I bit my lip. He was going to leave me there by myself, all night? Alone in the woods?
"Fine, I'll come to town with you," I said.
He feigned innocence. "But I said I don't want you to come. Are you trying to be difficult? It's your only-child stubbornness, isn't it? Can't do anything unless you think it's your idea. Your first response is always a resounding no, before you've even considered the question."
"I'm not the difficult one. You are. What makes you say I've never had my hair short? Did you hack into my computer?"
"I'm right, aren't I?"
"Yes, Smith Wittingham. You are right. You're always right, because you're sooooo smart."
He closed his eyes and smiled. "Ah, I never tire of hearing that."
I unbuttoned my blouse and leaned forward on the table, hunching my arms in to create a deep crevice between my br**sts.
"Hey, Smith. How'd you like to put your c**k … right here?" I licked my finger and plunged it down between my br**sts.
His mouth opened and closed. He cleared his throat and adjusted his position on the chair across from me.
I nodded my head forward and looked up at him sideways. "I could put my mouth right here, for the tip. We could put some lotion or oil between my tits. I know you love my milk-white br**sts. Wouldn't you love to f**k them?"
He cleared his throat again, his left eye twitching.
His voice low and gravelly, he said, "You're a wicked girl."
"Wouldn't you like to find out just how wicked I am?"
He reached across the table, grabbing for my chest, but I quickly pulled back.
"Not so fast. What's up with the haircut comment?"
"Come sit on my lap and I'll tell you."
I got up slowly and walked around the long dining room table, then approached him and straddled his lap, pulling my blouse down in the front for a view.
He buried his face in my chest and sighed. I combed my fingers through his thick, blond hair and massaged his scalp.
Still with his face between my br**sts, he said, "I'll give you a thousand dollars if you act like a filthy stripper and give me a lap dance right now."
"What is wrong with you?"
His face was still hidden, against my skin. "Two thousand dollars."
I pushed his face away and climbed off his lap. "You're disgusting." I shook my head, my hands waving around wildly, then fanning my face. "Are you into that stuff? Paying for sex?"
"No."
"Then what the Hell, Smith?"
He grinned. "I just wondered what you'd do. I should have started the bidding higher."
"No. And don't ever ask me to do something in exchange for money. Never again."
"Ooh, sensitive?"
"I'm serious. Don't do that. I've been paid to be here, and paid for the cell phone, and I don't want anything else, except the tiniest bit of respect. Please show me that courtesy, or I'm out that door, and I won't feel sorry for you and your sad-author routine."
He looked grumpy, like a kid who'd been grounded.
I started gathering the dishes.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"What? I didn't quite hear what you said." I put down the stack of dishes at the end of the table and waited.
"I'm sorry," he repeated.
I smiled. "Ah, I just never tire of hearing that phrase from a man."
He did an exaggerated eyeroll.
"Put on something sexy for tonight," he said. "I want everyone to see my hot lady stepping off the back of my bike."
"Sure," I said, tossing my hair in a nonchalant manner. He'd called me his hot lady, and it gave me these feelings-these warm feelings-for Smith Fucking Wittingham.
3: Small Town, Big Fun
The "motorbike" was one of those four-wheeled all-terrain vehicles.
"You drive," Smith said.
"But I'm wearing a dress."
He laughed. "Don't be such a girl and hop on. Spread your legs wide and straddle all that power." He slid back on the padded seat and patted the area in front of him.
I could see the outline of a bulge in his tight-fitting jeans-a bulge that was growing.
I said, "You just want me in front so you can press your man-happy into my ass."
"Hike up that dress and hop on, hot stuff."
I circled the vehicle, raised one leg and awkwardly got on the seat in front of him. Smith immediately cuddled into me from behind, both hands up on my br**sts.
He pressed his face into the back of my neck. "My man-happy is very happy." Indeed, it was tumescent and pressing into the upper part of my bu**ocks.
"You're going to dry-hump me all the way into town, aren't you?"
He nibbled on my shoulder. "The bumpy trail will do most of the work." He squeezed my br**sts and breathed hot, moist air on my neck.