6. Nope, Don’t Like That

Chapter six

Nope, Don't Like That

Georgie

I feel my perfect, fairy-tale bubble popping the second Alfie confronts Neil.

"Just ignore him." I climb out and grab Alfie's hand. I try to pull him past Neil. But he digs in his heels.

Alfie steps toward him. "Baby, who is this fucker?"

I watch with a racing heart as Neil sneers at the endearment. "Oh, she didn't tell you about me?" His tone is slimy and patronizing. I hate it.

I feel secure behind Alfie's unwavering stance and shout, "Why would I? You are nobody to me."

His face contorts and his voice shakes with rage. " You—"

"You better watch the next words out of your mouth or I will drop you right here." Despite the situation, my pussy flutters at Alfie's strong, protective tone.

"Pff, whatever," Neil scoffs. He's always been a chicken at the first sign of pushback. He flops down at a nearby patio table with a huff and opens a book as if we are the ones keeping him from peacefully reading.

"Come on, Georgie girl." Alfie wraps his arm around my waist, and we cross the patio to my trailer.

He watches my back as I unlock and go inside. I reluctantly turn to tell him goodbye, dreading to see him go. But he's not looking at me expectantly. Instead, he's standing, shoulders squared at the base of the steps with his back to me, just like he did when I let myself in.

"Alfie?"

He looks over his shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere, baby." My chest expands with warmth. "But you can tell me who that asshole is and what you'd like me to do with him."

I sigh, knowing this was coming. "Okay, but will you come inside? I need to start prep."

He steps into the trailer but keeps the door open and a watchful eye on it.

I start explaining while going through my morning routine. "He was one of my first ‘regulars' when I opened two years ago. I thought he was nice and charming and I appreciated the support, so when he asked me on a date, I said yes."

I flip on the espresso machines and begin to fill their tanks for the steamer. "We only went on a few dates, but he became so obsessive—texting that he missed me twenty times in a row even though I'd seen him ten minutes ago. And when I didn't reciprocate, he got angry . . . like threw a rock through my window angry."

Alfie's jaw clenches and his face hardens. His tone is steely. "Were you hurt?"

"No, thankfully, but it scared me. I mean, he knows where I work, where I live. I feel like he can get to me anywhere."

"Not anymore," he promises.

I smile softly, touched but also sad this is even something we have to deal with. "He just keeps popping up, acting like I owe him something or like we were in some sort of serious relationship and I'm ignoring him. The cops can't do anything because he isn't violent other than the one time he broke my window. Even then, I couldn't prove that it was him, but I knew it was."

I can feel myself getting frustrated just retelling everything. Alfie must sense it because he pulls me to him and kisses my forehead. I can't believe the amount of comfort and safety I feel with this man after so little time together, but I do.

I've spent so long showing up to work anxious and stressed—my dream I built for myself—wondering if Neil would show up, what obscenities and offenses he would spew.

Would I arrive to piles of dog shit on the counter again?

Which variation of "whore" in spray paint would I need to scrub off today?

These are the questions that I've woken up to every morning for a year.

"I just hate feeling scared all the time," I admit with a defeated sigh.

"That's terrible. I am so sorry, Georgie." He strokes my cheek, genuine care in his eyes. Then the corner of his mouth tugs in a smile. "I say we return the favor."

I feel a spark of hope, see the glimmer of a light at the end of the tunnel, and return his conspiratorial smile. "He did mention once that his biggest fears are birds and ghosts."

"Oooo," Alfie says excitedly. "That gives us a lot to work with."

Alfie

The spineless asshat left after thirty minutes which, according to my girl, is about two hours less than he usually lurks around. If this were June Harbor, he wouldn't make it five. I've lost count of the number of times I almost grabbed the gun from my glove box to show him the type of man he was messing with.

