Filthy Sweet

by Frankie Love

  “And you want to have dinner with me?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You’re making me crazy, you know that, right?”

  She laughs, buckling back up. She had grabbed her winter coat from her car before we left it, and I hate the fact she is under an extra layer. “I’m not trying to. But I have cell reception now, I can call an Uber. You were getting lots of... invitations on the drive here so I figured...”

  I shake my head. This pretty thing is a piece of work. “You wanna get a cab, you can. Sugar pie, I’m not holding you against your will here. But I have nowhere else I wanna be.”

  She pushes her lips forward, forehead creased. “I know. I didn’t mean. I just.” She exhales, pasting a smile on her face, turning to me. “I didn’t want you to feel obligated.”

  At that, I snort. “Obligated? Sweetpea, you are walking sex on a stick. I want you, you gotta know that. I’ll take you home now, but what I’d really like is to make you purr like the engine of my ‘67 Chevy.”

  Her face flares red, her eyes wide and wild. She did not expect that. But I can tell by the way she’s back to licking those lips of hers, that she likes me talking dirty.

  “That sound good to you?” I lean in, my hand on her knee, my eyes locked on hers.

  “Sounds nice,” she manages to murmur before leaning in for the kiss.

  Her mouth tastes like cherry pie and I’d like more than one slice. Her lips part and my tongue finds hers. Her gentle moan tells me it’s been far too long since she’s been taken care of.

  I’ll fix that.

  My cock is screaming in my jeans, and her head falls back as I kiss her long neck, trailing kisses from her earlobes to the top of her full breasts. I could kiss every inch of this woman, right here, right now and then some.

  But a car honks, opposite of me in the parking lot. Millie and I pull apart.

  An older woman in a sedan waving at us, shouting that this is lewd conduct. Considering my hands are groping Millie’s perfect tits, I’d agree.

  “Dinner?” I ask adjusting my hard-on and then turning on the truck.

  Millie doesn’t answer. She’s still catching her breath. I look at her from the corner of my eye. She presses her swollen lips together; smoothes down her hair.

  “You kiss a lot of strangers in parking lots?” I ask, putting the truck in reverse and pulling out of the parking lot.

  She laughs, pushing my shoulder softly. “Maybe not often enough. I think I’ve been missing out.”

  I give her a once over, shaking my head. “Not every stranger has lips like these,” I tease, kissing the air and making her laugh again. The sound is fucking beautiful, soft, yet generous like she appreciates a good sense of humor.

  “So, this isn’t an everyday thing? Finding a damsel in distress on the way home and whisking them off to the local office supply center?”

  “It’s the way into my pants. Postage stamps work every time.”

  She smiles, scrunching up her nose in a way that is so unassumingly delightful I have to check myself.

  Who is this woman that is causing me to think words like delightful?

  It’s freaking me the fuck out, to be honest.

  But there’s something about Millie.

  Something that makes me pause and consider her. She isn’t some woman I’d pick up at a bar. She’s different in ways I don’t really understand. Both feisty and innocent. Smart and sincere.

  “Handwritten letters are actually pretty romantic. Hardly anyone sends them anymore. Filthy-Sweet makes me feel like I’m helping people pause and take the time to send more than a text to the people they care about.”

  “Filthy-Sweet?”

  She nods as I drive toward a pub downtown. “That’s the name of my card company.”

  I park, and we head inside, sliding into a booth. Sitting opposite her, I have to say what I’m thinking. “Filthy-Sweet? I don’t get it.”

  “It’s like, messages that are both cute and sexy?”

  A waitress named Cady comes over and we order beers and burgers.

  “Hey, Mox,” she says, “Long time no see.”

  I nod. We went to school together years ago. And after that, we hooked up a few times. “Yeah, things are busy down at the shop.”

  “Right.” She raises her eyebrows and looks over at Millie. She’s sitting there in her little dress and perfectly done hair, perched in the booth like she’s never been in a pub before. Hell, maybe this little thing hasn’t. “Anyway, you holding up okay? Heard from some folks you still don’t know how to return a phone call.”

