by S. E. Hall
He didn’t like the movie. What? How can you not like that movie? I clean up our dinner mess while I wait for them to come back in, working off some of the spunk building inside, ‘cause I really don’t wanna ruin the night by fighting about something so silly. But seriously, was he watching the same wonderful movie as me?
“Nice job, buddy. Tell your Mama how good you did,” Sutton’s “Castello voice” alerts me when they’re back, and I instantly whirl around.
“How can you not like that movie?” I screech, and cringe at my own racket, taking deep breaths to help me dial it down a notch… or five.
He chuckles, occupying himself with petting the dog. “I don’t know.” He hitches a shoulder. “I didn’t hate it, I just-”
“Didn’t like it, I’m aware. Why not?”
“Hey, here’s an idea; instead of setting me up to dig myself in a hole, why don’t you tell me why you do like it so much?”
Well, how in the hell am I supposed to keep fighting with him when he turns those twinkling green eyes on high beam, smirks, dimples on full display, and says cute shit like that? He’s growing on me, dammit — this does not bode well for my chances at future victories.
“Sutton, did you miss the beginning? Or the middle? Maybe the end? Could you hear it okay?” My arms are dancing in the air, eyes wide and begging for a plausible explanation. “You must’ve missed a key part in there somewhere.”
“No, I caught all of it. She’s in a coma, not dead, yet, but still somehow already a ghost, haunting his, her old, apartment. They fall in love, he breathes her back to life…” he shakes his head, “so she’s alive again, yada, yada, they live happily ever after. I leave anything out?”
“Uh, yeah, a lot! Probably had room to squeeze it into the ‘yada, yada’ gap.”
“I ever told ya how damn cute you are when you’re all worked up?” He ambles over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and tugging me against him. “Adorable. So keep goin’, it’s your turn anyway. Let’s hear your groundbreaking summation.”
“Forget it; doesn’t count if I have to explain it. You either get it or you don’t.”
With one finger, he tilts my chin up, capturing my gaze, his own filled with amusement. “I’ll get the next one, promise. You go grab us a pillow and a blanket; I’ll start it up.”
“We’re gonna watch another one? It’s getting pretty late; I don’t want you to have to drive me home tired.”
“Sweet of you to care, but not a problem. You’re sleeping here tonight.” He kisses the tip of my nose.
“But-”
“But… you didn’t bring any pajamas? No worries, I’m more than willing to let that slide.”
“No.” I roll my eyes while swatting at his chest. “I-”
“Might fall asleep on the couch, and you’re afraid it won’t be comfortable? Gotcha covered again, babe. I’ll carry you to my bed.” He shoots me another wink, knowing it’s his not-so-secret weapon. “Glad we got that settled. Now, you were grabbing us a blanket and I’m on the movie. Oh, you want me to make popcorn?”
The last week has been the best of my life; so amazing, that making it through my shift tonight is getting harder by the minute. I finally have someone, something, something real, to go home to, and damn do I want to go home to her, right now.
We made it through her movie list — I even enjoyed a couple of them — and her commentary, follow-up discussion/Q & A, and reactions to certain scenes gave me a wealth of insight into her that she never would’ve given otherwise. Presley’s a closet romantic, a big ol’ pile of mushy, sentimental goo on the inside, and “deeper” than she realizes, seeing, understanding, and really feeling layers and meanings within a story that others never know are there. Seriously, no one else in the entire world has any idea — I’m still deciphering the lengthy explanation she gave me, twice — the hidden depth to Lady and The Tramp; I guarantee it.
I’m laughing to myself, staring at the crowd, yet seeing nothing, when my phone vibrates in my back pocket. If it’s her… well, my hope that we’re actually building something real is founded… because it tells me she’s missing me too. We’ve been together non-stop for the last week, and the first break she gets from me, she’s not relieved to have some space, not encouraging the distance, because “things were getting too serious.” If it’s her, that is.
I pull out my phone and grin so big my cheeks ache.
It’s her… and I’m making progress.
Hot Shot: DANCE LESSONS? Really?
What? Ohhh I got it now.