But Stella is always trying to tell us that normal people don't resort to guns at the mildest inconvenience. And while Georgie is anything but ordinary, I do think she falls into this "normal people" category. The last thing I want to do is scare her away when she's been terrorized enough by that little bitch.

"This has been my best day of work in a long time." Georgie turns to me after closing the order counter window for the day.

I can't help but feel pride in the way she carries herself, confident and light, such a contrast to this morning.

"And you are entirely to blame." She leans her hip against the counter with a devilish smirk.

My stomach pitches. "You make it sound like I'm in trouble."

"Maybe you are," she drawls seductively.

My skin tingles and my voice drops. "Maybe you should punish me then."

"I think I ought to . . ." The boldness I saw last night when she ordered me around ignites in her gaze.

Good thing I've always been a glutton for punishment.

"You know what I think would be an appropriate punishment?" Her eyes turn sultry, and she hoists herself up onto the small swatch of open counter in the confined space. "You should have to watch something even bigger than you get to stretch my pussy."

"Bigger?" I scoff puckishly. "I shag you once and you think you can take a whole canoe up your cooch."

She laughs. "Add ‘shag' to the list of British words you're not allowed to say."

"Only if I get to keep snatch," I counter.

She rolls her eyes, fighting a smile. "Fine. Now, grab the whipped cream with the green sticker and get on your knees."

"Right away, m'lady." I swing around to the fridge, having learned my way around the trailer after a day working beside her.

I come back to kneel on the floor before her and pass over the canister. She lifts her legs. "Panties off."

I growl hungrily at her take-no-shit tone. If I wasn't already at her feet, I would be immediately. I take my time trailing my hands up her legs under her dress. She bites her lip as she looks down at me, glassy-eyed.

Before pulling her panties off, I bury my nose into them, pushing against her mound. I suck down her musky, divine scent and groan at the feel of the wet fabric.

"Oh, baby, you've soaked your panties." I tilt my head back to look her in the eyes. "Naughty, naughty girl."

"Are you surprised? I spent all day in a small, confined space with you."

My mouth falls open. "All this is for me?"

"Not if you keep taking so long," she chides.

"Some punishment," I mumble under my breath, grinning, and finally relieve her of her undergarments.

She holds out the metal whipped cream dispenser between her legs like a cock and orders, "Lick it, boy."

I do as she says, slobbering all over the cold can, never taking my eyes off hers. It's been a while since I've sucked cock. I'd forgotten what a heady feeling it is, and this isn't even a real dick. It makes me want to drive to the nearest sex store and buy her a strap-on.

"So sloppy," she purrs. An insult and a compliment at the same time, making my cock thicken.

"That's enough," she says, and I sit back on my heels. She turns the dispenser around so the bottom I licked is poised at her cunt. "Now watch, Alfie, and maybe if you're good, I'll let you fuck me too."

She lifts her feet onto the counter and leans back as far as she can as she begins to push it inside.

"Ooo, it's cold." Her eyebrows raise, then she moans. "It feels good ."

I stare in awe as her dripping love canal takes the fat can. She's doing amazing. I love the way her puffy pink pussy lips look stretched around the metal. It's such a delicious image that I beg, "Can I rub one out while I watch? Please . This is torture."

" Mm-hmm . . ." She nods with a needy moan.

"Fuck yeah." I groan as I finally get to fist my throbbing hard-on.

I watch like a dog as she pumps the can in and out while beating my meat like it's the goddamn cure for cancer. She rubs her sweet little bean until she has to worry her lip and scrunch her brows to avoid crying out. I'm sure the trailer is far from soundproof.

"Open your mouth," she pants, and I can hear her orgasm closing in in her voice.

"Cream for me, baby," I say, and she tilts the nozzle toward my outstretched tongue just in time for her to squeeze the handle as she comes.

Sweet, creamy white shoots out and spurts on my tongue, quickly filling my mouth. As she peaks, she cries in a throaty, desperate keen, " It's dairy-freeeeee."