Eagle

We’ve finished up a three-hour tour of my property, throughout which I constantly battled the urge to pull over and fuck her in the long grass in the warm sunshine, and I’m ready to grab something to eat. After our call yesterday, I decided to give her a little bit of what she asked for, quality time together. I need to see how well we get along outside of the bedroom, too, if we’re going to take this further.

I drive down an access road that runs perpendicular to the highway. There’s a cluster of small houses, a grocery store, a gas station, and a restaurant. The place doesn’t even have a name, but the people are great.

“Where are we?” she asks while climbing off the wheeler.

“See that shack over there?”

“Yeah.”

“Georgie makes the best trout amandine in Louisiana. Interested?” I hope she is, because I plan on spending quite a lot of time at the property, and if Serafina and I are going to see more of each other, I want her to be familiar with the neighborhood.

“Am I? I haven’t had homemade Cajun food in forever. Occasionally, I splurge and make some at home . . .” She stops talking suddenly.

I can’t see her eyes behind those dark sunglasses she’s wearing, but her smile faded. Is she hiding her connection to Louisiana from me? If so, why? I already know she stopped by the Holly Beach Cemetery before going home last Saturday. The more time I spend with Serafina, the more mysterious she gets. But I respect her privacy. I won’t probe her. If she wants me to know something, she’ll tell me.

“Let’s go.”

We walk inside. There’s eight rickety tables in the place. Only two are empty. The owner greets us with genuine enthusiasm.

“Eagle!” He sneaks around the corner from the kitchen, abandoning his post at the stove. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

We shake hands.

Georgie gazes at Serafina. “Where did you find this beauty? In a magazine?”

She blushes and smiles. “Nice to meet you, Georgie.”

He gives her a hug. “Did Eagle brag about my sausages?”

“Your Amandine.”

“Good. Good.” He has a thick, French accent.

The last of a dying breed in the backwoods. That’s why I come here whenever I can. I believe in supporting local businesses, the mom-and-pop joints being forced out of business by national chains.

“Pick a table,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

I choose the corner, away from the windows and other customers. I want to watch Serafina eat with that sexy-as-fuck mouth in private. I swear the girl put a cunja on me. Like some bewitching creature from the bayou, her dark features and tanned skin remind me of everything I love about Louisianan women.

Once we’re seated, she studies me in silence.

“Why Texarkana?”

“Why not?” she shoots back, avoiding the question.

“Tell me three things you like about home.”

“In Texarkana? Thunderstorms. The architecture . . .”

Georgie arrives with a tray in his hands. He plunks down two glasses of red wine and a bucket filled with seasoned crawfish. “Just an appetizer.” He rushes away before I can say anything and comes back with two plates and linen napkins. “Enjoy.”

Serafina dives right in. She pulls the shell off the tail and sucks the meat and juices out of the crawfish like any skilled Cajun. My questions are getting answered just by watching her eat. Tourists don’t eat crawfish like a local. As she finishes her third, there’s a spot of juice on her lower lip. I wipe it away with my thumb.

“Do you always eat like that?” I ask, admiring the way her pink tongue traces the seam of her bottom lip. Shit . . . the girl could make eating anything look sexy. I’d like to see what she can do with my cock.

“How do you mean?”

“Like it’s your last meal.”

She giggles. “Wait until you see what I can do with spaghetti and meatballs.”

I follow her lead, digging into the appetizer. We both sip our wine and make small talk about my property and the weather. She rarely says anything about herself, which means she’s either ridiculously humble or hiding something.

Twenty minutes later, Georgie serves us two generous portions of amandine, trout with a lemon butter sauce and topped with toasted, slivered almonds. I shovel a forkful into my mouth and express my satisfaction with a growl.

“Oh my God,” Serafina sings. “It melts in my mouth.”

We finish with cheesecake and raspberry sauce. As I dig money out of my wallet, Georgie returns with the bill. No charge is scribbled across the front. I frown and look up at the old man.

“Come on, Georgie.”

“No. No.” He waves his hands. “Your money is no good here today.”

We just spent two and a half hours in his café. I’m not going to let him get away with it. “All right,” I pretend to give up. “Next time, you charge me double.”

“Next time,” he repeats, “you bring this angel back.”

Serafina makes a funny face when he compliments her. I shrug it off, starting to believe the girl doesn’t know how flawless she is. It won’t take me long to show her once we get back to the cabin. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman more.

She embraces Georgie and thanks him for his generosity. While they’re talking, I drop a hundred-dollar bill on the table. Exceptional food and service deserves to be rewarded.

We exit the resteraunt together and walk to the four-wheeler.

* * *

Eagle parks in the driveway and motions for me to go inside. “Everything you need for a shower is in the bathroom, baby,” he says in a low tone. “Grab your bag and get ready for me, Serafina. I have some work to do around the property first. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

I can feel him watching me as I get my backpack out of my car. I bend over dramatically, pushing my ass high in the air as I reach for my bag in the back seat. I close my door and turn around and he’s still staring, undisguised hunger in his deep blue eyes.

“See ya soon,” I say casually and saunter to the front door, knowing full well how crazy I’m making him.

Once inside, I rush to the bar for a shot of something strong to settle my nerves. My heart is racing. There’s not even a hint of doubt in Eagle’s stony expression. He knows he’s going to fuck me soon. Where does that kind of confidence come from? That arrogance men only seem to have? I’m fighting to keep it together because I’m about to live out one of my fantasies—to make love to the man I’ve always wanted and take care of that little virgin problem. Hopefully he won’t notice that big elephant in the room.

I find a fresh bottle of Crown Royal and crack it open like an alcoholic. With shaky hands, I pour a shot in a glass. It goes down hard, burning my throat. I’m not a big drinker, but it does what it’s supposed to. I feel steadier. I put the bottle back and turn my attention to the bathroom. I could use a relaxing shower.

Just as he said, there’s an array of feminine shampoos and soaps available in the bathroom closet. Not sure how I should feel about it. How many women has he brought here? Banged here? Jealousy zings through me. In another life, he would have been mine. Not all one percenters are man whores. In fact, when truly in love, brothers are protective and dedicated. And if another man disrespects his lady . . .

I turn the water on in the stand-up shower. It’s a small but clean bathroom, fitting for a hunting lodge. I shed my clothes and climb in, letting the hot water wash away my self-doubt. I have a firm plan. One I can’t deviate from or Eagle will notice I’m a virgin and freak out. Any man would.

My plan? Get buzzed together first. Whiskey relaxes me. Then I’ll wait until dusk or later and make sure the bedroom is dark. We’ll make love, and once he’s asleep, I’ll leave. It’s the safest way, the only option. Yeah, unfortunately, he knows where I live. But I can’t imagine Eagle chasing after a girl who blew him off. If anything, he’ll be glad to be rid of me.