Page 12 of Mountain Daddy's Girl
“I’m too old for college,” I joke.
We stop in a small clearing, surrounded on all sides by pines as if we have an audience.
“You’re not old, Boone.”
“I’m thirty-two.”
“Twenty-three and thirty-two; not that much difference.”
“No?”
I pull her in for another kiss. Her body pushes against mine so that I can feel each and every curve, the fleshy thickness of her horny body. She moans through the kiss, warm breath urging me on. My hand glides naturally and irresistibly over her hip,toward her ass, my manhood already gushing with seed, my trunk already as solid as the trees surrounding us.
A wolf whistle shatters the moment.
I take a step back, my head pulsing hotly, my fists clenched.
Who thefuckthinks they have the right to whistle at my woman?
Turning, I spot three men in hiking gear. Two of them have got mullets, around forty, tall and strong-looking country men. The third is younger and built even more thickly.
“Who whistled?” I growl.
“Boone,” Lila whispers.
I step in front of her. I don’t even want these motherfuckers looking at her, let alone thinking they can get away with whistling at her.
“I said,” my voice rising, “who thefuckwhistled?”
One of the mullet pricks steps forward. He’s got a checkered shirt open to reveal a silver pendant in the shape of a pistol. “Might’ve been me. Call it a harmless joke, son, and be careful with that attitude.”
“You need to apologize to the lady,” I tell him flatly.
“Oh yeah?” Pistol pendant dude looks at his buddies, laughing, but the younger one doesn’t reciprocate. Mullet Number Two does, but it seems forced. “Hear that, boys?”
“It was just a joke,” the younger one mutters.
“Do you see me laughing.” It’s not a question. “Apologize. I won’t ask a third time.”
Pistol dude coughs out another wannabe tough guy laugh and then walks toward me like he’s going to do something.
I let him push me first, let him feel how royally fucked he is. I don’t move; he does. His shove forces him backward. His eyes snap open stupidly and his two buddies exchange a look.
I raise my hands into a fighting stance, loose, ready.
“Sorry!” the younger one blurts. “Shit, man, he’s sorry, okay?”
I glare at Pistol.
He looks at me with confusion. Fear. I almost don’t want him to apologize so I can shatter every bone in his face for daring to disrespect Lila.
“Sorry,” he squeaks.
“What?” I snarl.
“I’m sorry,” he says, louder. “Miss, I’m very sorry. That wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Good.” I nod to the trees. “Nowget.”
