Friday, January 21, 2011
The Naughty Little School Mink...
Purple leather, eyelets along the back and skyscraper heels all teased him as he waited for her to slide the card into the lock and let him into her room.
“I’ve decided to address you as Daniel, or apẻritif, which ever suits my mood.”
Were the boots short, barely reaching her knee, or did they climb higher and slide close to her intimate parts.
“Ah huh, wait…what. A pair of tits?” Danny dropped the load of luggage Miss prissy Penny insisted on having in this over the top room with a view. “I’m not a woman, Penn…Ma’am.”
There was that eye again, glittering with knowledge under her raised brow. She’d used the same look down at the car when she’d loaded him up with enough bags for ten women while informing him that he would be her very own pack mink. Hot.
“Apẻritif, Daniel, emphasis on the if.”
Oh hells, yes! Here it came, her channeling of all the third grade teachers he’d ever had. Hounding him to be good, correcting his errors and telling him what he could and couldn’t do. And, she even had the stance right; standing up straight with her arms crossed over her chest—disapproval and dominance written all over her face. The look left him with a dick in need of release and wasn’t that just flat out disturbing. He was a man’s man, most of the time, though here she was—confusing him.
“Just take me home, Pe…” The look, the look, drilling into my brains… “Ma’am.”
“No, Daniel. Now, do you know why I will call you apẻritif? Do you know what it means?”
“Come on; just take me home…like Nick told you too.” Then he could get back to work in the mail room and trolling Dante’s club for hot males willing to quietly partake of some of the tight female bodies and forget this Alaska fiasco ever happened.
“Nick has enough on his plate right now, Daniel. Besides, he owes me…”
Damn wolf, what could Nick have done now, to owe a bird anything more than a set of fangs and a nice bottle of Chardonnay. Leave it to his luck to get someone here to rescue him that wasn’t cowed by Nick.
“Now, since I gather you don’t know what your new nickname means, I’ll tell you. Apẻritif is French for appetizer. I’m calling you that, because in your current state, your partners would scarily survive on what little you bring to the sexual table.”
“Oh frack you, ma’am,” he hollered, his hours of Galatica adoration clear in his anger. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
Even as he fumed about her comments and stupid nickname, Danny feared she, like Mr. Tongson, had hit a little closer to home than he liked.