Page 22 of Peaches

“Would what take?” I ask like a naive stupid eleven-year-old girl that doesn’t know the first thing about sex or how to please myself in its absence.

“That’s right, I forgot,” his smokey voice calls to me as he shifts gears once again. “You prefer spankings!”

And just like that, I bow to the King of romance even if he denies liking the fictional garbage himself.

His words. Not mine.

The King of my kind of romance, that is. Dirty, filthy, toe curling, control snapping, romance! Forget the fucking flowers.

Brett Beckett may think he’s above fully indulging in the largest fictional money-making empire, but his dirty mouth, swoon worthy mannerisms, and expensive lifestyle say different.

He’s become my muse.

And something tells me he’ll never fail to inspire me even long after our time together is over. A fact that begins to make me sad. Thinking of the end when we’ve only just got started.

* * *

After a twenty-minute drivethrough the country, Brett pulls a sharp right and we come to some massive gates the likes of which I have never seen. They part for him like Moses parting the Red Sea and my eyes grow wide. Inching forward, he cruises through a blanket of oak trees lined with picturesque Spanish moss, both of which provide the perfect amount of early evening shade and I can’t help but glance up at the sun dancing through the leaves as we drive a little more in silence and I find myself feeling more carefree happiness than I have in probably my entire life.

The twenty-minute car ride though, that wasn’t completely silent. After being versed on the musical tastes of Brett Beckett, (rap, classic rock, some indie underground stuff), the tone turned to a flirty, sexy, playful conversation that left me blushing many times over.

“Tell me, Peaches, why do good girls like bad guys?”

“Name three body parts you like most. Not yours, Peaches, mine!”

“Want to know a secret. No, I want to know your secret.Tell me your most private truth.”

“What do you wear to sleep? Me, I sleep naked. Who doesn’t in this Georgia heat! Do you sleep naked, Peaches? I bet not, am I right? Sometimes it’s better when peaches are warm, wet, sticky. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“How on earth is a girl like you still single? Oh, that’s right. Tourettes.”

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

That last one would’ve had me slamming the breaks, causing us to spin out of control to our early and, as they say, untimely death. Good thing I wasn’t driving.

“I didn’t say I want to kiss you right now. Just what would you say?”

The prick!

Caught off guard, I went silent for a while after that one. He waited me out, too, with a smug smile on his face I’d do anything to wipe off. Men like him are hardly ever caught off guard, though. At least that is what they want you to believe.

My eyes lower and I look to my left and take him in, in all his self-righteous glory and smile.

I’ll break you,I decide as the smirk grows wider across my face, and I’ll have so much fun doing it.

His last question?

“Do you have a secret fantasy?”

And.

“Don’t tell me, let me enjoy discovering it instead.”

Oh hell!

Gravel crunches under the tires as Brett drives slowly towards a house in the distance. A house, that in no way, shape, or form meets the definition of that word - house.

This place is a mansion!

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