Two Fingers

Two fingers? No, two fingers of Jack were not going to pacify him. It wasn’t the cold steel of the colt in his hand, aimed at nothing in particular, compelling Daphne to comply. The arrogance in the stranger’s face was prompting her submission. The smooth glass in his other hand was waiting for her to show a little more hospitality.

 

“You’re not a half bad looking woman to be working a bar this late into the morning,” he said, flipping the drained glass back to her with a nod. “But you could do with showing a bit more smile to your patrons.” She hated these arrogant men, both of her exes were arrogant types.

 

Humph ‘patrons’ she thought, walking back to the bar and dutifully refilling the glass. There weren’t any left after they heard the shot from the mens’ room. Not that there had been many to begin with late on a Tuesday. There had been three semi-regulars at the bar trying to pick her up and a younger couple at a table opposite the stranger’s.

 

‘Not half bad looking?’ Who the hell does he think he is? Pushing forty Daphne still passed for thirty something. She had a lean build with sandy-blond hair, blue eyes, and toned arms from working this job three nights a week. She still fit perfectly into her ten year old Levis, and with a black suede vest over her white buttoned shirt, she brilliantly displayed her b-cup breasts. ‘Right where they should be, for a lady of thirty,’ she knew.

 

She brought him his refill of ‘hospitality’ placing it in his firm grip while displaying her best fake smile. Walking back to the bar, she made sure that she gave her best ‘rear view’ walk. She wanted him to know that she had a higher opinion of herself. It didn’t go unnoticed.

 

He watched her, seemingly indifferent. She made herself busy cleaning the bar, mopping up the evening’s spills. He watched her as if he were watching a shooting gallery duck going back and forth. Daphne knew he was watching as she was keeping her eye on him as well.

 

He was tall, six one, sitting there in a blue-stripe shirt, open collar, and black slacks. His short-cropped, brown hair graying at the sides marked him for being closer to fifty than forty. She wasn’t aware that she was gazing at him as he drank the bourbon, gazing at his lips. The masculine hands caught Daphne’s attention as he lay the gun on the table.

 

Catching her eye he raised the empty glass a couple of inches. She thought she had learned the drill by now. Picking up a fresh glass she went to fetch the bottle.

 

“You can just bring the bottle Miss. This glass will be fine.” He spoke low, a baritone voice, smooth as the bourbon itself. She could see a glint in his eye. She hated arrogant men.

 

Daphne hadn’t noticed that she had undone the third button on her shirt while fetching the bottle from the rack. The stranger’s keen eye noticed it, as she brought the bourbon. She placed the bottle down and the stranger grasped her hand, slowly bringing it to his lips.

 

Daphne was quick to snatch her hand back at the last moment, intending to deliver a well-earned slap. She was fast, but experience had left the stranger faster. Catching her arm before she could make contact, he gave it a firm twist. She turned to relieve the stress on her arm. Then the stranger pulled her face down over his lap, momentarily disorienting her.

 

“Slap!” Daphne gasped at the suddenness of the strong, firm hand making solid contact with her backside.

 

 

“Slap!”  She gasped at the audacity, the nerve of this bastard.

 

 

“Slap!” She gasped, that one actually smarted through her Levis.

 

His hand hesitated for a second. Taking advantage of the moment Daphne rolled in his lap sitting straight up in it. But when the fire of anger raging in her eyes turned to see his fire of lust starring right through her it was her turn to hesitate. He brought his lips to meet hers. Pulling her into him and wrapping his arms around her, Daphne found herself wrapping her arms around him. She hated these arrogant types.

 

He brought his hands around grasping her open shirt. He popped the rest of her buttons as well as the snaps of her vest. Daphne appreciated the assertiveness of the stranger, and displaying her own show of lust as she ripped his shirt buttons. Nuzzling herself into his neck, he pulled her shirt from out of her jeans, and then unbuttoned them.

 

As she stood up he did too and he smoothly rolled her faded Levis off of her. There was nothing between the denim and her soft, smooth, slightly reddened, cheeks. As she stared up into his eyes she deftly opened his slacks and released his erection. She wrapped her slender fingers around it. Bringing his lips down on hers he hungrily consumed her as she moaned her agreement into his mouth.

 

Sitting back down he brought her towards him. Straddling his bare legs and lowering herself down, she gave another gasp, as she began taking him inside her. Their lips met again as she lowered herself a bit more. Taking all of him in, she started rocking back and forth. He thrust to synch with her motion. The pleasure cascaded through her body. She felt herself surrendering. Then Daphne found herself aching inside and started rocking faster to release the tension building inside her.

 

His lips left hers kissing their way down her neck. He was blowing on her coals to bring out the flame within her. Teasing her breasts with his lips, she responded with a groan of needing just a little more stimulation.

 

She was kneading her hands along his strong shoulders. She was sweating from the heat she felt radiating through her. She rocked harder, grinding herself down upon him, taking more of him within her, feeling him growing in her. Filling her in a way she had not enjoyed in quite a while.

 

This stranger’s powerful arms held her firmly against him as he climaxed. The tension causing her to constrict around him, Daphne felt herself pushed over that edge. Releasing the tension within her, she arched her back and cried out.

 

Resting against the chest of this enigmatic stranger Daphne felt his strong, reassuring, heartbeat. She felt herself melt into calmness. God! She hated arrogant men.

 

A little later she was locking the door. Watching the stranger head off into the pre-dawn darkness, Daphne thought to herself, and smiled, ‘he’ll be back for that gun someday.’