Annie, My Girl
She dug her feet in when he pushed her toward the back door and onto the porch, but he simply lifted her with an arm around her waist. "Let me go," she snapped, punching his chest, then squealed in pain when it connected with flesh carved from stone.
"Serves you right," he laughed. "Ladies shouldn't fight... and they shouldn't swear, either," he said sternly, landing a hard swat on her butt, then cupping the firm globes, squeezed gently.
"You are the most despicable, rudest, barbarian..." she growled low, squirming in his arms.
"And you are the most delectable morsel I've ever been tempted to taste," he murmured as his lips captured hers, one hand on the back of her neck, the other rubbing her stinging behind.
"I do *not* like you," she hissed when he lifted his head, lying through her teeth, her thighs liquefying from his kiss, her limbs shaking, certain she couldn't stand on her own.
"That's okay," he smiled, aware of her reaction, holding her tighter to his chest. "I like you and I'm going to like you even more when I make you scream."
"Do you scream when you come, Annie?" he asked, his voice like smooth and mellow scotch, his breath washing over her, and making her weak. "Or do you purr? Tell me, sweetness," his hands cupped her butt, pulling her closer to his manhood. "Or would you rather I just find out for myself?"
"You... you...!" she stared at him.
"Me... me...! You're repeating yourself, brat," he laughed, his mouth covering hers once again as his hand swatted her butt one more time. "That's for cursing, sweetness, and this..." he gave her one more hard spank, "is for what you're going to say next."
"You miserable fucking bastard!" The words were barely out of her mouth before he swatted her again and followed it up by pushing his tongue between her lips, effectively silencing her.
"Let's go have dinner," he said calmly after letting her up for air, as if they had been enjoying the fresh air and discussing the weather for the last few minutes. "Try not to squirm in your chair," he teased, escorting her back into the house, chuckling when she remained silent.
"Is everything all right?" Loren, the chicken, asked Jake, afraid to look at her friend's face, certain Anne was planning her immediate demise.
"Everything's good," Jake smiled at their hostess. "Anne and I have hit it off spankingly well, haven't we?" he smiled at the redhead who had a furious look on her face.
If looks could kill, both Jake and Loren would have dropped dead on the spot and Anne would have had no qualms about stepping over their prone bodies.
"Anne..." Loren hesitated, certain Anne would have a lot to say as soon as they were alone.
"Loren," Anne replied, her face speaking volumes, the brittle smile her friend recognized as a prelude to danger.
Loren rapidly excused herself, her chicken blood flooding her face.
"I expect you to sit next to me," Jake said quietly, escorting her to the table.
"I expect you to drop dead," she said sweetly, letting him guide her to the table and then suddenly bolted for the one empty chair between two guests seated on the other side.
He chuckled and sat down. He couldn't touch her across the wide expanse of the dining room table, but he could stare at her while she ate, certain he could make her blush. He was wildly attracted to her, her body fodder for wet dreams, her spirit lively, and her temper, unpredictable. Her complexion and her temper assured him that she was a natural redhead - a fact he planned to confirm in the very near future.
She ignored him.
She tried to ignore him.
She tried very hard to ignore him, but he wouldn't stop staring. The other guests chuckled at her constant blush. They teased her. They teased him.
"She's a beauty, isn't she?" Tim's lecherous brother smirked.
"She is, indeed," Jake agreed, sipping his wine. "And she's wearing a dress designed to attract the male eye."
"You oughta see her in a bikini," Tim's brother added, licking his lips. "She's..."
"Tim..." his brother warned.
Anne thought she'd die of embarrassment as everyone looked at her and at the dress she was wearing.
"Anne's smart, too," Loren piped up, thinking that was a safe thing to say, chicken that she was.
"What makes her smart?" Jake asked as if Anne weren't in the room.
"Teaches at the university... Ph.D. and... and... stuff," the chicken clucked.
"Really?" he asked as if he didn't know. "What subjects do you teach, Ms... Dr. Ingram?"
"The unmitigated gall of certain men," Anne answered sweetly, saluting him with her second glass of wine. "The arrogance of the male gender, and also causal factors," she paused to sip her wine, then stared straight at Jake. "And why so many of them sit on their brains causing them to think with their genitalia - that big word means cock and balls. Excuse me," she said, standing, and left the table to the shocked reactions from the other guests.
He swiftly followed her, but she made it to the guest bathroom and locked the door before he could stop her. "Anne, let me in," he said quietly.
"Go to hell and fuck yourself when you get there," she hissed her favorite expression. "And leave me alone!" she choked, suddenly miserable, wondering why she felt like crying... thinking she must be pre-menstrual, wishing... hoping...
"Annie, I'm sorry," he said. "Please open the door. We need to talk."
"I think we've said enough. Go away."
"I want to apologize," he said, his voice calm.
"With your hand on my ass?" she snorted. "Is that how you'll apologize?"
"Not tonight, I won't," he said. But tomorrow...
"Go away. I don't like you," she snapped.
"Yes, you do," he disagreed, finally able to get the door open with his credit card.
"I don't!" she insisted then squealed when she found herself staring at his chest.