Me: I see someone jumped the gun on picking from the bored jar. Surely I haven’t bored you already.
My chest swells with thrilled, primal pride — not only is she not happy I’m gone, but she’s bored without me there. Yeah, I’m definitely making progress.
Hot Shot: Of course I’m bored, I’m sitting at home alone on a Friday night. And don’t change the subject. WHY did you put dance lessons in here? I’ll have you know, I’m a great dancer! I do NOT need lessons.
I’m laughing, typing a reply, when another one from her comes through.
Hot Shot: And I’ll prove it. TTYL. Phone now on silent.
Well, shit, that backfired quickly. I meant like a “couples’ ballroom” type thing, not to piss her off. Which is exactly what I text back… but it remains unread. And when I call, it goes straight to voicemail. Fuck, this feisty lil’ hothead is gonna be the damn death of me.
“Sutton, go help Roman by the pool tables, man. I can’t leave my post, got a handsy motherfucker,” Jason, another bouncer, barks in my earpiece.
“On it,” I fire back, heading that way, almost sorry for whoever needs handling, because my mood’s now dark, due entirely to my woman’s radio silence.
Alrighty… make that two jackasses who have my sympathy — the one I’m about to toss like a sack of shit, and the pale, bug-eyed shaking fucker, currently on his back, being held down against the pool table by dumbass one, and a cue stick across his throat. Roman’s trying to pull the dude back, but two other guys, I’m guessing the cue stick wielder’s buddies, are pulling on him. Not. Okay. With. Me. And the girl mixed in the mayhem, crying and screaming like a banshee? Really not okay.
First things first. “Ma’am, step back and let me handle this, don’t want you gettin’ hurt.” I gently move her, wincing at her screech. “And maybe quiet down, super unhelpful if I can’t hear myself think. Thanks.”
“Fuck you!” she spats, slapping me across the face.
I don’t get paid near enough. “Miss, I’m-”
And just when I thought the chick held the best in shrieking…
“Did I just see that shit? Bitch, you better pray I did not just see you slap my man!”
Oh, fuck. So not the way I’d have chosen for her to publicly claim me.
“Presley, what the hell are you doing here?” I turn to look at her, poised and ready to strike, actually shifting to guard the doomed slapper she’s got in her crosshairs.
“Not slapping other women’s men!” she hollers, lunging forward, reaching around me to get at the girl. “Move your ass, Sutton. She wants to hit people, let her show me!”
Jesus Christ, I’m protecting a loon who hit me, holding back the sexiest spitfire I’ve ever seen, and have yet to help Roman, or the guy who may be dead by now via cue-choke. Good times. But… I’m guessing Presley’s no longer bored.
“Baby, ‘preciate it, really do, but kinda got enough on my plate right now. Can’t worry about you too, so please, for me, go wait by the door with Kai.”
“Right behind ya,” Kai laughs. “Jason took the door; you think I’d let her prance on back here alone?”
Presley stops her scrambling long enough to shoot me a victorious smirk, then goes right back to business. “Come outta hidin’, badass! What, you not feelin’ brave anymore? Your hand get tired? Come on, show me what ya got, I dare ya!”
“I’m sorry,” the girl whines, or maybe cries, can’t be sure.
“Not so fast,” Kai laughs, snatching her up. “Your daddy will kick all our asses if we let you get in a fight. Now settle your ass down.”
“Trade me,” I growl at him, taking hold of my woman, and giving him a look that clearly warns him to never let me catch her in his arms again, no matter what the circumstances. “Calm down, babe. I need to help Roman.”
“With what? Kai already did that, those two dudes got bounced outta here ten minutes ago. Now lemme’ at that bitch! What the, wait, Kai, bring her back here!” she screams, flailing to escape my hold. “I mean it, Kai!”
I glance away, seeing Malakai’s got the girl halfway to the exit, and laugh, looking back at Presley… face flushed, eyes glowing with deadly intent, and full, sexy lips pursed to match her bent brows. Nothing in existence could stop me from kissing her, so I do, ending with a hummed, “thank you” upon them.
“For what? You didn’t let me do anything,” she pouts.
