast, when I try to take advantage of you, later this evening."

  She tossed him a coquettish smile. "If you put your mind to it, I'm sure you'll be able to come up with a better method than fattening, to slow me down."

  Brad was being witty and loveable but, sipping her Green Goblin, she kept thinking about dessert—the dessert she wanted to be. Maybe if I'm naughty under the table, she thought. But instead of opting for naughtiness under the table, she leaned over and whispered, "If you take me home now, you can have me for dessert. I'll be your all-night sucker."

  He grinned, and passed on the truffle bars. "A Tawny Cat all-night sucker has to be a better dessert than a truffle bar, even one with a pistachio crust."

  * * *

  Back at the cottage, Brad fired up a few candles, poured them both a glass of champagne, and removed Betty-Jo's workout top. Her cupcakes, bathed in the flickering candlelight, were otherworld magnificent. Then he revved up the CD player, and Waltzing Matilda sallied forth.

  "If I can remember how this is done, I'll soon be waltzing Ma Tawny."

  "I'm amazed at how light and airy I feel," she said, as she floated around the room, following his lead. "Either you're a marvelous dancer or I've lost weight."

  "It's neither. You follow divinely."

  "Thank you, kind sir."

  "You've mastered the secret of successful ballroom dancing."

  "...Which is?"

  He grinned and held her close. "Stand on the guy's toes, and you can't go wrong."

  "Now you're in trouble. Come to the weight room with me, and I'll show you what a strong Tawny Cat you own. You might think twice before you insult her again, or try to take advantage of her."

  "I do think twice, but I can't keep my hands off of my pretty kitty—there's something addictive about you."

  She reached into her purse for a lavender touch-up, and then lay down on the bench. "Spot me," she said.

  "How much weight do you want."

  "A h
undred and thirty."

  "A hundred and thirty! Are you sure?"

  "No problem. This show of strength is to remind you how the Amazon women were able to dominate their weaker male rivals, in ancient Greece."

  "Good thing I can press a hundred and thirty-two."

  She lifted the hundred and thirty pound barbell—then she lowered it. Brad was supposed to be spotting her, but what he spotted were her breasts, firm and inviting.

  "If the Amazon women were anything like you it's no wonder their men were undone. The poor wretches were smitten into submission."

  He caressed her cupcakes, but before long, he was drawn to another pleasure garden. The bench had parted his Tawny Cat's thighs, and her addicting, womanly scent was wafting up to greet him. As his mouth strayed between her legs, he glanced up, found her eyes and grinned, "This is by far the best part of a balanced diet," he murmured. Then he was drifting on her aroma, her whimpers, her moans, and her little animal cries.

  * * *

  It took all of Betty-Jo's strength and concentration to return the barbell to its rack—then she held on tightly, savoring the warm and arousing sensations that her lover was creating.

  "Oh yes, Very Bad Brad, oh yes!" It was her dessert time, and for the first time ever, she was being licked and kissed to a frenetic culmination....

  Later, in the bedroom, she lay naked on the bed: her legs parted, and her arms raised above her head. I'm as open as possible for him now, she thought Then a disconcerting melody started to play in her head.

  Brad came into the bedroom, and lay down beside her. "What is my X-winged fighter grinning at?"

  "Sorry, I can't say. Private thoughts."

  "You look scrumptious lying there like that. Do me a favor and stay that way for a minute." He got up, went to the closet, and returned with four neckties. Then he tied her to the bed.

  "What are you doing?" she asked.

  "Lie still, and I'll tell you."

  Soon she was unable to move—exposed, vulnerable, and apprehensive.

  "So what are you doing!"

  He looked pleased with himself. "Tying you naked to the bed. You said, that if I put my mind to it, I'd be able to come up with a better method than fattening to slow you down. So it's thanks to you, that I'm about to have more fun than a sex starved rooster has with the hens in a hen house."

  "That's fine for the rooster, and fine for you, but what about me?"

  "You should be brave. You have nothing to fear—except, perhaps, for a stray out-of-the-casket vampire or two."

  "I don't like vampires."

  He gazed at her appreciatively. "You're a captivating sight, all moist and juicy."

  "Don't you all moist and juicy me!" She tried to close her legs, but of course, she couldn't.

  "Let me guess. You're thinking, I hardly know this fool, and already I'm feeling tied down."

  A smile got away from her. "Why me Lord?" She was annoyed, but also, strangely excited.

  "Now, what were you saying about private thoughts?" he said.

  "Which word didn't you understand, private, or thoughts?"

  "You have an unfortunate attitude, because we have ways to make fairytale princesses talk." He went to the washroom and returned with an electric razor. "Reveal your secrets by dawn, or your pussy is gone."

  This can't be happening. The guy only claimed that territory yesterday, and already he's threatening to clear-cut it!

  "You wouldn't dare!" She struggled against her bonds—to no avail.

  "Be still," he admonished. "One slip of this razor, and you could end up in a James Bond movie, co-staring as Pussy Nomore."

  "May God have mercy on your soul if you ever untie me." He smiled indulgently, and turned on the trimmer. I don't believe this! Something's awakened his beast! "Stop! I'll tell you.... I was thinking...it was a song.... Beast, please. I can't. You wouldn't want to devastate your little Tawny Cat, would you?"

  He shaved off a strip of her wool. "One more pass like the last one, and your friends will be calling you Mohawk," he said with a chuckle.

