GOODGIRLS SAY PLEASE

by Dani Wyatt

  Until this moment.

  I take my seat at a table and admire her sashay as she makes her way to me still singing and smiling. She’s wearing faded green Doc Martens and I note the way she walks with her left toe slightly pointed inward.

  “What can I get for ya?” She shoves her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and shifts her weight back and forth.

  Her waist is the tightened center of an hour-glass form and it has my mouth watering and my head pounding with thoughts of how her ankles would look resting on my shoulders. Not to mention the view that would give me looking down.

  The thought has my dick pushing up on the waist of my canvas work pants and I swear it’s about to unbuckle my belt trying to get to her.

  A low growl precedes my question as she bobs her head back and forth on her neck like she needs me to rub her shoulders. “You serve your Guinness room, do you?”

  There’s a little more Irish lilt in my voice than usual, responding to the undercurrent in hers. I grew up in Cork but spent a handful of years in America attending Stanford before returning home, so my accent is thicker sometimes than others. Most Americans barely pick it up, but I can see in her eyes she’s not like most.

  “Course we do. Is there any other way?” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, holding back a grin, but the action makes her nose crinkle and I nearly cum in my pants.

  She’s almost too beautiful to be real and resisting my need to reach out and touch her has me pushing my limits of self-control.

  I force myself to take a breath before ordering. “Pint.”

  I want to say more but I’m overpowered by her. By her scent, like daybreak and honey. There’s an innocence about her that is contrasted with a sharp edge that I think is the mask she wears around here. Pithy Irish pub in down town Pittsburgh, a girl like her needs to develop survival skills.

  As she nods and steps away, I scan the place for potential threats to her. I wouldn’t think she’s here alone, but whoever might be her back up isn’t out here in the bar, and that irrationally pisses me off.

  What if she was in danger? What if some fuck grabbed her or smacked her on that incredible ass? That thought tightens my throat and a wave of anger rises in me.

  Place like this can attract a diverse crowd if you know what I mean. I’ve seen my fair share of shady deals going down in the traditional pubs back home even as families sit with neighbors on a Sunday afternoon. Fights break out at the mention of the wrong football hero, or villain, as it may be.

  And, this place, The Parting Glass, is as close to an authentic Irish pub as I’ve seen this side of the Atlantic right down to the cracked plaster and uneven floor boards.

  Truth is, there is one other Irish pub in this city and from what I see in here, I wish it ran more toward this old school establishment style. That other pub...well, it is my reason for venturing back to the States.

  My family lived on the poor side of poor growing up. By rights, I should have kept to my station, lived out my life scraping by working manual labor, or maybe even some low-grade criminal. I was voted most likely to serve a life sentence out of lower school, so I certainly can’t rule out the possibility I could have ended up busting heads on the wrong side of the law.

  Life and luck sent me down a different path though. I never got arrested, thank God. And what had always been just an anomaly for me in school took a blossoming thug from the wrong side of Cork to Stanford of all places. Fucking California. Returned with an education unlike most where I come from and a best friend that is more like a brother.

  Meeting Henry at Stanford, understanding his world and his background as well as in my Junior year when my father died working a loading dock back home, helped change the direction of my life yet again. Henry’s own tough upbringing drew us together, but where I had had the benefit of a family all my life, such as it was, a chance encounter with a lowlife crack addict had robbed Henry of his. Then losing my father shocked me into a new view of my life.

  Made me realize I had to use my life to change the world or at least myself for the better. Make it count for something. And simply selling my brain to the highest bidder so they could whore out my talents for their own profit.

  So, with a degree in Mathematics and Computational Science, I went back to Ireland, and I joined the Garda. At first, my mum was more than perplexed. Why go through the trouble of getting that degree just to serve and not use what I’d learned?

  I don’t know, it was a calling I guess, and I did well, made it into the National Organized Crime Bureau and left as an Inspector after an injury in the line of duty. I lived simply, spending money on things didn’t interest me and I saved almost all my pay over those years.

  Then, I started investing as a hobby more than anything, buying shares in small companies with potential that were going broke and took a hand in making sure they came back from the brink. Bought currency just before it went high every time.

  Made enough money that if I didn’t want to work again I could get by quite comfortably. Invested the lot right back into more stocks and shares, and it just kept increasing. To look at my checking account, you’d think I was an average Joe with a bit saved for a rainy day, but my less liquid portfolio tells a different story.

