Fierce Protector: Hard to Handle trilogy, Book 1 (5 page)

GordonStone: Oh yes, baby... enjoy it...

DarthVaguer: Holy shit Eve... I’m not gonna hold on much longer...

GodsGiftGoneWrong: Look how wet she is, boys... soooo sexy, Eve...

BennyAllNight: If she comes, I’m gonna fuckin’ die from happiness

“God, I’ve never been so wet,” she breathed, and then gasped loudly as her fingers began their familiar circling of her clit, an act she had repeated a thousand times, though this particular come would be memorably, gushingly unique. Only once before had she masturbated in front of a man, during one of her earliest trysts at high school, and she hoped the results would be the same, for both parties; a huge, body-shaking climax for her, and an equally huge outpouring of pleasure from her loving audience.

Her search for an orgasm was as joyful and wet as it was quick. Swollen beyond anything she had known before, her clit responded by overloading her pleasure circuits with giant volleys of pre-orgasmic bliss. She rode the short, few steps, feeling the tension build inside her, feeling the fabric of her black panties becoming inundated, feeling the orgasm take over her body, pushing her fingers to a quicker, harder circle on her clit. Surprised that she could find breath for the words, she almost yelled to the room, “Oh, God, I’m gonna . . .” and, unable to finish, simply let her body speak for her. Shaking in ecstasy, Eva came with an inner savagery she’d never known, gasping and yelling something, anything, as she hit her peak and soaked her panties with another gushing spasm of juices.

Horatio2000: Hmmm I came with you, honey... so good

Seemingly half of the room had coincided their peak with Eva’s own, according to the torrent of happy comments which flooded her chat box. Then, she was surprised to see, there was another request:

Goldman: Lick your wet fingers for me (1000 tokens)

Barely believing what she was seeing, her automated self took over, clicked ‘OK’ one more time and slowly slipped her wet fingers into her mouth.

Half an hour later, Eva stumbled from the unpowered computer to her bed and slept the deep, drunken sleep of a girl who was, on every level, partied out.

***

Her hangover was fierce, but she had prepared cranberry juice cocktail and painkillers to ease the blow. Turning the computer on, and wiping a few remnant smears from last night’s fun off of her chair before sitting down, she checked her account on the webcam site and actually – not figuratively – fell right off her chair.

Account Balance: $1348.50

Picking herself up, she let the facts sink in: she had attracted, and given pleasure to hundreds of willing strangers, all without them even seeing her face.
God, I must have a rockin’ body
! It gave her a warm glow which lasted for days. Fleeting concerns that she had come close to prostitution were easily dismissed; she had not actually shown anyone her private places, a quick flash of one nipple being the only exception. All of this money, she was staggered to contemplate, was the result of tantalizing, teasing and carefully leading on a group of men who paid to be
seduced
, not simply to watch a beautiful girl expose her body.

It only took a couple of hours, she found herself thinking. I could do it only once or twice a week, and I wouldn’t have to wait tables, or clean up after messy, disrespectful customers, or get home at 1am after a back-breaking shift.

After a leisurely breakfast and some careful thought, however, Eva clicked on the websites of her three favorite charities and made $450 donations to each one. She then closed the webcam site account and, in a final, cleansing act, deleted her browser history and put her webcam in the bottom drawer. “Mission accomplished,” she announced to the empty room. She had her research, and had learned that slow, smart, smiley teasing was the key to seduction.

She wrote in her notebook in large letters, “Reel him in but make him WAIT.”

***

Her afternoon reverie was broken only when Tyler’s came home two hours earlier than expected. His shift had finished early, he explained over dinner, as it was only the preliminary assessment of a residential site just outside Stockdale. The foundation hole had already been dug, and he had done the measuring and planning for his company’s role in the construction of a new family home about the same size as their own. “Couple of the guys from McMahon’s were pretty cool characters, Trish. Hope you don’t mind, but I invited one or two of them over for the Rangers game tonight. Nothing big, just maybe four of us. Sound OK?”

“Sure, honey. Nice that you’ve met some new people.” Tyler had complained for months that his social circle, never enormous to begin with, had shrunk depressingly in the last eighteen months as more and more high school and work friends had left for San Antonio, Dallas and further afield. “You gonna do a beer run to Lowes?”

