The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever (19 page)

His eyes grinned at her. "You can never be
too vigilant with a quality playmate. Someone might covertly cover
you when I'm not looking."

"Sure. Under the cover of darkness, when I'm
not looking either."

His grin moved to his mouth. "Before you sit
down in the restaurant, I want you to lift the back of your skirt
so you're next to the seat."

When she sat down on the leather chair in The
Lover's Place, she lifted her skirt. "A bad girl runs around inside
all women, and somehow you've discovered where my bad girl
lives."

"Speaking of bad, I can't decided which of
your two lounging outfits I want you to wear when we get home: your
peasant skirt with no panties or bra, or your black blouse with
your black lounging panties, garter belt, and stockings."

I should try to be helpful, she thought. "Why
don't you have me try on both outfits, then you can decide which
you prefer."

"I considered that. But once you put on
either one, I'm afraid I won't be able to stop making love with you
for the rest of the evening."

I have to find a way to speed up dinner,
Betty-Jo thought. And it was a fabulous dinner. She chose the
chicken and shrimp Creole, while Brad went with a swordfish steak
with lime and coriander, in a tomato salsa sauce. He also ordered a
dry Chardonnay to go with the meal, and for later, a Green Goblin
liqueur: a creative blend of chartreuse, crème de cacao, and
cream.

"This swordfish is delicious," he said. "If
it was wearing a teddy, I'd sleep with it." The gallant fool moved
a bite of his tasty fish to her lips—soon she'd eaten half of
it.

"Let that be a lesson to you. Don't take
female athletes out for dinner, they eat too much."

"Unfortunately, I'm really fond of a certain
female athlete. But from now on, I'll only take her to places that
give you all you can eat at a fixed price, and I'll bring my own
candles."

"Who says romance is dead?"

He fed her another bite of his swordfish.
"Has it occurred to you that maybe you're being fattened up so you
won't be able to run as fast, when I try to take advantage of you,
later this evening."

She tossed him a coquettish smile. "If you
put your mind to it, I'm sure you'll be able to come up with a
better method than fattening, to slow me down."

Brad was being witty and loveable but,
sipping her Green Goblin, she kept thinking about dessert—the
dessert she wanted to be. Maybe if I'm naughty under the table, she
thought. But instead of opting for naughtiness under the table, she
leaned over and whispered, "If you take me home now, you can have
me for dessert. I'll be your all-night sucker."

He grinned, and passed on the truffle bars.
"A Tawny Cat all-night sucker has to be a better dessert than a
truffle bar, even one with a pistachio crust."

* * *

Back at the cottage, Brad fired up a few
candles, poured them both a glass of champagne, and removed
Betty-Jo's workout top. Her cupcakes, bathed in the flickering
candlelight, were otherworld magnificent. Then he revved up the CD
player, and Waltzing Matilda sallied forth.

"If I can remember how this is done, I'll
soon be waltzing Ma Tawny."

"I'm amazed at how light and airy I feel,"
she said, as she floated around the room, following his lead.
"Either you're a marvelous dancer or I've lost weight."

"It's neither. You follow divinely."

"Thank you, kind sir."

"You've mastered the secret of successful
ballroom dancing."

"...Which is?"

He grinned and held her close. "Stand on the
guy's toes, and you can't go wrong."

"Now you're in trouble. Come to the weight
room with me, and I'll show you what a strong Tawny Cat you own.
You might think twice before you insult her again, or try to take
advantage of her."

"I do think twice, but I can't keep my hands
off of my pretty kitty—there's something addictive about you."

She reached into her purse for a lavender
touch-up, and then lay down on the bench. "Spot me," she said.

"How much weight do you want."

"A hundred and thirty."

"A hundred and thirty! Are you sure?"

"No problem. This show of strength is to
remind you how the Amazon women were able to dominate their weaker
male rivals, in ancient Greece."

"Good thing I can press a hundred and
thirty-two."

She lifted the hundred and thirty pound
barbell—then she lowered it. Brad was supposed to be spotting her,
but what he spotted were her breasts, firm and inviting.