"I think you do," he asserted, cupping her face between both hands, bending his head to kiss her brow and the tip of her nose. "You are so beautiful, my sweet Annie," he murmured, lifting her to his chest, his mouth seeking hers again.
"I want you and you want me. When are you going to let me make love to you?" he husked when he put her on her feet.
"Never," she said softly, making him laugh.
"Do you scream or purr?" he breathed in her ear, his hand rubbing her neck.
"Do you roar or growl?" she asked in return.
"Both," he grinned, rubbing her butt again, drawing in a sharp breath when he finally realized she wasn't wearing panties, not even a thong. He moved his hand up her back and knew she wasn't wearing a bra, either. His erection flared, bruising her belly and she pulled back from him. He pulled her back to his chest.
"Tonight," he said as if it were a foregone conclusion that she'd sleep with him.
"You really expect me to...? To let you make love to me after you...? You...?"
"After I warmed your ass?" he grinned. "Yes, I do. Your place or mine?"
"In your dreams, Mr. Taylor. Jesus! You really have balls... Damn it!" she yelled when his hand squeezed her bottom cheeks and not very gently. "Let go of me, you pig!"
"Be quiet and listen to me," he said.
"No!" she snapped, lifting her knee to his crotch, the slit in her skirt just long enough to give her access.
"Shit!" he groaned when her knee connected, though fortunately for him, it wasn't hard enough to do serious damage. "I am going to blister your ass!" he said sharply, keeping his voice low and holding her arm so she couldn't get away.
"You said you wouldn't spank me again!" she argued, trying to pull away from him.
"I think you need a seriously hard spanking and a seriously hard fu... loving and then, we'll get along. And I intend to give you both - and soon."
Anne was stymied by his words, staring at him as if he were from another planet and not the most virile man she had ever seen. Her eyes swept the length of him, tall and muscled and sure of himself - a self-confident hunk of arrogant testosterone. She was excited by his words, afraid to show it, and knew she was desperate to feel his body between her thighs. And she was dripping wet, certain the scent of her arousal filled the air, but Annie Ingram, the redheaded termagant, had pride.
He let go of her arm and cupped her face again, kissing her gently this time and murmuring how much he wanted her. She stood there in a daze, his lips covering hers and when he stepped back, she swallowed hard, turned away from him, ignoring him as if he wasn't there. She washed her face while he watched and never looking back at him, returned to the dining room.
"I'm leaving now," she announced to the chicken running around aimlessly, not a trace of emotion on her face. "Thank you for dinner."
She got as far as the street before she realized she didn't arrive in her own car. Sighing heavily, she pulled out her cell phone to call a cab.
"I'll take you home," he said quietly, coming up behind her and led her unresisting, to his car. They were silent until he parked in front of her building. "Will you invite me up?" he asked in a normal tone.
"No," she answered, wondering how he knew where she lived. She fumbled with the door handle, then heard the locks click shut.
"I want to apologize," he said again. "I don't know why I behaved like such a jerk."
"Apology accepted. Let me out, please."
"I want to see you again, Annie. Have dinner with me tomorrow night?"
"I'll walk you to your door."
"Yes, it is," he said, leaving her door locked until he keyed it open on the other side.
She thought he'd take her arm when he opened the passenger door, but he lifted her to his chest, instead. "Please put me down," she said as calmly as she could, unexpected tears springing to her eyes.
"When we get to your door," he answered, holding her close, regretting the tears he had caused. He enjoyed the feel of her body in his arms, desperate to feel more, and wondered at his strong attraction to her.
"Give me your key," he said, still holding her to his chest, one hand palm up.
She fumbled in her bag for the key and handed it to him, remaining silent as he opened her door, knowing Attila would attack. The cat hated strangers.
He still held her as he closed the door with his hip and dropped her key back into her bag. Moving to the first chair he saw, he sat down with her on his lap. "Annie," he began and then swore as he stood, unseating her and grabbing the beast that had lunged onto his back and sunk its teeth into the flesh just below his hairline.
"Son of a bitch!" he swore as he finally loosened the cat's teeth and claws from his back. "What the fuck...!"
"You really need to be spanked for your language, Mr. Taylor," Anne said quietly from her position on the floor.
"What is this? A cat from hell?" he rubbed his neck with one hand, the other holding the spitting, hissing cat at arm's length.
"It's just a cat, Mr. Taylor. Please don't hurt him."
"Hurt him?" Jake snarled. "I'm going to kill him!"
"No, you're not," Anne said, standing and reaching for Attila, taking him into her arms where the schizoid cat immediately started purring.
"You knew this would happen, didn't you?" he narrowed his eyes at the satisfied look on the redhead's face.
"Goodnight, Mr. Taylor. Thank you for seeing me home."
If he had any sense at all, he would have said goodnight. He didn't have any sense when it came to Anne Ingram. He wanted her any way he could have her. He grabbed the cat out of her arms and dropped it, then grabbed her and dropped to the couch, swung her over his lap, and raised her dress, exposing her bare bottom. He was so enraged he didn't even stop to admire the sweet flesh draped across his lap. His large hand came down once... and then he remembered he said he wouldn't spank her again that night.
He heard her scream at the harshness of the spank, cursed once more, then left her on the couch and stormed out the door, enraged, frustrated, stymied and half in love.