“Nope,” I chuckle, taking another taste of her, “but the fact that you wanted to? Liked it, babe. Liked it a lot.”
She rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue. “Don’t read too much into it, I just have a hot temper.”
“True, but not why you did it. Or is it?” I goad, refusing to let her backtrack even one damn step; not when we’ve come so far lately.
And I’m more than secure enough in my manhood to admit, my heart stutters out of rhythm at her immediate confession. “No,” she reaches for my cheek, cupping it while pressing her forehead to mine, “well, not entirely. Oh, my temper was flaming for sure, but not just because. It was almost all because, because it was you. No one gets to slap my man; especially not some twiggy, drunk bitch. This face is way too gorgeous for any of that nonsense.”
“Your man and gorgeous? Damn, babe, you just flipped the scales on our flirt to roast ratio.” I laugh some, but more so groan, leaning in for a taste of her neck.
Her head falls back, long brown tresses brushing my arms, and lets loose an intoxication peal of laughter. It’s a beautiful sound, a breathtaking sight, and a sheer happiness I want to bring out in her every chance I get. “Our flirt to roast ratio?” she repeats once she’s caught her breath. “What is that?”
“You know, how many times we flirt versus how many more times we’re usually zinging each other. And by we, and each other, I mostly mean you.” I wink at her, secretly loving the verbal spars almost as much as the flirting. “Hate to do this, but, I gotta get back to work, babe. You gonna hang out, or… by the way, you never got to tell me what you were doing here in the first place.”
An innocence I don’t buy for a damn second falls over her face, and if her voice was any sweeter, she’d choke on the sugar. “What, I can’t just drop by to say hi to you at work?”
“Of course you can, but you didn’t,” I laugh, my eyes thinning, searching hers for a clue. “Would take a helluva lot more than a slap and a couple of drunk fools fighting for me not to notice this little red dress you got on. Awful fancy for a quick drop in to say hi.”
“Maybe I just wanna make sure every girl in here knows you’re taken.” She grins, batting her endless eyelashes. “Or for you to remember who you have waiting at home.”
“Presley, baby,” I cinch my arms around her, skimming her jawline with my lips. “You’re the only woman I see, even when I’m not looking at ya. Jessica Alba could strut up in here, while on fire, and the guys would have to call for my help before I noticed.”
“Alright,” she drawls on a laugh and eye roll, “now I’ve heard enough; my work here is done. Walk me out?”
“Always.”
With help from Malakai, I re-enact my plan; the one stalled by the fight earlier, and the slap-happy bitch I wanted to tear apart limb by limb. Swear to God, I ever see her again and I will show her what a whack across the face feels like; I’ve never been that mad in my entire life.
It’s one thing to mess with me; I’ll make sure you wish you hadn’t. Another to mistreat my family; I’ll make you very sorry. But Sutton? Putting your hands on my Sutton. Well, I realized tonight just how fucking insane with rage that makes me — I’m out for blood.
And one day, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day… I’ll catch up with her.
In the meantime, I’ve got a point to prove.
“You ready?” Malakai pokes his head around the corner of my hideout and asks. “He’s in perfect position.”
“Almost.” I send Sutton the text, then nod to Kai. “Now.”
The sultry bass of the first of two songs I’d hand-picked, “Oops,” by Tweet, bounces loud overhead, and I sashay my way out of the shadows, headed for the dancefloor. I spot Sutton, looking at his phone, and my text that reads, ‘Ready for your lesson?’ then his head pops up, eyes searching and landing on me. I shoot him a devious smile and start moving to the beat, slowly sliding my hands down my gyrating body, putting on a show — a show that clearly says I do not need dance lessons — just for him. My fingers tease at the bottom of my already short dress, an act to raise it up further, and his look of interest instantly turns dark and foreboding, his head shaking side-to-side. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he mouths, stepping closer, but I hold up a hand to halt him. I spin, giving him a shot of my ass, and lean forward, propping it up and out while rotating my hips side-to-side. On my way back up, I glance over my shoulder to see his reaction… but he’s gone.
