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“Huh? What?” I ask, making myself look up at his face.
“Can I take you out tonight?”
“Where?”
“Do you like putt-putt golf?”
“I don’t know what that is,” I admit.
“Then allow me to teach you. Dinner and putt-putt? In Charleston?”
“Okay. What time?”
“We’ll leave at seven.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Perfect, and Lavinia?”
“Yes, Alton?”
“Don’t wear that damn sweater. You don’t need it,” he says before going into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. I scramble out of bed and pull my robe on. I head into the kitchen to turn the coffee pot on and start breakfast.
I wonder if he somehow knew the sweater is my armor. I cover myself up, so people don’t stare at me. People stare at me in a totally different way than they stare at my perfectly gorgeous sisters. I feel like a caged animal at a zoo when they do. The sweater provides me with a level of protection from that.
But for him, I won’t wear it. Why does he make me feel so safe?
Chapter Three
Alton
I’m a fucking coward. I’ve been avoiding Lavinia because I thought I didn’t want to get to know her. I thought it would be better this way. But I do want to get to know her, and it isn’t better.. I really fucking do want to get to know her. It sucks because all I can hear in my head is my mother telling me what to look for in a wife. I know she gave me fucked up advice, but it’s all I’ve known. I know she’s crazy because I see the craziness whenever she talks to Kelly and tries to dictate her diet from wherever the hell they happen to be that day. I protected Kelly as much as I could, but there was no one for me. Pops just went along with whatever Mom was sprouting.
Ever since she moved in, the whole house smells like vanilla, and I love it. There is always something baking; if she’s not baking, she’s cooking or cleaning something. I’ll be the first to admit that this house looks more like a home than it ever has, even when my parents lived here.
I can no longer avoid her. Everything in me is telling me that she’s mine. I had no idea that she sleeps naked. I came into the bedroom because that’s where all my clothes are, or so I’ve been telling myself. As soon as I opened the door, I saw her. Her big tits with her pale and puffy pink nipples were outside of the blankets. They were begging for my touch. My eyes traveled down. The blanket was at mid-thigh. Her pussy was bare, and that surprised me the most. I didn’t think the Amish groomed like that; then again, she got her ears and nose pierced. Someone probably explained waxing to her. God, it was probably Kelly. Her legs parted, and her pretty pink slit came into view. I had to bite back my groan. I almost… almost touched her there until she stirred in her sleep. I jerked my hand back so fast, but I could feel the heat of her skin, and it tempted me like nothing else ever has. She whispered my name, and I thought she was awake for a second, but then she snored. Who knew snores were sexy? I want my wife, which is why I’m jerking my cock in the shower like a teenager instead of filling my wife with my seed. Two strokes later, I’m painting the shower with my cum because the image of her pregnant with my kid sends me right over the fucking edge.
I’ve got to take it slow and bide my time because she has given me no indication that she wants me. I finish my shower and get dressed. Going out into the kitchen, Kelly is sitting at the table, reading a book and drinking coffee. Music is playing. Lavinia is singing a Whitney Houston song; I Wanna Dance With Somebody, wearing just a robe, a short one at that. She’s barefoot. Her toes are painted hot pink. She’s standing at the counter making waffles.
“Breakfast is almost ready. Coffee is in the pot.”
“T… Thank you,” I finally manage to say after clearing my throat.
“Are you coming down with a summer cold? I have a home remedy that my grandmother made. I can whip some up.”
“No. I’m fine. Thank you though.” I go to the coffee pot and busy myself making a cup. “Refill?” I ask, moving to stand next to her. I breathe in that vanilla scent that seems to cling to her. I’ll never look at vanilla the same again. It’s now attached to erotic thoughts of me balls deep inside of Lavinia.
“Thanks,” she says, plating two waffles on each of the three plates she has out. I fill her cup then carry two plates over to the table and go back for the other and my coffee. She grabs her mug and the syrup. The butter dish is already on the table. “Do you want your syrup hot?” she asks.