The couple wrote up a shopping list while Eva helped clean up after lunch. “Tyler chooses nice friends, just so you’re not worried that a pickup full of drunk-ass good ol’ boys is on its way,” Trish chuckled. “One of the guys from his last construction job even had a year of college under his belt.”

Eva whistled sarcastically. “A whole
year?
”

“Ladies, please,” interjected Tyler. “These are honest men, god-fearing and clean-shaven. Hell, one of them used to date a pastor’s daughter. It don’t get more wholesome than that.”

“She was plenty wholesome
before
he dated her,” whispered Trish. “Not so much
after
.” This earned Trish a slapped ass – hardly her first of the afternoon, Eva noted with a shiver of guilt – and the two horsed around while Eva finished the chores.

“Geez, get a room, why don’t ya?” she quipped.

“Oh that ship well and truly sailed already,” said Trish, laughing. “Right honey?”

***

Tyler was firing up the grill when Eva emerged from another quiet session of writing in her room. It had actually turned into a decent nap, and she felt as good as she had in months. Steaks, franks and salad seemed to be on the menu and Tyler had already popped at least one Bud Light, two cases of which crowded the fridge. Trish busied around the kitchen and living room, straightening up the place.

“It’s not royalty that’s heading over here, you know,” Tyler called through from the front yard. “Hey, Eva, you think maybe she’s trying to impress these guys with her home-maker credentials? Huh? Looking to upgrade from carpenter to ditch-digger?” Trish took time out of her chores to march up and thwack Tyler’s ass again, and then resumed directing Eva as she tried to help.

“Upgrade,” she muttered. “Hard to imagine me doing better than him, God preserve us.”

Eva smiled but kept quiet. She was petrified that something she said, or a glance, or some unknown aspect of her body language might reveal the illicit sensuality she had so enjoyed that afternoon. It was hard to stop her mind from floating languidly back to those moments of greatest pleasure, when she had peeled off her underwear and just
gone for it
. She’d already caught herself daydreaming about it a half dozen times, and she felt sure it would eventually show, however accepting Trish might prove to be. A little mantra helped assuage her guilt somewhat:
a girl’s got to find her fun somewhere, right?

There was commotion outside. Peeking through the mosquito screen of the front door, Eva spotted two tall men carrying more cases of beer, one of whom chose to break boisterously into song:

If it hadn’t been for Cotton-Eyed Joe,

I’d’ve been married a long time ago,

Where did he come from, where did he go?

Where did you come from, Cotton-Eyed Joe?

Tyler joined in with characteristic verve and the front lawn briefly hosted an animated sing-along. The shorter of the two visitors started dancing a little jig – or something similar, Eva really couldn’t be sure – while the other watched, one hand on his hip and another cradling the twelve-rack of beers on his shoulder. He had the tolerant smile of someone who was very used to these antics, but not yet ready to get involved. Patiently, he waited for Tyler and Mitch to simmer down before being introduced to the proprietor.

“Good to meet you, buddy. Mitch tells me you’re a lifelong Rangers fan.”

“Never miss a game unless I’m in jail,” offered the tall, dark man. His voice had that calmly measured tone of someone entirely comfortable with meeting new people. He and Tyler shook hands and then Tyler waved them all into the house.

“Honey? I want you to meet Mitch Murphy, he’s the guy I told you about from the housing job outside of Stockdale. And this is . . . sorry, buddy, was it Zeke?”

The stranger laughed, a carefree sound. Eva appeared in the kitchen, drawn by the noise outside and the unfamiliar men’s voices. “Zack,” he reminded Tyler politely. “Zack Norcross, ma’am. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Trish and this is Eva.” Trish took Zack’s hand with a cheery smile, and then it was Eva’s turn.

“Very nice to meet you both,” Zack said. “Eva . . .” He thought for a moment. “Is that short for Evangeline?”

“Evaline,” she stammered. “But Eva’s just fine.”

“A pleasure meeting you,” Zack said courteously. He turned to stow the beers and Eva found herself rather brazenly checking out his figure; it had been some time since she’d looked a man up and down, but this tall, impressively muscular frame seemed to demand it. Of their own accord, her eyes scanned Zack’s torso as he stocked the fridge, noticing how his tight, black t-shirt accentuated what were surely quite spectacular abdominal and pectoral muscles. Less hidden were impressively thick biceps, and sturdy forearms like the low branches of an old oak. Neatly cropped jet-black hair gave him an almost military look, but in comfort-fit dark-blue jeans - and the black t-shirt which he filled out so tantalizingly well - he gave off a pleasantly casual, confident, Friday evening vibe.