  I lean back in the booth, guessing Cady’s about to make it real personal.

  “Hey, sorry about--”

  Cady waves me off. “Whatever, Mox. I’m cool.”

  When Cady leaves, wearing nothing but a sour face, I apologize to Millie.

  “It’s fine. You seem like a popular guy.”

  I snort. “I don’t think the word’s popular.”

  “Manwhore more appropriate?” she asks with a blank face.

  “Look, I’m not tryin—”

  She cut me off. “I’m just teasing. It’s none of my business what you do. And I’m not surprised, anyway.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, look at you.”

  I run a hand over my chin. “And what am I looking for exactly?”

  “Come on, Moxon,” she scoffs playfully. “You’re 6’4”. Ripped, handsome as all get out, work with your hands, probably model for like, male calendars or something. You know what you are.”

  I smirk. “So, you think I’m cute?”

  “I should never have--”

  “Oh, no, you should have. I like it when you get all excited.”

  Her cheeks flush and I grin, loving the fact she’s getting all riled up. I’m also liking the fact she isn’t getting all territorial about me and the fact I clearly have a past.

  “Look, tell me more about these filthy-sweet messages.”

  She twists her lips, thinking. “Um, well, like, a Valentine’s card I have out this year reads I Could Binge Watch You Taking a Shower All Night Long.”

  I snort. “You wrote that?”

  “What, are you surprised?”

  “Yeah. You seem...”

  “I’m not a prude. I’m wearing black stockings for goodness sakes.”

  “I know, it’s just--” I pause as Cady delivers our beers. Lifting mine to take a drink first, I ask, “What else you got?”

  “Hmm, a popular card I have says, Instead of takeout, can I just eat you?”

  I spit out my beer, so surprised at the words coming from her mouth.

  “You’re shitting me, right?”

  “Why is it so hard to believe?” She shrugs. “Wanna see some of the designs?”

  I tell her fuck yes, and she pulls out her phone from her purse. She pulls up the Etsy app and with a few taps of her finger, we are at her virtual store.

  There are dozens of impressive designs, and she shows me the one for takeout, and I burst out laughing. It’s got a box of Chinese food crossed out with a big fat red X.

  “Wow,” I say, thoroughly impressed with her clever takes on phrases and innuendo-laced art. “You designed all that?”

  “Yeah.” She twists her lips up and doesn’t say more. I see high review ratings on her listings with comments about everything being so well done. Nothing half-assed and I feel shitty about my craft comments earlier. This isn’t a hobby. Millie is a true artist.

  “So, you say it was a surprise that I design the Filthy-Sweet stuff, but I bet there are things about you that would surprise me.”

  The food arrives, and I dip a fry in ketchup. “Maybe. But since I’m not a real man I doubt you’d care.”

  “Try me.”

  “I’m a cat person. Most people would think I own a dog but my mama loved cats and so I have one. Kinda, you know, in memory of.”

  “That’s incredibly sweet.” She smiles softly, then her eyes narrow. �
�Is it just a line though? Because it’s a little too perfect. And from the way that waitress is looking at you, I swear you must have done something to her as well as every other woman in this bar.”

  I look around and notice a few ladies I’ve spent the night with looking at me with a look — and I’m not talking resting bitch face. I’m talking dagger eyes.

  Goddammit, this town is too fucking small. “I wouldn’t lie about my mother,” I tell her. “Or little Bonnie.”

  “Your cat’s name is Bonnie?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  She smiles. “My dog’s name is Clyde.”

  Our eyes meet and we crack up with laughter. While it’s clear we aren’t one and the same--her nails are polished and mine are anything but--there’s something between us that is more than sexual tension. It’s chemistry.

  Chapter 4

  Millie

  We finish our food quickly and I head to the bathroom before getting back in his truck. I know he isn’t the kind of guy I’ll be with long-term--he took me to a dive bar that I’d never have set foot in otherwise. I can just imagine taking him to dinner at my father’s club. That would be the day.

  This is happening. Really happening. And I need to give myself a pep talk before I take him home.

