Rescue the Barista

finds the base of her clit. Her pulses zing and her ass clenches. Tight. Hard. Trembles a little. I grip her hard then.
As she takes payment from the second guy, she makes a slow blink that really gets me going. My balls ache like they’re filling up with hot concrete. This is a show I would not miss for anything.
She thanks them as they leave. As the door closes behind them, she lets out a long, deep groan. Presses her ass into my hand. Grinds on my finger.
She is gushing, and clenching hot. Her fingers stretch and her head cranes back. She lets out another long gasp. After one long, slow breath, she turns and kisses me. Hard. Hungry.
Then she swings her arm wide to slap my face. Much harder than last time.
Panting, she almost growls, ”I think you’d better leave.”
I’m kind of astonished. “You sure that’s what you think, honey lips?”
“Leave. Now. Please.”
Disaster. I really think I am falling in love.
As the door to the little coffee shop swishes closed behind me and the too-cute little bell tinkles, I’m fighting the urge to smell my fingers. To taste them and lick them. Flat-tongued, wide, rude, and raw. I want to taste her so fucking bad. I want nothing more than to sit in the car and just soak up the scent of her. And the taste.
And I could do that, but I know after a little while, I’d break into her shop. Or just go in through the plate glass window. Pick her up, bang out through the back door. Carry her out and back into that little kitchen. Spread her open on that table.
Split her wide on the thick trunk of my cock. Hammer her until she screams and cries. Slam her, pound her like a machine. Bang her until she runs like a faucet, then pump my seed upstream into her until there’s so much it dribbles out of her swollen wings.
She wants it. I fucking know that she does. I want it, too. That’s where I envy the regular guys. One and done. Bam. Next.
But a knot in my gut tells me that with her I could be lighting a fuse and I don’t know where it would end up leading. Something tells me it could take my life off in directions that I’m just not ready for.

Chapter 3 Jamie
His shrug, and the arrogant, loping stride as he saunters out makes me steam with anger.
I have to lean on the counter on my elbows. My knees will hardly support me. I wish I’d brought a change of underwear. Come to that, I wish I’d brought a change of pants. God, his fingers.
Brute.
So later, when Summer calls and asks, “What’s new?” and I tell her, “Oh, nothing,” she knows right away that something’s up. It takes her zero guesses, she’s on it like a shot.
“Jamie! Oh my God!” I can’t say anything. “I’m right, aren’t I!” she gasps. “You didn’t… did you? Jamie.”
“NO!” Then, “Of course not!”
“Jamie?”
“No.”
“Truthfully?”
“Nearly.”
“JAMIE!”


Chapter 4 Angelo
My dirty little secret —okay, it’s not so little. It could wind up getting me killed if it got out.
In this game, you have to be a baller. If you don’t persuade every single motherfucker that you’re a total, three times a night, raging bull fuck-pump baller, you will have guys trying to knock you off your spot every fucking day. Non fucking stop. I just don't want the motherfucking grief.
So, I have dancers in the clubs, I have girls coming from out of town. I take girls, in twos and threes usually, back to my apartment. Or to a hotel suite.
We have a little fun. Play some cards, drink a little. Dance. Whatever. But I make it crystal clear from the get-go. No sex. No romance, no smoochie-coochie, no nothing. But the job is, what I’m paying them for, when they get outside, they have to talk it up.
The thing is, all the broads go away with the idea that I’m gay and I’m covering. And they’re down with that. They’re sympathetic. All of them. That’s cool. I would be, too. In this life, nobody in the families, in this business, is ever gonna come out as gay. It would be the last thing they ever did.
So, all the girls believe that they’re keeping my deadly secret.
We all get along fine. I pay them nicely, they tell outrageous stories about me. Everybody’s happy.
Fact is, I know for sure that I can’t handle intimacy. Not unless it’s with the right person. And I know I’ve never met the right person. Simple as that. It’s gotten old now. I’ve pretty much resigned myself to the idea that it will just never happen. That’s okay.
I never missed what I never had.
Not until now. Not until her.
Now I know that everything is going to change. Whether I want it to or not.
And that’s definitely a ‘not.’ Tell the truth, it fucking scares me to death.
One thing I’ve seen, it happens to all of the bosses. Sooner or later. Family they care about, wives and daughters, even mistresses, whatever. It makes them vulnerable.
I know it’s a good thing. I get it’s what everybody wants. Love. The girl to make all your dreams come true. It’s what I want, too. Of course it is.
But there are risks. Prices you have to pay. It makes a man weak, I’ve seen it happen. Every time. I can’t afford that. While I’m in the life, I can’t afford to take that chance.
Guy finds a woman, falls in love, all his instincts switch focus. His mind is on something else. He’s no longer watching the angles, shaving the margins, looking hard in the eyes of the guys in his crew. Tuning in to