Page 6

Five

Colt

T he call’s a waste of time. I settle it in ten minutes and head straight for Mrs. Sherman’s bakery. My dirty secret.

I don’t know what she puts in her cupcakes, but there’s a line out the door of the bakery every morning. A mix of tourists and locals practically salivating and trampling each other to get inside before she’s sold out.

But, I have a secret. She saves one for me every day. Today, it’s vanilla frosting over pink cherry flavored cake and a candied double cherry on top.

Fucking perfect. I take it, leaving her my usual twenty-dollar bill, which she tries to refuse, but inevitable gives in when I tell her if she won’t take the twenty, I’m going to make her take a fifty.

Emery’s lights are off when I pull up. I don’t knock. I walk around the side of her house, reminding myself to make sure the locks on her windows work. She said she just moved back, and I know this place. It was Mrs. Bruner’s place before she moved to Tacoma to be with her son.

It’s a solid, cute little cottage just a few streets off from the center of town, safe, but I need her locked fucking down.

Around the back, a low light is on, I step on the soft grass closer to the window but not so close I’d scare the shit out of her if she saw me.

There she is. The curtain is open just enough.

She’s on her bed. Her body arched, her hand between her thighs. Wearing a t-shirt and nothing else. Her mouth open.

My brain goes off line. My cock is driving the train.

I’m at her back door, snort, okay the rear entry, okay, never mind. I turn the knob and the fucking door opens.

I make a mental note to chastise her for not locking the fucking door, especially when she’s got her hand between her legs, but then doubling down on that making sure I get her a door lock I can control remotely. A whole security system for that matter.

I step inside. Breaking and entering, some might say.

I say, I had probable cause.

My pulse hammers in my temples as I make my way in silence until I’m standing in her fucking doorway.

She’s making these tiny sounds. Part pleasure, part frustration.

I clear my throat.

“Holy shit!” She bounces back against the headboard in one convulsing motion. “Colt! What are you—"

“Don’t stop,” I order, taking two steps forward. “Get that hand down on that pussy.”

She stills, breathing hard.

“Don’t you dare stop, baby girl.”

“I just about had a heart attack.” She shakes her head, pulling at the quilt around her feet, but I reach out and jerk it down.

“You’re putting on a show? Then get to it. I bought my ticket, I want the full Monty, baby.”

“I—I can’t. Not with you watching.”

I put my hand on my sidearm. “Do it.”

Her eyes go round, but a hint of a smile quirks the corner of her mouth. She knows I’m not a danger to her, at least not in that way.

“Lay back down. Keep going.”

She shifts, moves again. Slower now.

I sit at the edge of her bed, place the cupcake box beside me.

“You better be fucking thinking of me.”

She nods.

“Good girl.”

Her fingers work beautifully. Her scent makes my balls feel like they’re full of lead.

But, something is off. She’s tense, her face is tight.

“I—” she turns my way and there’s a sadness in her eyes that makes my damn heart feel like it’s breaking. “I—can’t.”

“What do you mean. You’re doing pretty fucking great from where I’m sitting.”

“No, it’s… I try but I can’t…” She blows out a long breath toward the ceiling, keeping her eyes averted. “ Get there .”

“Well, good thing I’m here.” I set the little box down on the end of the bed, reaching up and taking my hat off, putting it on the floor. “You know the law enforcement motto. Protect and serve .”

“Colt—”

“Uh-uh.” I cover her hand with mine. “Daddy. I’m going to help. You lay back. Move your fingers, show me what feels good, I’ll just…help things along.”

She settles, her wet warmth tickling at the sides of my fingers where they mirror hers.

She works her clit, soft, then down, and back, down and back.

“It’s...” She groans but not in an edge-of-pleasure sort of way. “Just forget it.”

“No fucking way,” I bark back, applying pressure to the backs of her fingers with my own. “Try this.”

I guide her back to her hard little stubborn nub. “Eyes on me.”

I work her fingers with mine, harder than she did, faster, then slower, watching her body, feeling her shift and melt. Her lids flutter, once. Twice.

More pressure, more sounds of that glorious wetness, that fucking scent.

“Daddy thinks you’re the prettiest good girl he’s ever seen.”

More wetness.

Now we’re talking.

I mesh my fingers with hers now, so her silky wetness seeps between our digits as I stroke up and down, then work that clit like it needs.

Hard. Grinding it. “You like being on display for me, don’t you?”

She answers with a little chirp as she starts to move her fingers faster under mine. Finding that spot, that sensation.

“There we go. Put Daddy’s fingers where they feel good, baby. Don’t be ashamed. I love watching you.”

A moan. I keep her eyes on mine, my dick ready to snap in two, but I don’t stop. Don’t break our eye contact.

“Oh God.” She starts to twitch, fingers twined together, working a little, demanding circle.

“Right there? I’ll remember that special spot for next time. It will be Daddy’s lips down here, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? To know how that feels…”

That’s it.

Her orgasm hits. It’s not a twisting, bucking, life changing cataclysmic one, but I’ll take it. For now.

I open the box, swipe frosting onto my fingers, and press them to her lips.

She licks them clean, dazed.

“I brought you a cupcake,” I say as her focus returns.

“From that bakery that’s always sold out by the time I get there?”

I nod. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll hook you up. I got connections in this town.”

I stand up, lean over and kiss her temple.

“I could stay,” I whisper. “But if I do, I won’t stop. And you’re worth waiting for.”

All of that is true, but there’s something else. I want her trust. I want her to realize her pussy is a masterpiece and I can’t wait to hang my hat there for the rest of my life, so to speak, but she’s so much more.

I want it all with this fucking girl, but I need her to understand that. Down to her marrow. I’m not here for a fuck, I’m here for a life. I’ll know when she’s ready. Until then, it’s blue balls and frustration for this cowboy.

“Now, be a good girl and lock the fucking door behind me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“It’s broken…” I hear her say, and my phone is already in my hand, calling in a favor.

“What’s up, Sheriff?” Jimmy Burns the locksmith in town answers.

“I need the best digital, wifi, blue tooth whatever locks you got. Installed, first thing in the morning…”

“Sure, chief, you’re putting locks on the cabin?”

“No, somewhere else, I’ll text you the address.”

I leave. Because Daddies are patient.