Tentative faulty steps made the going slow as she moved in front of him, walking carefully over the hard sun baked earth. Every now and then she would...stumble on a stray stone, or tuft of rogue weed. His hold steadied her and urged her forward. Calloused hands, rough and strong and wide gripped her by either arm. He stood close enough to her that her essence, her skin, her hair invaded his senses with every breath. Likewise, his presence, his body, his smell, the sound of his breathing,. I told her that I could care less that someone smoked a little weed in back or that the bartender poured the drinks too strongly for her liking. She needed to lighten the fuck up and move on, adding that I really thought she needed to get fucked, telling her maybe that would sooth her bitchy ways. The next look was exactly as I thought it would be another glare that ended with an open mouth gape once it hit her that I had told her to get fucked. She glared at me for another few seconds before. More

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