  Before I make it into the bathroom, the waitress who served us stops me in the hall.

  “You going out with Mox?” she asks, lips pursed, arms crossed.

  “Uh, not really,” I say. “He’s just giving me a ride home.”

  She snorts. “I bet he is.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Look, I wasn’t trying to--”

  The waitress lifts her hands in defeat. “I wasn’t trying to start shit, either. Just wanted to warn you he’s slept with half the town and never calls a woman back. Thought you’d want the heads up.”

  “Okay, well, thanks. But I don’t need a warning. We aren’t anything.”

  Truth is, I don’t care who he has slept with and I’m not surprised, either. It’s honestly none of my business. Besides, sounds like I want the same thing as he does--a little bit of fun. Nothing more, nothing less.

  And maybe this sounds terrible, but the fact that he is so experienced makes me a little giddy. I want a man who has capable, experienced hands to take care of me tonight.

  Grateful the bathroom has only one stall, I lock the door and look at myself in the mirror.

  At least I put on a cute dress today. I pull up the skirt and examine my panties. Okay, not the cutest, but not terrible. Black bra, black undies--that’ll do. I pull out lipstick from my purse and slide the soft red color over my lips. I pull out a compact and run fresh powder over my nose and cheeks.

  I’ve only ever slept with one man-- my college boyfriend Bryan. He was just like his name sounds: basic.

  And Moxon is not basic. Not at all.

  His eyes are a warm brown, inviting me in, and while his self-assured cocky vibe gave me a wary first impression, I can see now that he was leading with his ego to hide a softer side. The cat-owner side.

  And that is the side of him that makes me feel okay about sleeping with a man I just met. My life is predictable. Maybe a little excitement will give me some new material to work with on my greeting cards.

  Leaving the bathroom, the nerves are gone. And when I see him outside the restaurant, leaning against his truck, his arms crossed, biceps curled, dimples making me melt--I know there is nothing to be nervous about.

  It’s not like I’ll fall for this man, we’re just having fun. I cross the parking lot with a smile.

  He pulls me to him, the sky is now dark and a chill in the air causes me to lean in closer, appreciating the warmth he offers. His strong arms wrap around me, and I breathe in deeply, intoxicated by the smell of his work shirt. He smells like a real man--sweat mixed with aftershave, leather, and cinnamon. If you bottled this smell, you’d make a million dollars.

  “You sniffing me out?” he asks.

  I laugh, looking up at him. “Sorry. You just smell really, really...”

  “Like I need a shower?” He gives me a half grin. “It was a long day at work. Don’t judge.”

  I shake my head. “No, not that. You smell good. You smell amazing, actually.”

  He lifts his eyebrows. “You smell okay yourself.”

  I laugh again, appreciating how comfortable this man is. He isn’t jittery, with sweaty palms like some men I’ve gone out with. He seems perfectly at ease with me in his arms, like he has every intention of keeping me there.

  “What are you thinking about? I lost you, sugar cheeks.”

  I snort. “The name’s Millie, remember?”

  “Mmmhhmm, I remember something about that.” He pulls me around, so my back is against his truck. “But these cheeks of yours need to be mentioned,” he says slowly, squeezing my ass.

  I gasp in shock, in excitement. “Is that so?”

  He nods, his mouth on my ear, breathing warmly against me. “It certainly is.”

  “Have you always been so confident?” I ask, my neck craning, my body opening to what is bound to happen shortly.

  He looks down at me. My body has curves and I don’t exactly count my calories. I’m a woman, not a waif. But with Moxon I don’t feel myself inhaling, sucking in my gut and trying to be something I’m not. I’m not trying to be smaller than I am. Moxon makes me feel like who I am is just right.

  “I know who I am,” he tells me. “What I want and why. Right now, I want you.”

  “You don’t even know me,” I say in protest.

  “That’s true, but what I do know is that you’re sexy as sin and smart as hell. Plus, you’re interesting, funny, and adventurous. Not to mention, savvy. You have your own goddamn business. Not working for the man; you are your own boss. A risk taker. And you’re filthy-sweet. The whole package, really.”