  "Stop! I'll tell you.... I was thinking of a British song, but I changed the words a little. I was thinking, 'How many kinds of wild flowers grow in [Betty-Jo's] country garden?'" How can I be telling him this? I should have let him torture me to death. "Even though it can't happen, I was thinking that it might be nice if you were a gardener...planting your seeds in me.... There! Are you happy now?"

  He thought for a moment, and then he grinned. "Not yet. I want you to memorize my verse. 'I'll tell you now of [the only one that can grow], and those I miss you'll surely pardon'. In other words, the only wild flower I want growing in your garden is mine."

  Her fury ebbed a little. She was still mad, and embarrassed, but reassured—until he turned on the trimmer again, and continued to shave her.

  "Stop! What are you doing? I told you what you wanted to know!"

  "That was a nice thing to share. But in convincing you that it's nice to share, I've made my wetlands lopsided. Now I'm wondering what they'll look like without any wool at all."

  "Earth to Beast! You can't go around shaving other people's wetlands because you're curious about what they'll look like!"

  "I thought you believed in keeping your promises."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "This afternoon you said that a part of you would always belong to me. Which part did you think we were talking about?"

  "You know which part! But when I said it I didn't know you thought you were a landscape architect!"

  "Tawny, either the wetlands are mine, or they're not. So now you want to renege on your promise?"

  That stifled her.

  After six or seven strokes he stepped back, and admired his workmanship. "Fabulous! I should get into sheep shearing." He put her almost virgin wool in a bottle, dated it, and labeled it B-J Chance's Virgin Wool. "I'm going to get one of those virgin wool symbols, and paste it on the bottle. When you're a famous tennis star, what I'll get for your virgin wool will shame a whole flock of Angora sheep. Look at the kind of bucks the Jackie O estate garnered for a few trinkets from Camelot.

  "Why Angora?"

  "Because that's the only kind of sheep I know."

  "And you don't even know that. Angora wool comes from goats."

  "Ignorant me apologizes—no way you're a goat. You're more the little lamb type."

  "Yeah, the Bad Brad terminating little lamb type."

  He chuckled. "But perhaps you fall somewhat into the goat category for getting yourself into this mess in the first place."

  "Could you at least try to be sane? Nobody's going to buy your virgin wool bull!"

  "They will if you sign the bottle below the virgin wool symbol."

  "Fat chance of that!"

  "We'll see—but now I have to clean up my pleasure package," he said with a grin. Then he left, but in less than a minute he was back with shaving foam, a towel, half a glass of warm water, and a twin-blade Gillette Sensor safety-razor. He lathered between her legs, and went carefully to work.

  "That looks promising," he said, after he wiped away the remaining shaving foam, and rinsed her new-look wetlands.

  My God that feels good, but I can't believe he's doing this to me. "You're demented!"

  He laughed, and began to play with her. "'Apart from that Mrs. Lincoln, how are you enjoying the play?'"

  "...You know I love it," she said softly, furious with herself for not wanting him to stop.

  "'It's fortunate for men that women love [us] for [our] defects,'" Brad said, as he continued to play with his creation, until Betty-Jo began to whimper. Then he kissed her neck, bit her ear, commandeered her eyes, and entered her. "Is getting you to authenticate your virgin wool going to be a problem?"

  "No."

  "Good, because it's a gift from me to you. What I did was tasteless, but I want you to have a memento of our love. If we're ever parted, I want you to open the bottle, scatter your wool on the wind, and remember our first
night together, and your first, and only lover."

  She could not believe what she was hearing.

  Where has this enchanting terror of fair maidens come from? One moment he's a boy, and I'm his adventure—the next, he's a man, and I'm on a magic carpet living fantasies too fanciful to imagine. One moment he's infuriating me—the next, he has me loving him forever.

  "Having you is even better than having a Chia Pet," he said as he untied her.

  She tried not to laugh, but failed. "That only proves you're over thirteen."

  "Tawny, from time to time I'm going to have to leave my playmate in your safe keeping. I want you to promise that you'll keep an eye on it for me—make sure it behaves itself."

  "I promise," she said, enchanted by his silliness, but with no idea why.

  "There's something else.

  "Oh, oh."

  "It's not enough that I have your naughty parts."

  "You want more from me?"

  "What I really want, you may find more difficult to give."

  She hugged her lover. "Knowing you, you'll just take it anyway."

  "It's not something I want to take. It's something I want you to give me. I want a piece of your soul. I want to know your feelings and desires, I want to share in your innermost secrets."

  "Brad? I don't know. I want you to know me like that, but I'm not sure I can let go."

  "Then you'll be punished. You'll be driven to Mexico, tied naked to a stake, and fed to a swarm of killer bees." He grinned at her. She laughed at him.

  "What happened to the part about 'it's something I want you to give'?"

  "Changed my mind."

  "If you promise not to feed me to the killer bees, I do have a few innermost secrets that might interest you. One is, I've always wanted to be a fairytale princess, and now, thanks to you, I am." His kiss made her feel even more princess-like.

  "That's a lovely secret, and if you tell me my beauty spot's name you'll be given your reward."

  "Please Do Me Brad."

  He undressed, and then joined her. Soon her soul was frolicking, while her body, responding to his demands, was taking her on an incredible journey of sensory and ethereal revelations. Deep inside, exquisite sensations gathered before they radiated outward. Then she was capitulating—her innermost places were opening to receive him. A pervasive warmth coursed through her, just before the waves of pleasure sucked her breath away, turned her insides to Jell-O, and made her crazy.