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“Yeah?” He brings me into his side with his arm wrapping around my shoulder.
“Fletch, is he around? I’d like to thank him for helping me out of the jam I was in earlier this week.” Not a complete and total lie, maybe pushing the truth a bit. Luckily, I know how to keep my body language loosey goosey, or Dad would see right through me.
“He’s out for the week. The town is putting together a memorial for his parents, and he asked for some time off.” Well, damn. Now I feel worse. Here I am, thinking with my vagina, when everyone knows the Wild’s parents were taken tragically by a car accident. It was all too soon, and they were way too young to lose family like they did.
“Ah, well, I’ll have to figure something out to thank him,” I suggest, poking the bear into giving me some useful information.
“Hmm, not sure what he’d like. Your mom might. She brings all kinds of stuff to the station.”
“Thanks, Dad, I’ll ask her and go from there.” I give him a sideways hug and start to open my door when he steps in front of me.
“Anytime. Don’t be a stranger at the dinner table this weekend, okay?”
“I’ll be there.” I had to work one weekend, and he’s yet to let me live it down. I’m a freelance accountant. Numbers are my thing, plus I like to work for myself, which means sometimes your hours are when you make them.
“I’ve heard that before.” He holds the door open until I slide into the seat.
“Once, I’ve missed a dinner, and you’re going to hold it over my head. Wasn’t it you last time who missed it?” I joke with him.
“You got me there, sweet pea. Drive safe, and I’ll see you soon.” My finger hits the push start button on the ignition, we finish our goodbyes, and I’ve got a game plan set in motion.
Chapter 2
Fletch
Damn, I was hoping this year would be the year I wouldn’t drink myself into a fucking stupor. Since the day I turned eighteen, you could find me taking the day off, sitting on my back porch overlooking the trees with a bottle of whiskey in my hand, taking long and deep pulls until it was empty. When I wasn’t home, I’d continue my journey into self-destruction wherever my feet landed. It didn’t matter the location as long as I had solitude. I allowed myself one day a year to mourn the loss of our parents. Six boys left behind when they were too damn young and taken away from us too fucking soon.
Asher and Beau asking me to meet them at the bar with the news of our parents having a monument of sorts donated in their name twenty years later, and grief still has the power to allow the darkness to creep inside. We had a few drinks. I had more than my brothers, and I damn sure didn’t drive. I sent a text to the Chief the next morning to let him know it would be another few days until I’d be back at the station. I’m fortunate in the sense of the word that I’ve yet to take a long period of time off except a day or two here and there, or I’m sure he’d have told me to get my ass to work. Now I’m hanging at home until I feel like I’d be worth enough to actually work. They brought me back home the other night, where I continued drinking. It was my own fault to be suffering the consequences of my own actions. I’m old enough to know better but still too young to care.
I’m giving myself one more day before I’m going back to work. Something has to give to keep my mind off the shit swirling in my head. I damn sure can’t keep my thoughts away from what it means to be front and center of the memorial being honored in our parents’ name. I get it’s a good deed—they did a lot for the community—but having to be around more than my fair share of people, rehashing all of the good memories and remembering how we lost it all? No fucking thanks. Then there’s Delilah, her taste, her touch, her soft moans against my ear, and I’m instantly ready to say fuck it and damn the consequences, but there are two things holding me back: her father, my boss, and the fact she’s made for settling down.
“Christ,” I mutter under my breath. Her name alone has my dick lengthening inside my sweats. Maybe today would be a good day to get out of the house, except I’d probably run into the one person I’m trying to run away from. It looks like it’s going to be another cold shower, except I know nothing will help. I’ll end up with my hand wrapped around my cock while replaying taking Delilah on the side of the road. Luckily, where she pulled over was in a deserted area, nothing but trees for miles on end. And with it going from dusk to full-on darkness, it meant we were secluded. Delilah’s hands were on the hood of her car, bent over at the waist, and I was fucking her with my fingers, hard and fast. She liked the way I whispered into her ear exactly what I was going to do to her, making her come on my fingers, waiting until she could no longer hold herself up, and was then draped across the warm metal. The only way my cock was going inside of her was with her looking at me, watching the entire time as I fed her my cock inside her tight pussy.
A knock on the door has me biting back a curse, probably a good thing, but tell that to my dick, who misses Delilah as much as I do. I stand up from my place at the bar, head throbbing as much as my cock. I’m barely on my feet when the knocking stops and then starts up again.
“Fuck, someone better be bleeding out. I’m coming.” That’s the problem. I’m not. I have a headache, my dick is hard, and I’m a miserable human being at this moment.
“Okay.” I hear a voice that isn’t Beau’s or Asher’s. Nope, it’s a voice that haunts me. Light and rich while being warm and bright depending on the moment. Truth be told, I like when she’s moaning my name while her center clenches down on my length the best. I’m at the door faster than I planned, not understanding exactly why Delilah is here in the first place.
I open the door, unprepared for my eyes to land on the beauty before me, and any chance of my cock settling down is long gone. Delilah is holding up a platter of sorts, her arms pushing up her tits, and damn if I’m not pissed my mouth and eyes weren’t on those the last time we were together. Her blue eyes change from light to a velvet color when she sees what I’m wearing. My cock flexes beneath my sweats, and her gaze zeros in on it.
“Delilah, what are you doing here?” I take in her long blonde hair hanging in loose waves and the slight tinge of color on her cheeks that travels the length of her neck toward her chest. She licks her lips, her tongue remaining out for a moment more than normal, and it’s got me fantasizing of all the ways I want to see exactly how she’d use it on my cock. The way this woman makes me feel, you’d think I’m addicted to her and sex.
“Well, um… I wouldn’t be here, except you haven’t been at the station and, uh, I brought you cookies to say thank you for the other night.” She’s in another one of those floral sundresses she’s worn the last two times and now a third. The thin straps on each shoulder are tied in a bow, and the fabric is form-fitting around her tits and waist before flaring out around her hips and thighs.
“Chocolate chip?” I question. My mouth is salivating for a fuck ton more than the plate of cookies she’s offering.
“Of course, I hear that’s your favorite.” My manners have been thrown out the window. I’ve yet to invite her in, and there’s a reason for that. The minute she crosses over the threshold, my mouth will be on hers, I’ll be ripping up the flimsy excuse of a dress she’s wearing and pushing my sweats down until my cock is free. There wouldn’t be a need to see if she is as wet for me as I think she is. The past two encounters we’ve had together have proven she’s more than ready for me. Then I’d slam inside of her wet depths, fuck the condom, fuck the repercussions we’ll surely face.
“Not sure those are my favorite anymore.” Delilah is picking up what I’m putting down, going so far as to take another step closer to the doorway. “Woman, you come inside, you won’t be leavin’ until you’re too damn sore to move, let alone walk,” I warn her off. The way I’m feeling, the way she’s looking, there’s no way I’ll be able to keep my hands or dick to myself. Delilah isn’t heeding my warning. Nope, it seems like she’s after the same exact thing I am. I watch as she moves the plate to one hand. Her other goes to my chest, but she doesn’t keep it there. This fucking temptress slowly drags the palm of her hand lower and lower.
“Is that a promise?”
“It’s a guaran-fucking-tee.” My hand slides around her waist, and I pull her inside. Delilah Taylor may be my demise and salvation all wrapped in one delicious package.
Chapter 3
Delilah