  I roll my eyes, but inside, I’m melting for him. The words build me up and break down my walls, all at the same time. “You got all that from one dinner?”

  “Oh, baby, I got a whole lot more than that.” He kisses me then, under the light of the moon. His mouth unabashedly on mine. I don’t see what he sees, but I’ll take it. God knows I want to believe it.

  He opens the passenger door and huskily tells me to get inside.

  “I need you, woman,” he tells me, hopping into the driver’s seat. “Now.”

  He peels out of the parking lot so damn fast my heart starts racing. He takes a few turns, and the next thing I know we’re in an abandoned lot, no street lights to shine down on us, and he parks his truck behind a building giving us privacy.

  “You don’t want to go to my place?” I ask.

  “Later. But I can’t wait, sugar-tits. I need you now.”

  Blushing, I unbuckle my seatbelt, wanting to go where he leads, loving the sensation of being so adored.

  “I’ve never had sex in a car,” I admit.

  He shakes his head, lifting a lever that causes the back of the seat to fall. He leans over me, his eyes practically dripping with desire.

  “This isn’t a car, doll face. This is a truck. And you better get ready for one hell of a ride.”

  Chapter 5

  Moxon

  Everything about her is intoxicating. I had one beer, yet I’m feeling dizzy. She makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t felt for a long ass time.

  “Do you like it nice and slow or hard and fast?” I ask her, sliding over to the center of the cab and pulling her on top of me.

  Her thighs straddle me, her eyes are heavy, and I hold her hips with both hands. Don’t want to let this one get away.

  “I like it filthy-sweet,” she says, eyebrows raised.

  I grin. “Of course, you do.” My hands run under her skirt, feeling where her thigh-highs end and her panties begin. “The question is, just how filthy and just how sweet?”

  She bites down on her bottom lip. “Truth is I never get to play out my fantasies. I don’t usually...”

  My hands still, wanting her to want
this, wanting her to be comfortable, to feel good about being here with me.

  “Kiss strangers?”

  At that, she smiles. “Right. And I don’t usually fuck ‘em, either.”

  Her crass word surprises me, though it shouldn’t considering she’s selling cards on the Internet talking about eating people out. “But tonight, it’s different?”

  She nods, licking her lips now, reaching for the side zipper on her dress. “Tonight, it’s very different.” She slips the straps off her dress over her shoulder and pushes it down to her waist. Her big breasts fill a black lacy bra and she unclasps it at the center. “You said something about greasing a monkey?

  I laugh, my hands on her tits. “Who are you?”

  “Tonight? I’m yours.”

  Our eyes meet then, and I know she’s too good for me in a thousand ways. She’s got money for starters. Fancy clothes and a designer purse. Smart too. She went to college and shit. Me? I’m a blue-collar nobody with only a few life goals. Mainly, to become a man people can count on.

  “You’re something else,” I tell her. Her eyes are bright and full of life and even in the dark truck, I feel like I see her. And even if I don’t understand her entirely, I want to.

  “Is this the sweet part of the evening?” she asks, her hands pressed against my chest.

  I nod. My hand runs over her bare back, then I cup her perfect breasts. “These are the sweetest tits I’ve ever seen, baby cakes.”

  “Millie.” Her smile though tells me she likes my pet names.

  “Right.” I lean down, kissing her tits, sucking her tight little nipple, teasing it between my teeth.”

  She sighs softly. “You make me...”

  “What?” I ask, massaging her tits with both hands. “What do I make you?”

  “So wet.”

  I groan in desire at her words. “Really?” I ask, my cock hard at the idea of her slick pussy. I run my hands under her skirt and press my fingertips against her cunt. Her panties are totally soaked, and I push them aside, dipping my fingers into her sweetness. “Oh God, you weren’t lying.”

  “I never lie,” she moans as I begin to finger fuck her nice and good. I use my other hand to cup her round ass, squeezing it as she arches her back, her breasts practically asking to be devoured.