  So, when Henry asked me to invest in his Irish pub, I didn’t hesitate. I mean, I would have bought the place for him without a thought, but he wouldn’t ever have accepted a handout, he wanted an investor. He’d managed to scrape together some money to have some skin in the game as well. We shook on it and I let him run it however he wanted. Then two weeks ago, he called me up, told me I needed to come out here.

  Something we needed to discuss. In person.

  His call just came at the right time for me. After leaving the Garda, I’d lost focus, purpose. A trip to the US felt like an opportunity to break out of my funk.

  Turns out, my funk is being broken, but it’s not by visiting Henry or my investment.

  It’s her.

  The sway of her hips hypnotizes me as she walks. Even her simple movements behind the bar as she reaches for a glass and pulls a pint are mesmerizing. I’m consumed by the thought of how she would taste, fuck the pint.

  But, I mean, she’s too young, right? Far too innocent and perfect for an ugly fuck like me. What is she? Eighteen? Nineteen? There’s no doubt technically I am old enough to be her father. I’m pushing toward my forth decade fast. None of that realization manages to change the gnawing need that she’s ignited in me.

  By the time she returns and sets the glass in front of me, I’m half-crazed. As the creamy froth spills over the rim and down the darkened glass, instinct darts my hand out to capture her wrist. The feel of her skin sends a chill from my neck to my toes and I draw a sharp breath, then look up to find her glaring at me.

  “Don’t touch.” Her voice is a confident command, and it almost fools me. She looks down where my massive hand engulfs her tiny wrist and adds, “Or I’ll have to hurt you.”

  Her tough exterior is an act and besides she doesn’t pull away. It only serves to thicken my cock, which before I stepped through the door here was in its usual lazy position down my pant leg but now is battling the fabric to rise and get at her.

  As wrong as it feels, I release her. My need to touch her has been quenched for the moment.

  Just for the moment.

  “Sorry, darlin’. I didn’t want you to walk away without this.” From my back pocket I pull my worn leather wallet and take out a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

  She squints, but the way her cheeks and neck have turned from pearly white to cherry blossom pink tells me I may be affecting her as she is me. Maybe wishful thinking on my part considering I still can’t imagine such perfection giving me a second glance.

  “You trying to impress me?” She takes the bill and holds it up between us, snapping it between her fingers giving the paper a visual inspection. “Takes a lot more than money.”

  Her tits press out o
n a gray tank top, stretching the chunky black lettering that spells out The Parting Glass. The shirt is worn around the hems, the lettering a bit cracked and faded, but it does nothing to diminish the magnificence of the female flesh beneath.

  She spins on her heel and her ponytail flies in a circle around her head, making me want to grab onto it and pull her face to mine.

  Mine.

  The word comes back in a pulse, pounding in my ears. She’s fucking mine.

  “I’d be disappointed if it didn’t.” I mutter as I pick up the pint for another sip, hoping it will calm the fire that is engulfing me. A crazy thought is pulsing through my brain, one that I know doesn’t make any sense, but I can’t seem to shift it.

  How long will it be before she agrees to marry me?

  AVAILABLE NOW ON AMAZON

  OTHER TITLES BY DANI WYATT

  Standalones

  Wrangler

  Reigning Her In

  Sweet Ride

  Valentine's Rose

  Forging Forever

  Just Until Morning

  Saddled

  Perfect

  His to Break

  Rough Neck

  Night Before

  Parting Glass

  Meet. F*ck. Done.

  Keeping Her Close

  Back to Her

  Love, Daddy Series

  Mastering Her Heart

  HIS Rules

  The Forever Collection

  Where She Belongs

  When She’s Mine

  Promise Duet

  Promise

  Cherish

  Southside MMA Series

  Force

  Push

  Cut Series

  Hard Cut

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  About Dani

  Dani Wyatt used to feel bad about having such dirty thoughts. Luckily, one day she decided to start writing them down. Her uber alpha heros have a wicked possessive streak and an insatiable libido. Her heroines are intelligent, quirky and worry about having too much muffin top. With her books, you can count on a heaping helping of HOT, a dash of rough and always a happily ever after.

  When she's not writing (which is not often) she is probably laughing about some irony (like A-1 Steak Sauce is vegan), riding her horse, wondering why The Walking Dead can't have a new episode every night, or looking cross-eyed at some piece of technology sent to ruin her day

  Thank You.

  I have so many amazing people I’ve met since I started putting my

  naughty thoughts on the page. To some of the first fans who supported me, the bloggers,

  fellow authors who have been more than generous with their

  time and opinions as well as the other professionals that

  put up with my particular kind of crazy, thank you.

  ...you guys remind me

  Every day that when we support each other everyone wins.

  xoxoxo