Maddox
When the woman rolls her eyes and leaves, I laugh. She is hot, damn hot. Her hair is red and falls down around her shoulders, and her face is thin, model-thin. I’m glad she stands up because I get a good look at her body. She wears denim shorts that cut high on her thighs and a tank top, her bra showing through it, the straps filling my mind with a thousand dirty images. She wears big boots, emphasizing how petite she is, how thin. I could pick her up easily. I could bend her over easily. Man, this chick has made me crazy.
Then she’s gone, but women are not difficult to read when you know how. I watch her leave, watching her petite ass shift back and forth, thinking how simple it would be to unclasp that bra and free her petite breasts. My cock aches, pressing against my jeans.
Fuck, she’s hot.
I watch as she walks down the street, but I know she’ll be waiting for me. At least, I know she’ll want to wait for me. It was written plain on her face, on the way her lips parted. She was horny. If there’s one thing I can read on a woman’s face, it’s lust, and this woman was horny and hot. But the way she pouted and paced out of the place makes me wonder if she’s headstrong. Good. Submissive women are sweet; submissive women you have to break first are sweeter.
Maybe I’m a bad man. I ask myself: Do I give a shit? The answer is clear and loud: no.
I turn back to the women behind the counter. The freckled one thought I’d go on a date with her, wait two hours just to pick her up, like I haven’t got stuff to do. The woman with the ribbon in her hair hands me a tray of coffees. The one for the red-haired woman has a white lid on it, to show it has milk. I pay, ignore their stares, and pace from the coffee shop.
When I walk out onto the street, I look in the direction the red-haired woman walked and see her. So she’s horny enough to come back.
***
“Is this a coincidence?” I ask, walking over to her. Pedestrians walk back and forth in the street, lots of them wearing colorful clothes, all the colors of the rainbow bursting brightly here on an LA street. Cars – many of them high-end sports cars – drive by.
“Coincidence?” she says, not looking me in the eye. She chews her lower lip. I can’t help but imagine if she’d chew it like that if I went down on her; I go down on her, and she’s there, chewing her lip, scared to scream because that’d mean she had to admit she likes it.
“Just waiting here, on the sidewalk? Who’re you waiting for, Red?”
She blushes, a sweet look if I’ve ever seen one. I notice that she has cute little ears poking out from her wavy red hair. Her long, thin legs fidget, like a woman who needs the bathroom. Hell, or like a woman whose pussy is just aching to be played with. I read her, and I see: she wants it. She wants it bad. But she’s embarrassed about wanting it, about coming back here just to wait for me. Women have a code, and I’ve mastered that code.
“Hello?” I say. I walk in front of her, my shadow falling over her, and she’s forced to look up at me. Her eyes are dark brown, almost red, the same color as her hair. She’s about four inches shorter than me, and I’m six three. So she’s tall for a woman. But she’s sleek, with legs that go up, up, up.
“Hello,” she breathes, still biting her lip. She doesn’t look at me flirty like the women in the coffee shop. She looks worried; she’s not sure if she regrets coming back.
“Don’t you want your coffee?” I ask, nodding to the tray in my hand.
She shakes her head, a small movement. “I didn’t ask for a coffee.”
“I assumed that’s why you’d come back.”
Her blush grows fiercer, and she stays silent.
“My name is Maddox Owens,” I say.
“Eden Chase,” she mutters.
“So, Eden Chase, do you want to explain why you’re stalking me?”
She lets out a gasp. “Stalking you?” she says. “Is that what you think?”
“What am I supposed to think?” I shoot back, smirking, my words playful. “One second I’m buying coffee, minding my own business, the next—”
“You call that minding your own business?” she snaps, but her voice is as playful as mine. “To me, it looked like you were trying to flirt with every woman in that place.”
“Jealous?” I say, raising my eyebrow.
She waves her arms in exasperation. “No, I wasn’t jealous. Jealous of what? A man I’ve never met before?”
“Jealous because I didn’t go into that place and straight to you, Red. I went to those giggling girls behind the counter instead. That must’ve really annoyed you, seeing as you’re back here, stalking.”
“I’m not stalking!” she exclaims, her brown-red eyes staring straight at me.
“What are you doing, then?”
“I’m…” She stares dagger-eyed at me, but I can see beneath the anger, to the lust beneath. We both know why she came back. But it’s odd, isn’t it; waiting in the street for a man you don’t know? She’s never done something like this before. I can tell from how nervous she is. I’ve had women wait for me before, but never women like Eden, never truly beautiful women. Whorish women, maybe, but they’re something else.
“You’re… You can finish your sentence whenever you want, you know.”
“You’re an asshole!” she snaps.
I bring my hand to my chest, fake-shocked. “You’re the one following me, Eden. Is it really that messed up that I want to know why?”
“You know why. You’re playing with me.”
I trace her neck with my eyes, the smooth, perfect skin, down to her collarbone and down to her pert breasts, the bra showing through the tank top. The way she’s dressed, I can’t stop myself from thinking what it would be like to rip that tank top away and tear the bra free with my teeth. Her nipples are soft at first, but then I suck them, and they get hard, so hard, and I—
“Stop looking at me like that,” she says, but her voice is weak.
“Like what?” I ask innocently.
“Like that,” she hisses.
She points to my face. Her fingernails are painted red and green, one nail red, one green. Her hands are long, thin, and soft-looking. Except for the tips, which are slightly callused. A writer? I think. She was typing when I came in. A student?
I can’t help but smile. I’m having fun playing with this woman.
“Let me guess,” I say. “Maybe that’ll make it easier for you to admit.”
“I have nothing to admit.” Her voice gets weaker, breathless.
I move my eyes down to her legs. The way her denim shorts tuck between her thighs makes my cock hard, so hard it aches against my jeans. Tucked right up between there, tempting me to clamp my hand down. She has a thigh gap that is driving me goddamn crazy.
“Okay, we’ll see,” I go on. “This is my theory. You saw me flirting with those women in there, and you got jealous. You were looking at me and thinking: Fuck, he’s sexy. I wouldn’t mind bending over for him. Or something similar. And then I started checking you out, bought you a coffee, and you let your logical side take over. But then, when you were down the street, you regretted it. And here you are, Eden.”
As I talk, I see that her fingers flex, open and close, open and close, like a nervous tic. She watches me for a long time, and I have no problem watching her right back. Her lips are free of lipstick, and they look all the better for it. The sort of lips you can imagine letting out passionate, horny moans. The sort of lips you can imagine doing any number of dark, dirty things.
Finally, she says, “You’re wrong.”
I let out a laugh. “You took too long of a pause,” I say. “You can’t go quiet for ten years and then tell me I’m wrong.”
“Fine.” She turns on her heels. “I’m leaving then.”
She begins to pace down the street.