Chapter 55: The perfect coffe to break the ice
—Let me start with a coffee and think about it.— I say as I place the greasy menu on the table.
—Would you like cream?— He’s about to write it in his notebook but stops, and his eyes widen. —I mean, do you want cream? With the coffee. Do you want cream with your coffee?
The only thing I want is to pour cream into my fist right now, but that’s not exactly polite in public. Even better, I’d like to slip into one of his hot little holes and add some cream.
—Yes, I like cream.— I say, my eyes drifting to her breasts.
“I like it sweet too.” Just thinking about her dripping tits makes my cock throb with need.
“I’ll be right back.” She turns around too quickly and almost falls onto the next table. She manages to right herself and mumble an apology as she sways her round ass toward the back of the cafe. Yes, I watch her bounce all the way there and imagine how it must feel riding up and down on my cock.
“I don’t know how that rich brat even shows up here,” Samuel Till grumbles from the next table. “She works at a cafe like her dad didn’t steal half the town’s money.” I don’t bother correcting him. To everyone in town, Sabrina is the enemy because of what she represents. It doesn’t help that she’s back in town and living with her grandfather in the big house on the hill.
What most people don’t know is what really happened to her family. When I arrived in Mittenville, she was away at boarding school in Europe, and her father's death had shaken this small town.
It was a prime location to expand my cattle operation, and the land was cheap. I quickly made a name for myself, and yes, I did share my wealth with Mittenville. A man of my fortune can't spend that much money in a lifetime, so I reinvested a large portion back into the town, which desperately needed it.
After making a substantial donation to the library, the elderly woman who ran it told me the whole story. Mrs. Maggie was a friend of Sabrina's grandmother and knew more than anyone about what had happened. She must have kept her connection to the Anise family a secret because otherwise, she would have been rejected just as Sabrina had been.
Mrs. Maggie must have seen something in me she could trust because she shared with me what really happened with Sabrina's father. Then she told me about a couple of places where I could spend more money if I felt like it.
A line of second-year students singing carols as they walk past the cafeteria brings me back to the here and now. Thank goodness, because here comes my girl with the coffee.
"What would you like?" Sabrina asks, pen ready to scribble whatever I say next.
"I heard you studied in Europe," I say, and it must not be what she's expecting to hear because she looks up at me, confused.
"Really?" I don't know why she answers as if it were a question, but as long as she's looking at me, I'll accept it.
"Mittenville's doing a house tour for Christmas. My barn is one of the stops, and it has to be a fancy tea party. I figured you'd know all about that fancy stuff living there." I stand up from the booth and then realize how much taller I am than her. “I’ll buy everything and pay you handsomely.” Her mouth drops open, then closes before opening again. Nothing comes out as she blinks and shakes her head. “I don’t think you want me,” she finally admits. I take out my wallet, extract a few large bills, and drop them down the front of her apron. “You’re wrong about that, little star. I want you with all my heart.” I tip my hat to her before turning and leaving the cafe. My cock is too hard to sit there any longer, and I don’t want to jerk off in that disgusting bathroom. No, I’m going home, pulling my jeans down my thighs, cradling my thick cock, and imagining thrusting it into her. I’m going to come while thinking about Sabrina moaning my name and her heavy tits bouncing in my face.
I stare at Booker as he leaves the cafe, certain I didn’t hear him right. The others are staring at him, too. The man has a kind of pull that makes everyone notice him without even trying.
He's left his coffee untouched, but I reach into my apron and pull out the money he's put in it. I let out a small gasp when I see it's two hundred-dollar bills.
Did he mean to leave them? Impossible. But Booker isn't the kind of man who makes mistakes. Guilt gnaws at me because I don't want a handout, and that's what it is. He knew who I was, so maybe he feels bad for me. Everyone assumes I'm just like my father, and I'm not going to let him think that too. I also don't want anyone accusing me of stealing.
As I follow Booker out, I hear George call after me. I ignore him and offer an apology when I almost bump into someone. As soon as I step outside, I see the gigantic black Ford F-250 pickup truck with its engine roaring.
“Booker!” I yell, but I’m not sure he hears me until the engine dies again. I reach the side of his truck just as he opens the door.
“Watch it,” he says just as I lose my footing on the slippery gravel. I don’t know how, but he gets out of the truck and puts his arms around me before I fall. “Are you always this clumsy?”