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I don’t care, I just want to know.
And see.
And taste.
“You said you would take the afternoon off,” Joan scolds James when he comes back from the call, making his apologies that he’s got to go back to the shop soon. “I knew it was too good to be true. Next thing I know you’re going to have the shop open on Sunday. We always said Sunday was family day. Family dinner…I suppose it’s only a matter of time…”
“Don’t start, baby.” Walter leans over and kisses the top of his wife’s head. “We gotta do what we gotta do. Make hay while the sun shines, right?” He gives her a devious wink as Joan swats his chest.
“Don’t start with that,” Joan says, chiding him. “You’ll give Dutch the wrong impression.”
Walter looks at me with a nod. “You getting the wrong impression, son?”
The only impression I’m getting is an image of Daphne’s knees pressing into the mattress as I fuck her from behind, spreading her ass cheeks and telling her where my dick is going next as I spit on her back entrance and listen to her moan out my name.
I shake my head as my fingertips twitch, thinking of grabbing Daphne’s tits as she rides me like a barrel racer, the waterfall of dark hair a slick mess, stuck to her face with sweat and the cum facial I’d give her as soon as I can set my dick free and give it a single pump.
The vile thoughts rage as I force myself to recognize that she is part of this goodness I feel here. This warmth. This home. A family that through the trials of life has managed to stick together.
I force myself to refocus on what’s around me. The furnishings are simple and neat but not opulent. A step above Archie Bunker but way below The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.
I’ve met psychopaths, rapists, murderers, every sort of evil humanity has produced, and something I’ve figured out is the solidness of a good family goes a long way in preventing a person from becoming a mess.
Like me.
William “Dutch” McCabe. Disgraced son of a decorated war hero father and a loving mother. She loved me like a hurricane and left my life just as fast; she took a stray bullet from a drive-by when she turned down the wrong street coming home from the grocery store two fucking weeks after we moved to Van Dyke. I loved her. My dad, too. I loved being a military kid. Loved the travel, the living in exotic places, the thrill of life abroad. And life was good. For a while.
When my dad decided to retire and bring us back ‘home’ I was fourteen. That was when the nightmare started.
I fucking hated it here in Van Dyke. It was a city ripe and ready for a rebellious teen. It wasn’t the same place as when my father grew up here with the auto industry thriving. By the time he moved us back, the world he remembered was gone, turned into empty lots and crumbling concrete factories that once provided support to the population.
But he was too fucking stubborn to admit maybe he made a fucking mistake. Nope. He dug in and here we stayed.
Then Mom was murdered and nothing seemed to matter to me anymore. Or him. I was soon swallowed up by every lowlife group that needed fresh meat to help their cause.
I watched as so-called friends held up pharmacies to get the over-the-counter drugs they needed to fuel their back-room meth kitchens. I got arrested for petty theft within three months of Mom’s death.
It escalated from there. I paid the price. I have blood on my hands and I hold memories of things I’ve seen and done, that a bright star in the world like Daphne never needs to know.
I snap back to the moment and the room spins around the axis that is the dark-haired stunning beauty as I battle off the groan stuck in my throat.
“Nice to…” She pauses, giving me a knowing smile. “…meet you. James has told us all about you.”
Our shared secret only binds me more tightly to her. It’s something that is just ours. Even here, in a room filled with her family, we already have a life of our own.
Something no one else knows. A secret I fucking cherish like no other.
Her green eyes sparkle as I take in the way her jeans hug her hips. My mouth starts to water, thinking of the slick treasure that waits between her thighs.
I harden to the point of pain, nearly making me double over. A fire has been lit inside me, and I know I will never be able to put it out.
She already feels like home. I want to pull her softness against me, to feel her melt all my hard edges as I cling to her for my salvation.
