Chapter 14 – Ethan
Fourteen
Ethan
I made a huge mistake pressing Amanda's panties to my nose because my brain activates like a predator that caught the scent of its prey. I search for loopholes in our deal the minute I come up for air. I can smell her sweat, how long she's been on the road and unwashed, letting her sweet ass pussy juice up the fabric. My dick doesn't just strain through my towel, it threatens to jump out.
We don't have to fuck tonight, but after putting my nose up against Amanda's panties, rest assured my lips and tongue will touch her pussy lips tonight. I'll put a damn sock in her mouth to stop her from crying out if that's what it takes.
I don't know why she continues to fight this. She shares my attraction to her. Women can be so mean and hateful -- at least the ones I like-- that when they're into you, they can't hide it. Amanda looked at my dick. I saw her. And her eyebrows did that little wiggle where they move up. And then they move up again.
She's the fancy sort of woman who doesn't say all the crude shit in her head like a biker chick might but... I can tell she's a freak. Tossed me those damn panties without a fight. And the way she cleans herself…
Shit, if she'd let me, I would get all up where she's putting that soap and clean her out myself. Ass crack and all.
I don't rush her in the shower. Even when she closes her eyes and turns away from my lustful gaze. Shit. I drop my stare down to her ass and take it all in. I never thought Wyatt was crazy for screwing around with a black woman while dad was alive. I tried to get some myself once or twice, always turned down for my tattoos or beard. But I prefer a black woman with a big ass--the type of ass I've never seen on a white woman.
An ass like Amanda's that just begs for me to sink my teeth into it and leave marks. Anna's a pretty woman, don't get me wrong, and Owen was on the right track with Vickie... but neither of them compare to Amanda. She does look similar to Keyshawn, I suppose. But that's the type of comment that would make Juliette call me a "racist" -- a label she loves throwing around any time she doesn't like what a white man says.
I must have gotten too quiet, because Amanda turns the water off and faces me with a scowl.
"Hands where I can see them," she says. My eyes flicker with amusement. As tempting as it might be, I'm not touching myself. Fuck no. I'm saving that all for Amanda. I reach for a towel and toss it to Amanda as she holds the shower door open. She wouldn't have made it far as a wide receiver. Or a near receiver, for that matter.
She struggles to get the towel wrapped around her ample chest, especially because it has to get around her butt too. I fight the urge to ask her to drop the towel, especially because I know I'll end up with more of her dirty looks and possibly worse down the line. Outright rejection.
"I never took my eyes off you."
"I noticed," she says. "Feel free to give them a break."
"Why? You're fucking hot. Noticed it the second I set foot in your office."
"That... completely compromises everything," she says, but I can tell she's nervous because her dark brown cheeks flush a little bit. I've never seen a black woman blush before, and her cheeks are pretty dark, but without makeup on and with the natural texture of her skin visible beneath the bathroom lights... I see her flush.
And if my dick was hard before, it's a steel rocket now. Two weeks without gambling? Easy. I could do it. Right then as my dick threatens to rip apart from my body, I know I can quit gambling for this fine ass woman. Immediately.
"I fucked up the second I walked into your office. I'm sorry."
I can’t tell what she thinks of my apology. Amanda considers me slowly, and I feel just as guilty as I used to feel beating up Wyatt’s friends for their lunch money – and to toughen them up.
Amanda acts as if she didn’t hear my apology. She dries herself, distracting me with the way her towel slides between her breasts and under her armpits. This woman is drop-dead gorgeous. I would have quit gambling on the spot ages ago if someone who looked like Amanda Yancey just… asked.
"Sorry?" she finally asks, tilting her head to the side and allowing those sexy thick curls to fall over her shoulder. "Do you care to elaborate, Ethan?"
I feel like she's tricking me into emotional awareness, but I'm too mesmerized by her drying off to stop her. Whatever, woman. Control me with your body if you must. It's working…
Despite her hotness, she looks totally dejected.Which I get, even if I don’t particularly care to elaborate about the apology. It's not like I don't understand her. She has a whole life she doesn't want to leave behind. No boyfriend but... an apartment. Routine. I can't offer her much different for a while.
Not until I know exactly what we're dealing with.
If this is the game she wants to play, I accept her challenge.
"Sorry for taking you away from your life and into... this mess."
"I understand you feel it's your duty to protect me. Have you always been the protector?"
She's pushing.
"Don't therapize me."
Amanda smirks just long enough for me to catch it, but she's quick to suppress it.
"Coming from the man who isn't afraid of emotions. I'm just making conversation."
"I'm the eldest of three. I had to look after my brothers. Always."
"No sisters?"
I scoff. "My sisters don't need looking after. Dad taught them how to shoot before kindergarten."
She looks at me like I just spoke gibberish. "That's disturbing."
"Typical liberal."
"Meaning?" she asks, trying to hide the fact that my comment bothers her.
"There's nothing wrong with teaching women to defend themselves."
"I never said there was," she says. Her smirk disappears as quickly as I can identify it."I support women defending themselves."
"Come on, let's get your clothes."
"Fine," she says. I didn't say anything useful, so I don't know why she continues to smile. Maybe it's the scowl on my face. Just getting a rise out of me is more than enough to excite her. Can't say I blame her.
Magnum and I are similar sizes -- 2XL shirts with big and tall everything. I grab a pair of gray Chiefs sweatpants for Amanda, who immediately starts on some nonsense about the Patriots. I tune out her wrong football opinions and drag out a plain white t-shirt that doesn't smell like Magnum's armpits or anything unsavory.
"I guess no bra or underwear for me until you've decided I'm safe."
"I'm not the one deciding," I grunt. "And you don't need panties or a bra until tomorrow. I'll do the laundry."
"You know how?"
"What, do I smell bad?"
"No," she says. "But you didn't take out any clothing for yourself."
I grunt and pull out a pair of black sweatpants with a stain on them that I don't want to overthink.
"No shirt?"
"I don't sleep in a shirt. Normally."
She sighs. "You aren't putting your hands on me, Ethan. I let you stare, but that's about it. You aren't interested in black women and..."
She trails off, failing to hide her gaze darting down to my dick print and back up to my eyes. It's the slightest tell that you could only hide from someone in their early twenties and inexperienced in the forces of attraction that pull people together.
Her lips deny it, but Amanda's gaze and her body can't help her reaction to me. It'll get even worse when I have my tongue between her legs.
"And?" I ask her, pretending to play along with her, knowing damn well it'll be a matter of minutes before I'm tasting her pussy lips.
"I have no interest in you whatsoever."
"You don't need interest in me to cum."
She glares at me again. Her face is so sexy when she's angry, but I can't break character and smile right now without her losing her mind.
"Sorry..." I mutter. "I forgot. Two weeks."
"Yes. Two weeks."
"And there are no loopholes."
She turns away from me to dress in the clothes I picked out for her. For a woman who is supposed to have total insight into the human mind, she doesn't realize something that no gambler would miss. A tell.
When she's nervous. When Amanda doesn't want to face some deep emotion buried within her, she can't look at me.
Encouraged by her reluctance, I continue talking, convinced I can seize control. "For example... we can't have sex for two weeks and there's no loophole in your little contract about a man spreading your legs open and buttering up your pussy lips with his tongue."
She turns around suddenly, with her arms crossed over her chest. She barely had enough time to get the t-shirt pulled down before I stun her with my comment, which suits me just fine.
"That is downright insane, Ethan."
I find her word choice fascinating.
Insane?
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