She’s looking the wrong way; probably why she shrills in shock when I scoop her up and storm off the dance floor. “Going on break,” I inform my coworkers, then turn my mic off, shutting and locking us in the utility closet. “What. Was. That?” I growl at Presley as I set her on her feet.
It’s dark in here, but not too — the high window letting in just enough moonlight to bathe my sassy lil’ ballerina in a golden outline. She’s pushing the hair out of her face, flustered and out of breath, the swells of her huge, fantastic tits testing their confines with each heavy inhale… so I help her out, yanking down the front of her dress to free them.
“What-”
“Answer me,” I interrupt her gasp, fighting the urge to grope the twin beauties now out, perched high on the fabric for my taking. “What the hell you think you were doing out there?”
“I, I was dancing for you, teasing you because of the dance lessons thing. I thought you’d like it,” she hisses, moving to cover her breasts.
“No way.” I snag her wrists, stopping that shit cold. “You wanted to put on a show, then show me; leave ‘em out, for me.” I free my grip, daring her to defy me, which she doesn’t.
“What is your problem, Sutton? I did something fun and sexy for you, so why the hell are you acting mad?” She gets louder, propping both hands on her hips… unaware she’s putting that chest, and rock-hard nipples, on further display.
I eat up the remaining space between us, dipping my head so our eyes are level, and she can see any levity filtered from my low rumble. “Oh, I’m not acting, babe. I’m mad as hell.”
“Why?”
“Why? Let’s see; for starters, I put you in your car, safe, thinking you went home… which you obviously didn’t, meaning, you’ve been traipsing through dark parking lots and clubs half the damn night. Not havin’ that shit, Presley. And second,” I take both her tits in my hands, savoring the feel of their hot, heavy weight before pinching her nipples, “every man in this place just got hard watching these beauties bounce around during your little show. You think your dress hides a goddamn thing? Fuck no; if anything, that thin, tight scrap of a dress just highlights ‘em. Makes a man hungry for what’s waitin’ underneath. And this?” I growl, spinning her around. “Putting this phat fuckin’ ass, that you know I love, out there for all those other eyes?” I push her dress up over her hips, kick her legs apart, then rip her thong off with one yank. “Yeah, you’re in big trouble, baby.”
“Wh, what are you gonna do?” Her vo
ice shakes, but not with fear.
“Whatever the fuck I want.” I tug my fly open, shoving my jeans and briefs down. “Bend over. Get that ass back up in the air, showgirl.”
“Sutton,” she moans, giving me a questioning glance over her shoulder… while bending to my will. “Here?”
I scoff, arching my brows. “What, you want an audience for this too? Want me to take ya back out there and show all those fuckers what they can’t have? That only I get to fuck the woman they were all just lusting after? Make sure they know that while they’re jackin’ off to memories of you in their head tonight that I’ll be fucking you again?” I grip my cock, gliding the head along her dripping wet pussy, bumping hard with every pass over her clit. “Men are always gonna look, Sugar, I get that; but do not like you begging ‘em to.” On that growl, I thrust all the way inside her, groaning to her yelp, yanking her hips back so hard that the slap of her ass cheeks against me joins the chorus.
Her tits sway as I bang her from behind, all but hypnotizing me, the sexy rhythm trying its best to calm my primal rage. But I’m not ready, still fuming in a way I never had, needing to… mark my territory? What the fuck? “Who’s fucking you, Presley?” I drive deeper, harder, faster, taking her like a savage lunatic… and yet, nowhere near sated.
“You, Sutton,” she moans, “oh my God, you.”
I adjust my grip, giving the support she’ll need before grunting, “Bend all the way over, touch your toes.” She hesitates, squeaking my name. “I’ve got you, do it. Now.” I pull out to the tip and let her adjust, letting go of the shelf and bending in half for me, trusting my hold, which, of course, doesn’t fail her. Once she’s in position, gorgeous position — her already phenomenal ass looking fuller than ever, phat, juicy and ripe in my face, pussy puffed, primed, and smelling sweet — I tunnel back inside her with one brutal drive.
“Sutton,” she wails, like never before, her whole body wracked by my force. “Fuck, babe… that’s…”