His mouth closed into a disapproving thin line. The creases on his already wrinkled brow deepened with his frown. His black hair was speckled with enough white to make it more salt than pepper. His gnarled fingers, which hinted at his age, tightened on the steering wheel. His clear dark eyes were bright with anger, or something else, she couldn’t tell.
“Look missy, if you’re going to ride with me, you will show the proper respect. We don’t use that kind of language around here. It’s not lady like.”
Shamika snorted. “Do I look like a lady?”
“Looks can be deceiving. I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover.” He took a breath trying to get his anger under control. “I’m willing to start over if you are.” He took one hand from the steering wheel shoved it toward her and waited for her to take it. “My name is Hugo Turner, and you are?”
Did he mean it? He reminded her of her father. Her father was always willing to give someone a chance, always looked for the good in people. She took his hand.
“Shamika Adams. I apologize for my previous rudeness. Three cars passed me without a second glance. Do you have any idea how long it takes for three cars to travel on this road?”
“A da—a very long time. I can assure you of that. I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Turner.” She released his hand.
“Likewise, Miss Adams.”
“Call me Shamika or Mika, please.”
“I’d like that, and you may call me Hugo if you’d like.”
“Thank you. I’d like that, Hugo.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you become stranded out here?”
“I don’t mind. I just don’t have an answer that I think you would believe.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, one minute I was in the museum, and the next I was on this road.”
“A museum, you say?”
“Yes, Minerva’s Mystic Museum in New York City.”
“That explains the way you’re dressed.”
“What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?” She bristled with insulted indignation, but she knew what was wrong with it.
“It’s not what I would call respectable.”
Her father wouldn’t call it respectable either. “So what?”
“You’d best get rid of that chip that’s on your shoulder, missy.” He took one hand off the wheel to wag a finger at her.
She had to smile. If she didn’t know better she would think he was her father. “You’re right, sir. I’d best do that. I’ve been carrying it around for a long time now. Sometimes I forget how I should act without it.”
“My Cecily came home with the same chip on her shoulder. She went to New York City, too. She came home dressed funny like you…not in a bumblebee outfit, but her clothes were too tight and too short, just like yours.”
“Bumblebee outfit?” She looked down at her striped top and gold skirt. She had to laugh. “I guess it does look like a bumblebee. I never gave it any thought.”
“That don’t sound right…a woman not thinking about what she looks like.” He took his eyes off the road to look at her for a moment.
“I didn’t say I don’t think about my appearance, I do. I have to look a certain way for my work.”
He took his eyes off the road again. “Let me guess, undercover narcotics agent posing as a prostitute?”
She laughed. He had a sense of humor. “Half right, and we both know which half that is.”
“Narc cop it is then.” He smiled and winked.
“Thank you, Hugo. I appreciate that.”
“I don’t take kindly to people who use drugs. Drugs killed my Cecily. She came home an addict. She kicked it, and got herself clean. She found a good man that loved her. She loved him, too, so they got hitched. She and Billy were happy. When she got pregnant they were thrilled, especially Billy. When he was killed in Afghanistan, before the baby was born, it broke Cecily’s heart. You would think that having a baby would give her something to live for.”
“After little Billy was born she got that postpartum depression really bad. She started using again. A year later she overdosed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you. Like I said, I don’t take kindly to people who use drugs.” He looked at her pointedly.
She saw a question, not an accusation in his eyes. For some crazy reason she cared what this man thought of her. “We’re in agreement about that. I may dress the part of someone who more than likely uses, but I assure you I don’t. I lost a close friend and a few acquaintances to drug overdoses. I can’t abide the stuff.”
“It’s bad enough that you lose someone that you love. I don’t know about you, but I’m still dealing with being angry with her for doing it to herself. It’s just so senseless,” Hugo grumbled.
“I know exactly what you mean.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with my sorrows.”
“Hugo, you don’t have to apologize. It’s good to know that I’m not alone. I thought I was a bad friend because I was so mad at him.”
“He was more than a friend, wasn’t he?”
Shamika headed back to the house. She looked over her shoulder. Harold was staring at her from the barn door. His face showed what he thought about her staying. Maybe she should go over there and have it out with him, clear the air so to speak.
