Jake
My need has been out of control ever since I pushed open the front door to the coffee shop where she works, the extra pair of underwear I’m wearing and the thick denim I’ve got on doing nothing to conceal my raging erection that I can’t contain for one second, the second I so much as think of her.
I slowly exhale, catching myself holding in a breath that I’ve been holding since I walked into this place, the place I’d never come to in my life and would never come to again if it wasn’t for her working here.
Jewel, her name tag reads, and she’s drawn a little gemstone next to her name. Does she make that same design on the tops of the coffees she prepares for the patrons of this place? I grit my teeth at the thought of her giving even a little piece of herself to anyone but me. Sure, a design like that would just be a play on her own name, but I’m not playing around when it comes to her.
There’s a reason I come here every day, making sure there are no other little boys her age looking at my Jewel. Making sure everyone around here knows who owns this coffee shop and who she belongs too, even though I’ve made no effort to claim her…yet.
It’s just that she’s too damn young and I’m not about to lay a finger on her. Sure, I first laid eyes on her when she was already clearly eighteen, needing to be that old to work here in a coffee shop that also mixes in Bailey’s into some of their drinks, but still…too young. Too innocent. Not the right kind of nice little girl for a messed up man like me. And as messed up as the thoughts I have about her are, I know there’s no way I can ever voice them, let them be known, or she’ll go running for the police station to have me locked up. And that’s not gonna happen, because if I’m behind bars I can’t at least do what I’ve been doing…come in here every damn day and stare at her like the stalker she’s turned me into. I’ve already lost my mind over this beautiful little creature. I should stay away, but something inside me just won’t allow it.
Even if I’m too old for her, and forty-one is way too old for an eighteen-year-old, as I keep reminding myself, I still need to be here. To protect her. To watch over her. To be here just in case. In case of what? I’m not sure yet, just as I’m not really sure about these feelings she’s dug up inside me.
I can’t quite put a finger on it, but I can sense something is missing from her life. I can be that something she needs, even if it’s just with my presence, although I know that’s not going to satisfy me much longer. Hell, it’s not satisfying me as it is now.
I need more. More of her time. More of those innocent little smiles she flashes every which way when I see her from across the street as I approach, only for those smiles to be wiped away the second I come in each day.
I’m probably scaring the hell out of this little thing. I should quit coming here all together and stop drinking this coffee which just gets my heartbeat racing even more than it already is.
But stopping my daily habit isn’t happening, not when I know there are other boys in here all day long, probably trying to whisper things in her ear, offer the things she doesn’t want or need, and look at her in a way that only I should look at her. I hate the thought that other men come in here and ogle at her, and I could only imagine how much worse it would be if this was a bar and not a coffee shop.
As much as I feel this fatherly feeling inside me that wants to wrap her up in a big hug and then throw her over my shoulder and take her back to my house forever, I just can’t quite reconcile how to go about it.
Sure, there’s the age thing, but she also has a mother already. I know. I asked around.
But her mother’s not much better than the father that left her before she was even born. How could anyone be stupid enough to walk out on an absolute angel like her? She’s not only a blessing to any mother or father lucky enough to conceive her but this whole damn dark world. She’s the light to my darkness, the smile that can give my scowl balance, and more accurately wipe it from my face forever.
There’s just something about her can-do spirit that I admire. The way she whistles to herself when she wipes down tables. The way she bounces just a bit when she arrives at customer’s tables with their orders. The way she makes everyone’s day better, every day.
She’s got that kind of spirit that a man, a real man who’s experienced enough to realize just how rare a young woman like her is, would claim in heartbeat and nurture her, and provide and support all her dreams, forever.
But when it comes to her, I’ve got dreams of my own. Fantasies if you will, and they’re dark and depraved and keep me from taking things further, not that we technically have any kind of relationship at all at this point.
A hardened jerk like me who haggles over gems all day from some of the most cut-throat miners of precious stones around the world isn’t the right kind of man for her. I threaten Colombian drug lords who sell me emeralds out of Bogota and refuse blood diamonds out of Africa from the kind of scum I’d never do business with. And when I finally do get the inventory I need I sit for days on end, crafting the perfect piece that will be seen by millions around the world, hanging from the necks of famous actresses at the Academy Awards, or rings on the hands of famous actors as they accept their Oscars.
I could move to Beverly Hills tomorrow, and buy a mansion with the money I’ve made, but I’m not leaving here without her first. No fucking way.
I don’t even want to leave this coffee shop without her, let alone the thought of skipping town without her by my side.
For the last week, I’ve been half-tempted to tie her up and throw her in my car and just drive, taking her away from her drugged-out mother with the litany of “male friends”, and start a family somewhere, just the two of us.
But tying her up to take her from this place isn’t where it would end. I’d tie her to my bed and do things to her that would scare her to death. Things she’s not ready for now, nor will she ever be, even if she will always be everything to me in all ways.
That’s why I just have to play the fatherly role, from a distance, even if she doesn’t know that’s what I’m doing. Even though what I’d rather be doing is drawing her a bath, washing every inch of her with the finest smelling soaps money could buy, after running my tongue over every inch of her skin first. I should be massaging her feet after these marathon work sessions she’s been putting in, combing her hair, and even cutting up her food for her and feeding it to her bite by bite, like feeding grapes to Cleopatra. Just the thought of doing that to my raven-haired little beauty has my dick jerking in my pants.
A rumble forms in my chest and I suppress a groan as best as I can while that other goof of a barista practically does jumping jacks behind the counter to get my attention.
Not interested.
Is she so dense that she can’t see I only have eyes for one woman? Does she really think I come here for the most basic coffee on the planet when I could easily make the same in my shop? Are people really that unobservant or are they just selfish, like me?
Because I don’t share and once I get my little Jewel in my mitts I’m never letting her go.
My eyes zero in on her tight, little ass in those short shorts she’s sporting. She’s a billion times hotter than the scalding coffee she’s about to bring me, and my temperature is rising just as high.
I feel a vein throbbing in my forehead and know my face is turning beet red, or more likely purple or a shade of white-hot.
If I can see her legs and the line that shows the bottom of her asscheeks when she bends over then these little snot-nosed kids at the other table can too.