Page 62 of Bend
It’s not because she’s classically beautiful. She’s got a strange look: long, straight, red hair; red lips; pale skin with a smattering of freckles on her nose. Her blue eyes are big and wide. If I had to paint her as an animal, I’d make her a fox. Sleek. Striking.
I roll my gaze down her small, lithe body, lingering on her hips, encased in jeans. I wonder what her cunt would taste like.
Strawberries, I bet.
I imagine thrusting two fingers into her slick, pink flesh; working my pinkie into her tight asshole.
I’d love to see those legs sag open for me.
I want to hear her moan and pant, feel her writhe under me.
“This is a really terrible thing to do to someone,” she says, hands on her hips. “You’re using my financial issues to manipulate me.”
I arch a brow. “I’m offering you an easy chance to drive off tomorrow with a check for sixty thousand dollars and an opportunity to net much more for your grandmother’s foundation.”
“Really? Because it looks to me like you gave me thirty thousand dollars, then snatched it away in order to control me. I’d rather be poor and homeless than manipulated by an ass like you.”
Christ, she’s sexy.
I struggle to suppress a smile.
“I’d like you to come and see the island,” I try.
“So I can decide if I want to give it to you?” She snorts. “I can tell you right now, my answer is ‘no.’”
“Reconsider.”
She bites down on her lower lip, and my dick pulses. I wonder if she’s red between her legs.
“Why should I get into a boat with you, wolf?”
I hate how she keeps calling me that—my real last name—so I’m a little terse when I say, “Do it because I asked.”
A little laugh, soft as the wind. “Are you sure you were my grandmother’s employee? Something about you feels really…lawyer to me. Lawyer or…hmmm.” She strokes her chin. “Maybe banker.”
I force myself to breathe. “You’ve got it all wrong, Rojo.”
I step down into the boat to give her the illusion of space. If she turns to leave, I’ll go after her, but she doesn’t need to know that.
I watch her look from me to the parking lot, so obviously considering her choice. I’m still hard, so I lean on the dock and try to find something about her I don’t like.
Freckles.
Never have liked them.
She has freckles.
Except on her, they emphasize just how fucking smooth and soft and unblemished the rest of her skin is. I wonder if she has freckles on her breasts.
I grit my teeth again, and when I look back at her face, I get this feeling like she might be checking me out, too.
Another surprise: The scrutiny makes me squirm.
Squirming makes me angry. I’m not who I used to be, and most days I think it’s for the best. But this is pathetic.
I reach out and grab her around the knees, throw her over my shoulder, and set her down inside the boat. I snatch her bags from the dock and say, “Come on, Rojo.”
Her lips twitch. “Are you really calling me Rojo?”
