Mind Your Manners
Erotic fiction by Michele London
Ellen’s stomach fluttered as he came into the diner, his brawny shoulders nearly filling up the doorway and the regular thud of his boots on the hardwood filling up her ears. She concentrated on pouring coffee into the mug in front of her, topping it off neatly before turning back around to the pot.
She took a moment, with her back turned to the rest of the place, to steady herself. She would not let the flush show on her cheeks. She would not trip over her tongue and say something that made her cringe. He was a customer, just another customer, and she would do her job and serve him coffee and French fries and a slice of pie and then let the poor man leave without bothering him.
She smoothed her hands down her apron, checking it quickly for stains, before finding her smile again and turning back around.
From underneath his black Stetson, he grinned, flashing the dimples in his cheeks and the crinkle around his blue eyes.
“Afternoon, Miss Ellen.”
Ellen arched an eyebrow at him, hands on her hips.
“Tyler Jackson, you take that hat off inside my diner. Have you forgotten the manners your mama gave you?”
He whipped the offending article off his head and placed it in his lap, looking appropriately shame-faced.
“That’s better,” she said, setting a coffee cup down in front of him.
“You got any more of that lemon pie, darlin’?”
“I might. I’ve also got a peach cobbler and some chocolate cream, if you like.”
He shook his head, wrapping one strong hand around the steaming cup. “No, thank you. Just lemon.”
“Suit yourself, sugar.”
She walked down to the pie case to cut a slice. She grabbed the plate of fries that was waiting on the ready ledge and put both on the counter in front of him. He poured nearly half the bottle of ketchup over the golden fried potatoes and ate them in great, heaping forkfuls. Every other bite, he sawed off a section of pastry and lemon with the fork and put it in after the fries. As he took a swallow of coffee, Ellen shook her head at him.
“What?” he asked, looking up from the plate.
“You sure do know how to eat.”
He finished chewing and cleaned his mouth with the napkin.
“When the food’s this good, it’s hard to forget.”
“I didn’t make it.”
“No, but you sure serve it up right.”
Ellen flushed and turned back to her coffee machine. Once she was there, though, she couldn’t remember what it was she needed to do, or how to do it, or why. And she couldn’t stand there like a fool forever.
Tyler rested his elbow on the counter, a bite of pie speared on the edge of his fork. He held it out to her.
“You want a bite?”
“Me?” she said. “No, no, don’t be silly, I couldn’t.”
He held it out further.
“You don’t like lemon?”
“Then why not?”
“Because I’m working, Tyler, I don’t have time to stop and have dessert.”
“You ain’t having dessert, you’re having a bite of my pie. Come on, now. What’s one little bite?”
He waggled the fork in her direction and she couldn’t repress a smile.
“All right, fine,” she said.
She thought he would hand her the fork. When he didn’t, Ellen laid her hands on the counter and leaned forward. Suddenly, the top button on her uniform shirt seemed much lower, and she fought the urge to look down and cover herself up as she bent closer to him. He laid the fork on her tongue and let her close her mouth over it, pulling back slowly so that every sticky bit could be caught by her lips.
A burst of tangy sweetness filled her mouth, and she flicked her tongue out to clean the last of the syrupy goo off of her lips. Tyler’s eyes widened by a fraction, and he smiled.
“Good?” he asked.
Ellen nodded, unable to talk for the pie in her mouth.
“Good,” he said.
He raised up out of the stool and reached over the counter. His hand was warm around the back of her neck and his kiss was cool; a little salty from the fries he’d eaten, a little sweet from the pastry. He pulled back, and she swallowed the bite of dessert, her heart moving much faster than a simple sugar rush could explain.
“You don’t mind, do you?” he murmured, the brim of his hat pushing into her forehead.
“No,” Ellen said, her voice just above a whisper.
She heard boots on the walk outside, and a moment later the bell over the door tinkled. She broke away from Tyler’s hold and busied herself smoothing down her uniform again, praying the blush would fade from her cheeks, praying no one had seen.
She turned to greet the new customer and watched from the corner of her eye as Tyler crumpled up his napkin and stood to leave. By the time she’d gotten her customer settled with a menu and a coke, Tyler had gone, a fan of bills resting beside his plate. She swiped them up and punched his order into the till, shaking her head when she saw the over-generous tip he’d left.
The flurry of arousal that had filled her stomach a moment before settled down into a pit of disappointment at the sight of his empty chair. But what had she expected, really? And her new customer was ready to order.
It was after midnight before Ellen had the diner wiped down, the till counted, and the stools stacked. She folded up her apron and tucked it into her purse, and patted down the strands that had come loose from her ponytail. When the hair refused to cooperate she admitted defeat, and yanked the elastic out. Waves of blonde fell around her neck and face as she shut the diner’s door and locked up for the night.
“Evening, Miss Ellen.”
She jumped, even though she’d recognized his voice from the first sound. He was leaning against his truck, one boot kicked back on the fender, his hat pushed away from his face.
“Evening,” she replied. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought maybe we could talk some more, now that you’re off the clock.”
“Okay. Um...what did want to talk about?”
He shrugged. “Anything you like.”
She approached the truck, anticipation jacking up her heart rate again and making her lips shake when she smiled. She cast about for something to say. He was obviously waiting for her to speak. What the hell was she supposed to talk about with him? Coffee? Pie?
Heat shot through her cheeks, and a grin plucked at the corners of Tyler’s mouth. They stood silently for so long it started to hurt. Ellen fought to ignore the dampness that had gathered between her legs just by being close to him, and to find something normal to say.
