Page 34 of Cry, Little Dove

Her eyes grow round like saucers. “D-dates?”

“You’re my girlfriend. Of course I’m gonna take you on dates, darlin’. I don’t wanna hide you like you’re some dirty little secret. I want the whole world to see what a lucky bastard I am to call you mine.”

Her jaw drops and I bite back a smirk. She only does that when she really, really likes what I say and fights a fierce internal battle to not admit it to herself, or worse, to me. The struggle is plain in her slitting eyes.

Erica clears her throat. “I guess I’ll get ready then.” She squirms out of my arms and I miss her the moment she pulls away. Her bare feet leave wet prints on the tiles as she walks to the door. One leg inside, she turns to me. “Oh, where are we going?”

I smile. “That’s a surprise, little dove. I promise it’ll be worth it. All you have to know is this: it’s gonna be a long night of fun.”

I wait for Erica in the living room. First, I answer some work emails on my phone. Even being retired from active practice and outsourcing most of the clinics’ day-to-day operations, I gotta put in a few hours now and then.

After work, I dress in the outfit I prepared and left in the downstairs guest room. My favorite black jeans and boots, a light grey button up shirt, and a slate denim jacket over it. I add one of my dad’s bolo ties, braided black leather with a decorative silver clasp, and a belt with a buckle to match.

Topping off the look with my usual black hat, I drop onto one of the armchairs in the living room and turn on the TV above the fireplace. A cooking show is on.

I love to cook, but since Mandy got healthy and moved to Los Angeles, I’ve rarely made the effort. No point in preparing a fancy meal when I have nobody to share it with. For me, food ain’t just about eating tasty things. It’s about connection and showing that you care about the people at your table.

Now, with Erica living here, things are different. I have somebody to cook for again.

I smirk as I remember her devouring the wagyu on the first evening—and every other meal I have prepared for her since then, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My little dove enjoys my cooking. That’s enough motivation to brush up on my skills and think of a few new recipes to try, but focusing on the TV is impossible.

I can’t stop thinking about my darlin’ naked upstairs. If I had my way, I’d go up there and fuck her at least twice, but I know from my sister that most women like some undisturbed me-time while getting ready. Mandy once threw a shoe at me when I interrupted her while she was doing her eyeliner.

When Erica’s boots thud on the stairs, my head whips around. I forget to breathe.

Her long legs look even longer in skin-tight leopard print leggings. I lick my lips as I admire the sliver of skin showing beneath a cropped, jet-black velvet top. A studded belt slants across her hips, a bracelet with silver spikes decorates her wrist. She wears multiple layers of necklaces crowned by a leather choker with an O-ring to hide the bruises I left on her neck. Her mischievously glimmering eyes are rimmed with smudgy black eyeliner and her red lips pull into a cocky smirk.

My face turns hot as fire and my cock rises for a standing ovation.

Thank fuck my self-control keeps those animal instincts in check. My dick has entirely other plans than a date, but I genuinely want her to have a good time tonight. There will be plenty of opportunities to make her scream my name when we get home.

“Really? I spent all this time getting dolled up and you’re not going to say anything? Nothing at all?” she asks, raising both hands, nails coated in a fresh layer of black polish.

I tip my hat at her, letting out a strained laugh. “Shit, darlin’, I can’t even think straight with you looking like this. I’m trying my best to stop myself from ravishing you on the spot.” I get up, adjusting my temperamental cock while I walk over to her. Wrapping an arm around her middle, I press my hips into her. “Can you feel what you do to me? A single glance at you was enough to get me rock hard and throbbing. You’re so beautiful, you make me crazy.”

She flushes. “Thank you,” she mumbles, suddenly getting shy. It’s so cute, I can’t stop myself. I lift my hat to kiss the shell of her ear, making her shudder as I nibble along her jaw and blow a breath across her throat.

“If we don’t get in the car this instant, we’re not going anywhere tonight,” I warn.

She pulls away, eyes dragging from the tips of my boots to my face. “You don’t look half bad yourself, cowboy,” she teases. “But you promised me a date, and now I want that damn date!”

“See, I figured you’d say that and I’m not a liar.” I grin as I step back, and a hint of disappointment flashes in her gaze. Taking my truck keys from my pocket, I grab her chin with the other hand. “But don’t you fret. By the end of tonight, I’ll rip off that pretty outfit and stuff you with my cock.”

Erica rides with her feet on the dashboard, humming along to the music.

I let her choose the playlists and I fall more for her with every song. Our tastes are so fuckin’ similar, I thank fate a hundred times for bringing me to that shitty town with its shitty gas station and shitty motel.

We talk about our favorite bands, and I can see the surprise in her eyes when she realizes how much we have in common. She quizzes me, asking suspicious questions like which songs I enjoy the most. She even names a few wrong to see if I’ll correct her, and I do.

I reckon a part of her rejects that connection between us. She wants to believe that I’m simply the monster who kidnapped her and keeps her as his prisoner—not a man she can get along with andwantto spend time with.

When I take off my hat and lay it between us on the bench, Erica puts it on. She sticks her tongue out at me, and the zap of electricity running through me almost has me veering into the nearest ditch. Her crystalline laughter makes it too easy to forget we ain’t a normal couple.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she enjoys my company as much as I enjoy hers.

We make a brief stop for food. Erica orders a double cheeseburger with extra pickles, large fries with ketchup, and an iced coffee with vanilla syrup, whipped cream, and caramel on top. I get the same. It’s a killer combination.

East San Antonio is busy in the early evening, but I planned the night carefully. A traffic jam can’t derail us. With time to spare, we park the car in a multi-story garage. We get into an elevator that takes us to street level, where people stream toward the entrance of the indoor arena across the road.

---