"If the Amazon women were anything like you
it's no wonder their men were undone. The poor wretches were
smitten into submission."

He caressed her cupcakes, but before long, he
was drawn to another pleasure garden. The bench had parted his
Tawny Cat's thighs, and her addicting, womanly scent was wafting up
to greet him. As his mouth strayed between her legs, he glanced up,
found her eyes and grinned, "This is by far the best part of a
balanced diet," he murmured. Then he was drifting on her aroma, her
whimpers, her moans, and her little animal cries.

* * *

It took all of Betty-Jo's strength and
concentration to return the barbell to its rack—then she held on
tightly, savoring the warm and arousing sensations that her lover
was creating.

"Oh yes, Very Bad Brad, oh yes!" It was her
dessert time, and for the first time ever, she was being licked and
kissed to a frenetic culmination....

Later, in the bedroom, she lay naked on the
bed: her legs parted, and her arms raised above her head. I'm as
open as possible for him now, she thought Then a disconcerting
melody started to play in her head.

Brad came into the bedroom, and lay down
beside her. "What is my X-winged fighter grinning at?"

"Sorry, I can't say. Private thoughts."

"You look scrumptious lying there like that.
Do me a favor and stay that way for a minute." He got up, went to
the closet, and returned with four neckties. Then he tied her to
the bed.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Lie still, and I'll tell you."

Soon she was unable to move—exposed,
vulnerable, and apprehensive.

"So what are you doing!"

He looked pleased with himself. "Tying you
naked to the bed. You said, that if I put my mind to it, I'd be
able to come up with a better method than fattening to slow you
down. So it's thanks to you, that I'm about to have more fun than a
sex starved rooster has with the hens in a hen house."

"That's fine for the rooster, and fine for
you, but what about me?"

"You should be brave. You have nothing to
fear—except, perhaps, for a stray out-of-the-casket vampire or
two."

"I don't like vampires."

He gazed at her appreciatively. "You're a
captivating sight, all moist and juicy."

"Don't you all moist and juicy me!" She tried
to close her legs, but of course, she couldn't.

"Let me guess. You're thinking, I hardly know
this fool, and already I'm feeling tied down."

A smile got away from her. "Why me Lord?" She
was annoyed, but also, strangely excited.

"Now, what were you saying about private
thoughts?" he said.

"Which word didn't you understand, private,
or thoughts?"

"You have an unfortunate attitude, because we
have ways to make fairytale princesses talk." He went to the
washroom and returned with an electric razor. "Reveal your secrets
by dawn, or your pussy is gone."

This can't be happening. The guy only claimed
that territory yesterday, and already he's threatening to clear-cut
it!

"You wouldn't dare!" She struggled against
her bonds—to no avail.

"Be still," he admonished. "One slip of this
razor, and you could end up in a James Bond movie, co-staring as
Pussy Nomore."

"May God have mercy on your soul if you ever
untie me." He smiled indulgently, and turned on the trimmer. I
don't believe this! Something's awakened his beast! "Stop! I'll
tell you.... I was thinking...it was a song.... Beast, please. I
can't. You wouldn't want to devastate your little Tawny Cat, would
you?"

He shaved off a strip of her wool. "One more
pass like the last one, and your friends will be calling you
Mohawk," he said with a chuckle.

"Stop! I'll tell you.... I was thinking of a
British song, but I changed the words a little. I was thinking,
'How many kinds of wild flowers grow in [Betty-Jo's] country
garden?'" How can I be telling him this? I should have let him
torture me to death. "Even though it can't happen, I was thinking
that it might be nice if you were a gardener...planting your seeds
in me.... There! Are you happy now?"

He thought for a moment, and then he grinned.
"Not yet. I want you to memorize my verse. 'I'll tell you now of
[the only one that can grow], and those I miss you'll surely
pardon'. In other words, the only wild flower I want growing in
your garden is mine."

Her fury ebbed a little. She was still mad,
and embarrassed, but reassured—until he turned on the trimmer
again, and continued to shave her.

"Stop! What are you doing? I told you what
you wanted to know!"