“Aw, hell,” he said, pushing off from the fender. “I can’t make pretty speeches. Maybe I’m nuts for coming back here and waiting for you, but...I just...aw shit!” His voice trailed off.
He hooked his arm around her waist, pressing his hand flat against the small of her back and pulling her in until her hips were flush with his. He bent to kiss her, and every raw, tingling nerve she’d had since he’d left the diner flared to life under his touch. Her hands flew to his chest as she sank as deep as she could into his hold. His mouth was aggressive, owning hers, taking her in with hungry movements that stole her breath and her ability to think.
When he paused he leaned his forehead into hers, panting.
“I’m sorry...I didn’t mean...I just...had to.”
She turned to swipe her cheek along his, and then took the soft part of his ear between her teeth. He groaned and grabbed onto her harder, and she felt something rising in her that was far more than any turn-on she’d ever known.
“Do it again,” she said, her voice a raspy, desperate version of itself.
Tyler obeyed without a word, taking her lips again, swinging her around so her back was against the truck and he was pressing down against her. His hands came up around her face, turning her the way he wanted her.
Ellen sighed against his mouth and let his leg slip between her knees. His thigh rested heavy on the throbbing center of her sex. With an impatient sound he shoved the hat off his head and buried his face in her neck, biting the curve of her skin and licking over the tender marks until she was panting and writhing against the cold steel of the truck.
She ran her hands up his stomach, over his pecs, stopping to tweak his nipples through his shirt. He sucked his breath in through his teeth and started wandering his hands up the front of her blouse.
“Maybe we shouldn’t...in public,” she said, twisting her neck from one side to the other to allow him access.
His laugh was a rumble against her skin. “There’s no one around, Miss Ellen.”
His palm ran a warm path up the outside of her thigh, his thumb brushing along the soft inner skin. A fresh rush of wet heat soaked the cotton of her panties and she sagged in his arms, weak from the need to be touched by him. She found the solid bulge in his jeans and stroked him through the fabric, rubbing the full length of him before easing down his zipper and slipping her hand inside. When she brought him out he groaned and laid his head on her shoulder, groaning his approval, one hand propped on the truck’s hood for balance.
Ellen circled his shaft with her palm, and worked the skin under his head with the pad of her thumb, using his own moisture as lubricant. His breath grew ragged in her ear and his hand worked absently at her breasts.
“Miss Ellen…” he whispered into her hair, moving his hips along with the rhythm of her hand.
He pushed up the hem of her shirt and grabbed at the clasp of her bra. He made short work of the tiny hooks and in another moment cold air hit her skin, causing her already hardened nipples to strain until they ached. He rolled them in his fingertips, drawing a whimper from her throat, before plunging one bud into the warmth of his mouth. He sucked it hard between his teeth, nibbling and pulling until she moaned loud enough for the whole street to hear.
“Tyler,” she said, bringing his face up.
He kissed her.
“Yes, Miss Ellen?”
“Would it be too, forward if I…”
“If you what?” he asked, tucking aside the panties from her hot core and parting the lips there with his fingers.
“We can’t,” she said, her voice up an octave. “Someone will see!”
“They just might,” he replied, pressing down on the very center of her. “We can stop if you want to.”
She moaned again and spread her legs wider, admitting the width of his hips to rest between hers. He picked her up by the bottom and brought her around to the side of the truck. His belt buckle rubbed hard against her, shooting white hot sparks of need from her belly to her toes.
She heard the door open and then she was laid tenderly on her back, the springy vinyl of the front seat sticking to her legs. She pulled her skirt up around her waist and Tyler eased the white panties down to her ankles. He pulled her knees forward until his erection nudged the wet, swollen heat of her sex.
“Sure?” he asked, leaning over her.
She wrapped her hand around him and guided him into her, urging him in as deeply as he could go.
“Oh, god…” he said, pumping slowly, gripping her thighs with both hands.
“Yes,” she said. “Tyler...jesus, Tyler...you’re so big.”
“You’re going to make me blush, Miss Ellen.”
“Don’t talk,” she said, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Just...just go faster!”
He brought her knees up to his chest and and bit down on her skin as he rode her slow and deep, bringing them both closer to the edge. She dug her nails into his biceps and raked down his arms.
He covered the top of her slit with the heel of his palm, pressing circles into the hottest part of her in time with his thrusts, until her whole body was flush and fevered, the muscles in her belly tight and her breath caught high in her chest. And then suddenly all three things exploded at once and she jerked up off the seat to cling to his neck, riding the warm waves of her orgasm as they washed over her.
“Miss Ellen...damn, honey,” he groaned, pumping harder as she clamped down around his shaft, his sweat mingling with hers as he closed his eyes and ground out what remained of his stamina.
When he came he bucked into her sharply, pinning her to the seat with his hips and calling out her name. He rested his mouth on her chest while his breathing slowed, and she drifted her fingers over his back.
“Miss Ellen, I hope I didn’t, take advantage…”
She kissed him.
“After all the flirting you’ve been doing, Tyler Jackson, it was the only polite thing to do, really.”
“That’s me, nothing but good manners. Now, what say we take ourselves somewhere more comfortable? You feeling hungry?”
“A little. Are you?”
A cheshire-cat smile spread over his face.
“I could go for some of that pie.”
Michele London is an author, editor, and romance consultant with Scarlet Girl. She is a regular contributor to Scarlet’s Letter and the archive of articles at ScarletGirl.com. She writes dark fiction and erotic fantasy, and dips into real-life tales of sexy for the lovely ladies as a Scarlet Girl pleasure party consultant in the San Francisco Bay Area.
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