Please Daddy by Dani Wyatt
Chapter 3
Merrick
The scent of smoked turkey legs and Guinness beer drifts to my nostrils, my ears filled with the chatter of the crowd. There’s a long line of adventurers—or victims—waiting in line to experience what looks like a death trap of a wooden-style boat, being swung between two trellises by two pirate characters shouting insults.
I work my way down the dirt path, past booths selling kilts, incense, leather vests and replica swords. Two girls sit next to each other on pillows, getting henna tattoos in a tent.
This is the first year the Medieval Fair has stopped in Millington, but I’m familiar with the whole deal. These groups move around the country, stopping in different towns, setting up their shows and wares like modern-day nomads.
There’s lots of dreadlocks and codpieces. Corsets that threaten a nipple to spring forth at any moment.
I’m a red-blooded American male. I should be thrilled at the prospect of an errant nipple sighting.
But, I’m not. It’s just another call. Another job. And I look at the guidepost sign when I get to a junction in the dirt paths where hand-painted wooden arrows toward the gallows, the dunking booth, the pub…the stage.
I work my way in the direction of the stage as, the music coming from that direction begins to drift on the warming summer wind.
I recognize a few faces in the crowds, but for the most part, I’m getting sidelong glances and a few dirty looks from the more anarchist attendees, but I feel no danger.
As I come around a corner between a juggler and two actors acting all hoity dressed as a King and Queen, my stomach drops. I see the smile first—toothy, with lips that look like they’ve been plumped with a tire pump—then I hear the voice.
“Merrick! OH. MY. GOD. What the ever-loving good luck are you doing here?” Patsy Leeland speeds her steps away from a few other ladies that are watching the royal production and toward me, my nerves already on edge.
“Hi, Patsy.” I nod, keeping my voice as disinterested as possible without being rude.
She’s chomping purple gum holding a tall paper cup of dark beer.
We went to school together and she’s been making herself available to me for the better part of twenty years. I give her an A for effort but an E in understanding, because I’ve never returned her interest.
The music is closer now, and I’m assuming it’s from the stage, but I can’t see anything yet except for Patsy’s black tank top with ‘I like power between my legs’ emblazoned over a Harley logo.
“You here alone?” She asks barely hiding her glance at my crotch.
I clear my throat looking over her head in the direction of the music, I answer, “Yes. Alone. I’m working.”
“Oh.” She snaps her gum, looking me up and down and reaching out to run a finger over my badge. “You have time for a drink?”
Of course I don’t have time for a drink. I’m working, I said. And you shouldn’t be drinking either if you’re going to get on your motorcycle and drive home…God, people are stupid.
“No,” I answer, flat and cold. “Just checking on some petty thefts that have been reported.”
She nods, tilting her head and running her tongue over her teeth, which have obscenely bright pink lipstick stuck to the front of them.
“Ahh. Yeah, I heard someone got their wallet lifted yesterday. I come every day.”
I look at my watch, then back toward the music.
“Be careful. Get a ride home if you’re drinking.”
I sidestep and move forward as she runs a hand through her burgundy hair, watching me go.
“See you around,” she calls, and I raise a hand over my head to wave, never breaking my stride.
These sort of fairs have never been my thing.
I’m not much for any sort of fun, it seems. Not for a long time. I always had an odd discomfort with human touch, outside of hugging my parents.
My dad once told me I was too old for my age, and I didn’t bother to remind him it was a man-to-man talk from him that started that for me. I don’t resent it, God knows they had their own issues to deal with when my mom lost the baby a few weeks later, but it was that talk that had me growing up fast.
You’re going to have a little brother or sister, son. Exciting, huh? But you know, older brothers have a lot more responsibility. You think you can handle that?
Grown up responsibilities have become a thick wall I’ve built around myself, and I don’t ever see that changing. Relationships just feel exhausting to me, and besides my parents, I get all the companionship I think I’ll ever need from Rosy and Eleanor, my two pit-mix mutts I adopted five years ago after a call on a dog fight where over fifteen animals were seized.
As I move toward the music, I shake my head at the irony that one second I can be turning ass-over-impossible to save a bunch of abused dogs, but in my personal life I barely let anyone in.
The pondering doesn’t last long. As I come to where the crowd is gathered and I see her, the world changes right before my eyes.
