Free Cold Hard Cash: A Story of Erotica by Bebe Wilde

 
     
     
     
     
    COLD HARD CASH
     
    His name was Cash. Cold Hard Cash. He was hot and he was hard, most all the time. Good for me, I know.
    He was the best looking man I’d ever seen. He was the kind of man most women would kill for, with the body to match. He stood tall and proud and dark and handsome, like a Greek god with abs to match. His black hair was cut short so his gray eyes really stood out and they stared with this intensity that was at once hard to define and impossible to look away from.
    And he was mine, mine, mine . Well, at least until I had to catch a plane back home.
    “Go on,” he said and waved his hand at the door. “Leave. If you can’t handle it, just leave.”
    But I didn’t want to leave, not just yet. If I left, I certainly wouldn’t get what I wanted and what I wanted was more sex. He stared at me, looking hurt and a little sad. That was my fault. Well, it was my big mouth’s fault. But I couldn’t do anything about what I’d said. I’d said I was sorry and I wanted to make amends, if only he’d allow me.
    “Go on, Myra,” he said. “You need to leave.”
    I shook my head. Nope, that wasn’t going to happen. I mean, you can’t give a girl super hot sex one night and then take it away from her the next, can you? That would be downright cruel. It would be bordering on inhumane.
    “Please,” he said, looking at me. “I don’t want to do this.”
    I watched him closely. He was taking in my body, my face, thinking about all the wild things we’d done last night. He liked what he saw and what he saw was a young woman full of lust for him. Couldn’t he see that? Didn’t he know how much I wanted him? Did it matter if he did?
    He sighed and looked away from me. I didn’t like that. I wanted him to look at me, to see me, to see my tight body, my pretty face, and the blue eyes that longed to meet his. He’d told me I was hot, beautiful even. He said he liked my body and my face. He liked me, how I looked, my personality. He’d run his hands through my dark brown hair and pulled it as he made love to me not too long ago.
    I wanted him. I knew he wanted me, too. So, I walked over to him, leaning against the wall, and touched his arm before tiptoeing to whisper in his ear, “Do it.”
    He didn’t respond but I could tell he didn’t really want me to leave; he didn’t really want to “never see you again,” like he’d said not even a minute before. There was definitely something between us. It was electric and it made me go against my better judgment. But what did good judgment have to do with this? Nothing much. This was about sex. It was about me and him fucking like crazy and… Not much else.
    I slid my hand up his arm and it went to the back of his neck before going into his hair. He narrowed his eyes at me and gave me a look caught between lust and frustration. On one hand, he wanted to do me. On the other hand, he wanted me to pay for being brutally honest with him. He was being cold. He was shutting himself off to protect himself. I could understand that. And I was honest; it was my fault. I’d told him what this was and it was a fling, that’s all. Why make it more than that? Couldn’t he understand that?
    But maybe I was the one who was misunderstanding things. Maybe I couldn’t see what he was all about. Maybe it was me and my preconceived notions that had put us in this prickly spot. He was Cold Hard Cash. He thought I only wanted him for his body, to use him. He was like this because of his past experiences, which had nothing to do with me, really. However, that was his line of thinking and his line of thinking was to never let anyone in. If someone got too close, they could judge, they could hurt.
    But that wasn’t my intention. Never. I only wanted to please him and I wanted him to please me. He wanted something more, but was I willing to go the distance? Was he? Could he come out of hisshell for one moment and take my hand and maybe lead us in the