"That was a nice thing to share. But in
convincing you that it's nice to share, I've made my wetlands
lopsided. Now I'm wondering what they'll look like without any wool
at all."

"Earth to Beast! You can't go around shaving
other people's wetlands because you're curious about what they'll
look like!"

"I thought you believed in keeping your
promises."

"What are you talking about?"

"This afternoon you said that a part of you
would always belong to me. Which part did you think we were talking
about?"

"You know which part! But when I said it I
didn't know you thought you were a landscape architect!"

"Tawny, either the wetlands are mine, or
they're not. So now you want to renege on your promise?"

That stifled her.

After six or seven strokes he stepped back,
and admired his workmanship. "Fabulous! I should get into sheep
shearing." He put her almost virgin wool in a bottle, dated it, and
labeled it B-J Chance's Virgin Wool. "I'm going to get one of those
virgin wool symbols, and paste it on the bottle. When you're a
famous tennis star, what I'll get for your virgin wool will shame a
whole flock of Angora sheep. Look at the kind of bucks the Jackie O
estate garnered for a few trinkets from Camelot.

"Why Angora?"

"Because that's the only kind of sheep I
know."

"And you don't even know that. Angora wool
comes from goats."

"Ignorant me apologizes—no way you're a goat.
You're more the little lamb type."

"Yeah, the Bad Brad terminating little lamb
type."

He chuckled. "But perhaps you fall somewhat
into the goat category for getting yourself into this mess in the
first place."

"Could you at least try to be sane? Nobody's
going to buy your virgin wool bull!"

"They will if you sign the bottle below the
virgin wool symbol."

"Fat chance of that!"

"We'll see—but now I have to clean up my
pleasure package," he said with a grin. Then he left, but in less
than a minute he was back with shaving foam, a towel, half a glass
of warm water, and a twin-blade Gillette Sensor safety-razor. He
lathered between her legs, and went carefully to work.

"That looks promising," he said, after he
wiped away the remaining shaving foam, and rinsed her new-look
wetlands.

My God that feels good, but I can't believe
he's doing this to me. "You're demented!"

He laughed, and began to play with her.
"'Apart from that Mrs. Lincoln, how are you enjoying the
play?'"

"...You know I love it," she said softly,
furious with herself for not wanting him to stop.

"'It's fortunate for men that women love [us]
for [our] defects,'" Brad said, as he continued to play with his
creation, until Betty-Jo began to whimper. Then he kissed her neck,
bit her ear, commandeered her eyes, and entered her. "Is getting
you to authenticate your virgin wool going to be a problem?"

"No."

"Good, because it's a gift from me to you.
What I did was tasteless, but I want you to have a memento of our
love. If we're ever parted, I want you to open the bottle, scatter
your wool on the wind, and remember our first night together, and
your first, and only lover."

She could not believe what she was
hearing.

Where has this enchanting terror of fair
maidens come from? One moment he's a boy, and I'm his adventure—the
next, he's a man, and I'm on a magic carpet living fantasies too
fanciful to imagine. One moment he's infuriating me—the next, he
has me loving him forever.

"Having you is even better than having a Chia
Pet," he said as he untied her.

She tried not to laugh, but failed. "That
only proves you're over thirteen."

"Tawny, from time to time I'm going to have
to leave my playmate in your safe keeping. I want you to promise
that you'll keep an eye on it for me—make sure it behaves
itself."

"I promise," she said, enchanted by his
silliness, but with no idea why.

"There's something else.

"Oh, oh."

"It's not enough that I have your naughty
parts."

"You want more from me?"

"What I really want, you may find more
difficult to give."

She hugged her lover. "Knowing you, you'll
just take it anyway."

"It's not something I want to take. It's
something I want you to give me. I want a piece of your soul. I
want to know your feelings and desires, I want to share in your
innermost secrets."

"Brad? I don't know. I want you to know me
like that, but I'm not sure I can let go."

"Then you'll be punished. You'll be driven to
Mexico, tied naked to a stake, and fed to a swarm of killer bees."
He grinned at her. She laughed at him.