There’s a fucking radiance glowing around her. My heart drops to my toes then shoots up and practically out of the top of my head.
I reach up and touch the brim of my hat to be sure it’s still there.
I’m not sure what she’s doing here. She doesn’t look like she belongs on the dirt patch where she’s spinning and twirling. She belongs in heaven.
Or in my bed.
Her warm, caramel and vanilla hair is hanging loose, besides a couple strands pulled back from the front and secured in a green ribbon at the back of her head. I’ve never seen anything so fucking beautiful in my life.
Her blouse is fucking far too low on her chest though. Her tits nearly billowing out from the fabric. It makes me instantly hard and instantly enraged.
Because there’s a crowd of men looking at her, practically drooling like she’s the next turkey leg they are going to eat.
Over my dead body.
I wind through the crowd. I need to be closer to her. A growl catches in my throat as I pass by male onlookers, and the civilized part of me knows I can’t remove all of their eyes or render them unconscious, but the beast part of me disagrees.
Her neck is long and graceful as she pivots and sways to the music, smiling at the crowd with wide, shocking eyes like I’ve never seen, lips ruby red and full against her white teeth.
There’s a rush of heat through me, my pulse speeding into a pounding in my temples, and for some reason my hand goes straight to the leather snap where my gun is holstered at my hip.
Ready.
Because if anyone touches her, I think I’ll kill them.
Besides her way too low-cut top, she’s wearing a long, natural linen-colored skirt with flowers and some other lace or some shit decorating down the slit and around the hem. As she moves, her bare leg slips from the high-cut opening in the fabric.
Creamy, flawless skin shows through and I want to lick her from her toes all the way up until my mouth finds the sweet, wet heat of her cunt. My dick is pounding in time with the beat of my pulse.
I’ve never felt this sort of pleasure from looking at a woman. I’m ready to spill my cum in my pants and there’s no way I can hide my erection at this point. Let everyone look.
Let them talk.
And for whatever reason, I don’t give a shit.
She’s given me more pleasure in the last five seconds than I’ve ever experienced with any other woman. That missing something feels like it’s here. With her. Something besides my errant dick is growing huge and manic, ready to claim her for my own and drag her back to my cave.
What is going on, I’m not sure, but the tug in my gut is stronger than any logic my brain is trying to force feed me at the moment. Barely able to control my own movements, I keep moving toward her.
Three steps more and I’m at the front edge of the crowd as they toss coins into hats and boxes surrounding the performance area.
Other dancers are there but they are clearly not the main show. Costumed men and women stand behind the dancers, playing instruments, but from what I can tell, all eyes are on her.
She spins again, her leg flashing out for a glimpse of perfect feet, dirty from the ground, and all I want is to cut her clothes off, take her home and sink her down in the the most lush bubble bath to bathe her for hours.
Her blue-brown eyes catch mine, glowing, lit light candles in the darkness and as she spins closer her light floral scent catches the last of my restraint and drags it from me, my balls drawing tight, and I’m on the edge of losing it standing right here in front of a hundred or more people.
As she smiles, I imagine her beneath me. I almost feel her skin against mine. A groan rumbles from my chest and I nearly double over, wondering if she can see the lust in my eyes.
Of course she can. She sees lust in men’s eyes all day every day.
The tempo of the music speeds and she is spinning again, her arms above her head, hair flying out along with her skirt, and I see the beads and colored, braided threads around her ankles.
As she moves away, my gaze follows and I see a few older men and women standing at the edge of the stage, assessing the crowd. They look more like overseers than entertainers, and something inside of me turns cold.
Two of them glance my way, then lean in and whisper to one another, nodding in some sort of agreement before the woman next to them turns and disappears behind the heavy curtains that arch around the back of the ground-level performance area.
The music crescendos and my twirling angel spins so fast she’s a blur. As the pace hits its height, then crashes, she drops to the dirt, skirt splaying out around her, head down and arms stretched out in front in a puff of dust as the other dancers end in the same position and the music stops.
The crowd explodes in applause, whistles and catcalls. I turn to stab dirty looks to a few of the men, and they must see the rage in my eyes because they stop and turn away.
Smart.
Many of the onlookers throw coins and bills into the basket there to accept the cash. As for me, my fingers twitch, my throat is dry and tight. A spring is coiled inside of me ready to release.
I want to give her more than money.
I want to give her everything.