She changed direction and headed to the barn. She was dressed in the bumblebee outfit. Her platform shoes made walking difficult. By the time she got to the barn door she was cursing up a storm.
Harold turned away, anger plainly visible on his face. “What the fuck is his problem?” Standing on the spot Harold had just vacated, Shamika said, “It isn’t going to be that easy, asshole.” She watched him enter one of the stalls. “I walked all the way over here, it’s not going to be for nothing,” she fumed. She stormed through the barn after him. “That was fucking rude,” she nearly shouted as she reached the stall.
Every muscle in his body tightened as he straightened and turned. Anger exploded in his eyes. It stunned her to the point that she couldn’t move. Harold reached for her, and she felt his fingers wrap around her wrist. Through her anger and his, she felt something in that touch, something that made butterflies come to life in her stomach. Butterflies had never happened to her before. He yanked her over his knee. Between the butterflies and her reaction to his anger she was still unable to react. She felt his hand land harshly, heating up its imprint on her ass. Her very short skirt was no protection. Her thong and garter provided plenty of skin for his hand to connect with. It stung but it was oddly erotic. Butterflies turned into liquid heat. She’d been spanked before, but it never turned her on. It turned her on now, and that pissed her off. How could she desire someone that didn’t want her?
His hand connected sharply with her flesh three times, and then came to rest almost tenderly caressing her soft and now warm mounds. That caress felt very nice, causing her anger to fall swiftly away. She could feel her pussy getting wet. He lifted her off his thighs quickly and jumped up from the bale of hay he’d used as a seat. The movement caught her off guard, making her unsteady on her feet. Trying to gain her balance, she almost fell into his arms. His hands closed around her upper arms as he supported her. He groaned. She looked up into his eyes, her palms on his chest.
The angry eyes that had stunned her were now filled with desire and lust. Desire the likes of which she had never seen. Her pussy reacted to it instantaneously. Her hands moved up his chest of their own accord. He was breathing rapidly. Her body betrayed her and moved into his.
“Shit,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her.
Her head tilted back and her lips parted. He growled just before his lips met hers in a brutal kiss. She didn’t fight him, she surrendered and reveled in her body’s response to this man. She was hot and emotionally involved in the act. So what if it wasn’t love. She could do angry sex if this was how it made her feel. Shamika wanted this man. She’d never experienced this kind of desire before, hot and needy, all-consuming. Harold didn’t like her that much she knew, but she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the fact that he wanted her.
His stiff, rock hard cock was pressing into her. The kiss changed to something more passionate. It wasn’t trying to punish her anymore, maybe it never had been. His tongue dipped into her mouth, tasting her now, creating wonderful sensations. Her arms moved around his neck, and she moaned. His hands began to explore her body, squeezing her ass, her breasts, touching her everywhere. Barely breaking the kiss, he stripped her in no time, leaving her in her thong, garter, and stockings. Harold stepped back just far enough to give his hands enough room to undo the buttons to his shirt. As he completed that task he was looking at her breasts, nipples budded and begging for attention. His eyes were devouring her. She was so hot her pussy was dripping. The throbbing pulsations she felt delighted her.
Shamika wanted to touch him, but she didn’t dare. She didn’t want anything to impede him. If she touched him he might remember that he hated her and stop. The snap and zipper of his pants were opened quickly. He sat on the bale of hay to remove his boots. Still as stone, she stood. It wasn’t fear that held her immobile. It was her desire to see his cock. She wanted to touch it, to suck it. But what would he want from her?
He stood and grabbed a blanket, then spread it on the loose hay in the stall. A condom was pulled from the pocket of his jeans. So, he wanted to fuck. He put the wrapper between his teeth. After his jeans fell to the ground, he stepped out of them. His red bikini briefs barely contained his erection. His dark skin made those briefs come to life. He looked sexy as hell.
Her nipples began to bud. Anticipation filled her as his hands moved toward the soft lobes that had begun to ache with need. He cupped her breasts and rubbed his thumbs across the hard points, circling the areola he bought that to life, too. He licked his lips and his desire became apparent in his eyes. Would he suck on her tits?