He also smelled absolutely wonderful, smiling as he eased past her into the living room.

Click.
Trish’s fingers snapped right in front of Eva’s nose. “Er, notice that we have guests, did you?”

“Erm?”

“You want to finish up that salad and maybe get Tyler a plate for the steaks?” Trish asked. “I’ll get the buns for him to warm.”

“Buns?”

Trish stared at her. “Did you leave your brain in your room?”

“Huh?”

Trish grabbed Eva’s forearm and placed the bottle of ranch dressing in her hand. “Do me a favor,” she whispered, “and switch your thinking from undressing Zack to dressing this salad, there’s a good girl.” She grinned at her friend and sidled through to the living room. Trish was extremely proud of her slender, tanned legs, which today were wonderfully shown off by the tiniest jean shorts she dared to wear.

Eva focused and got the sides ready, bringing everything through and taking a seat in their little living room. The TV was a second-hand 36-inch which was flanked by an armchair on each side and a big three-seater sofa in the middle; they had found it almost for free right after they moved in, and considered it their luckiest find. Tyler took his customary seat on the right of the TV while Trish very deliberately took the left, leaving Mitch and Zack to figure out who might sit next to Eva on the couch. The taller, incredibly more muscular man seemed to win the ensuing, silent argument in about a second.

The game had not started well. Oakland’s at-bat had already produced a base hit and a walk, each roundly criticized by Tyler and Mitch. Zack remained unmoved, reminding them, “it’s a long way to the bottom of the ninth,” a sentiment which fell on almost completely deaf ears. Then Cespedes powered a hit way long, left of center field, and the three men watched despairingly as it careered over the boundary for a two-run homer.

“Son of a
bitch
!” yelled Tyler.

“God damn it all to
hell
!” spat Mitch.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” said Zack mildly. Trish turned to see Eva gazing, half-melted, at the even-tempered man next to her on the couch. “Pitcher needs to mix it up more,” he diagnosed, taking a small sip of beer. Eva noticed that he drank not the cans of Bud Light his friends were plowing through, but a bottle of IPA from a local brewery.

“You don’t like Bud?” Trish asked, certain that Eva was, as yet, too shy to ask.

“Well,” Zack said thoughtfully, glancing at the label, “I only ever have one or two, so I like to try something different.”

“Driving, are you?” Trish inquired.

“By default, I guess,” he replied as they watched Mitch pop his third Bud, “but I never was much of a drinker. The docs say I should take it easy, and I’ve learned that if I do what they say, things work out better.”

With two walks, the Athletics’ pitcher had started badly. Tyler hollered as Adrian Beltre got an RBI, and again a minute later as the Rangers scored again, prompting a general high-five and a more confident vibe to the room. Mitch loved to applaud each good play, his resonating claps providing a rhythm to the game, a counterpoint to the regular calls for more beer.

“Do you play sports much?” It took Eva a second to realize that this question was for her.

“Er, well . . .”
Get it together, girl
, said Trish’s imploring facial expression. “I played volleyball at high school, and I like to run.”

“That’s good,” said Zack. Norris stole second, to the loud consternation of the others. Zack added quietly, “You do look to be in good shape.” He then joined in the applause as the pitcher wrapped up the inning without the Athletics extending their 3-2 lead.

Eva’s whole body was quivering slightly.
Did he just say that?
Did he really
? Trish’s open-mouthed shock confirmed it: this extraordinarily sexy man had
praised
Eva’s figure, right there to her face. She wouldn’t have believed it possible, but apparently Eva could become instantly tingly – and, she could feel, a little moist between her legs - simply from something Zack
said
.

Be cool,
said Trish’s imploring face. “Thanks,” Eva said. “I don’t know how often you’re in the gym, but it seems to be doing you some good.” Waiting until the men were engrossed in the next play, Trish mimed generous applause to her friend, silently mouthing ‘
you go, girl!’
. Eva felt a growing sense of confidence, either from spending more time with this personable, easygoing guy, or from the two beers she’d fairly swiftly dispatched.