Page 12 of Kane

I frown at her. “Babe. You never had a Ding Dong?”

She shrugs. “No.”

I leave my bike, grab her hand, and tug her to the Country Store. “Come on. Gotta rectify this, ASAP.” Again, I say it as a word, rather than spelling out the letters.

She trots after me, catching up. “What does this mean, thisAY-sahp.”

“A-S-A-P. As soon as possible.”

“Oh, I see.”

I drag her through the aisles until I find what I’m looking for. I grab a box, haul her back to the register, pay with a twenty and shove the change into my hip pocket, ripping the box open on the way out the door. I’ve got one of the crinkly clear plastic bags open as we hit the desert heat, and I pull her over against the wall by the door.

It’s instinctual, some sort of primal auto-pilot—I press her up against the wall with my body, pinning her in place. Her breath leaves her lungs in a shocked whoosh, and I notice somewhat absently that she goes utterly, totally still. I pull the little round black cake from the bag.

“Open up.” I hold it to her mouth.

She blinks up at me, and then her lips part, wrap around the Ding Dong, then pull away. “Is this—?”

“Yeah, it’s vegetarian. Told me you were, ain’t gonna forget and I sure as fuck ain’t gonna feed you somethin’ goes against your beliefs or your diet.” I wink at her. “Now. Bite intothatshit.”

Those plump lips wrap delicately around the treat, and then her teeth sink in, and she takes a hearty bite, doing a fuckin’ adorable little dip of her chin as crumbs drop, cupping her hand underneath her mouth to catch them, pulling away.

Her eyes fly wide open. “Oh…my…god!” she says, chewing. “That is…” She doesn’t say what it is, just goes back to chewing. Finished, she takes another bite, and this time, her lips brush my fingers.

Totally unselfconsciously, focused on the food, she lets me feed her the rest. It’s only when I’m popping the last bite into her mouth, her lips now wrapping around my thumb and forefinger that she seems to realize what’s been going on, the weird intimacy of me feeding her. Her big dark eyes, outlined with that dark smoky makeup, fix on mine, wide, deep, limpid, searching me, flitting back and forth as she pulls her lips off of my fingers, taking the last bite with her.

I’ve got cake on my fingers, and her saliva. I hold her eyes, put the fingers that were just in her mouth into my own. Slowly, deliberately.

She inhales sharply through her nose. Squirms away from me, walking fast toward my bike. Shoulders square, head high. Yet, I notice her clench her hands into fists, squeeze, and shake them out.

Instead of stopping at my bike, she heads across the road. “I will get us a table. You park your motorcycle,” she tosses over her shoulder:...get us a TEH-bhel…pahrrrk your motor-CYCLE.

The accent. It fuckin’ kills me.

I fight the weird hard-on I’ve got, after that scene with her fingers and my mouth. Fuck, her lips were soft and wet and warm, and all I can fuckin’ think about is those red juicy lips wrapped around my cock.

Her reaction tells me she was thinkin’ something similar.

This could be good. Real fuckin’ good.

* * *

She getsa vegetarian omelet and toast, I get big skillet filled with four kinds of meat. She sips ice water, and I drink a shitload of coffee.

“No coffee for you, huh?” I ask, on my sixth cup.

She shakes her head. “Sometimes I will have tea in the morning, but they will surely not have the kind of tea I like.”

“Surely not,” I say, grinning.

She frowns. “Are you mocking me?”

I laugh, shake my head. “Nah. Teasing, maybe.”

“What is the difference?”

I arch an eyebrow—is she serious? “The difference? Mocking is mean-spirited, tryin’ to hurt your feelings. Teasing is…” I shrug. “Playful. Fun. Spent seven years in the military—teasin’s an art form with those boys.”