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However, all she did was slap some paint on the walls and freshen things up a bit. The furniture is the original ones my parents outfitted the house with. Ma was never comfortable getting rid of what she called “family history.” That was a load of crock if you were to ask me. What I always felt is that this house never felt like home to her, and she hoped we’d get to go back and live in the same town as our children and the DreamCatchers did.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough time for me to figure out how to make that happen for her. One more thing I’ve always felt guilty about.
It was a one-way six-hour plane trip if there were layovers, which let’s face it, when you fly, even if it’s within the same state, there usually is. And if we traveled by car, it’s a sixteen-hour drive to get from our place to theirs. It was always brutal on her having that much distance between us and them, but we managed. Especially seeing as we didn’t have to fly commercial.
“Honestly, it would. I don’t want to think about what Charlee would do if I were to set her free. There’d probably be band posters hung on the walls, or she’d paint everything in shades of black.”
“Can black be considered a color?” she jokes.
“To my daughter, it is,” I claim.
“I don’t see her hanging up posters on the walls, either, Julius,” she deadpans. “Maybe some motorcycle motif, and art, and probably some black wrought iron furniture. Okay, maybe you’re right. Let me look and see if anything comes to mind. But I’m warning you, I’m not an interior decorator, nor have I ever outfitted a room before. I won’t be comfortable making big changes unless they’re run by you first.”
“Deal,” I tell her, holding out my hand to cement the trade she just made with me.
“I guess we're in business then, partner,” she counters, reaching out her slim fingers and cupping my hand with her palm.
The lithe shake has electricity zapping through me. My dick stirs behind my slacks, tightening them around my pelvic area. It’s time for me to make my excuses and escape before she notices what her touch did to me.
“I have a few calls to make before I climb into bed,” I lie. “Your room is the one directly across from mine. If you need me, just knock.” I point to the door on my left before directing her toward mine. “Make yourself at home, Shayne. If you need anything, press the red button on your landline and my staff will take care of you.”
“Okay. Thank you, Julius. For… everything.”
“You’re welcome, Shayne. ’Night.”
“’Night, Julius.”
* * *
Jacking off in the shower didn’t diminish this insatiable need I have to feel Shayne’s pussy wrapped around my throbbing cock. The damn thing hasn’t even twitched since the night before I lost the woman I believed I’d be spending the rest of my human life with.
Previously, I had thought that my appendage was as dead, buried, and as cold as my heart has become… the only exception to that cold heartedness being if you are my family. Fuck, I’m more confused now than ever. Did it come to life because the only women I’ve been around are ones who are like my own kids to me? Or is it because it’s her, and there’s something about her that makes me wish I could travel down that road again?
But the day my wife was placed six feet under, I vowed that I’d never touch another woman again. And I haven’t. I haven’t even felt the need for it. That is until now. I’m a motherfucking hypocrite because I’d never allow my boys to live the life I’ve been living. Half of my younger and older adult years were spent loving that woman. It’s hard to turn that shit off.
She’s all I ever wanted.
I fought for us, for our freedom, for our right to love each other unabashedly.
How do I just say fuck it to all of that work and call it a day?
I never expected a hiccup to thwart that oath, but this slip of a woman is slithering her way in and destroying all of my stances. The urge to let all my defenses go and find out if there’s something worth keeping between us rides me hard.
Fuck, my balls are aching. The only way I know how to deal with this is to numb myself with as much alcohol as I can get my hands on. Walking over to the bar in my room, I pour myself a tumbler of scotch, hoping that it does the trick.
After swallowing two glasses filled to the brim, I came to a conclusion.
It doesn’t.
Shayne
Spinning around,I notice that this room is decorated in a Renaissance motif, a monument stuck in a different time era that should’ve been disposed of generations ago. To me, it appears to have been outfitted to capture the same medieval look as the Capital of Gold in Vicenza, Italy.
Not even a museum would accept these antiquities. They’ve become brassy with age and aren’t easy on the eyes. They’re ostentatious and excessively flamboyant to say the least.
To be frank, it’s old, and decorated with gaudy goldplate trimming. Everywhere you turn, you’re hit in the face with it.
Chandeliers, mirrors, candle holders, and tapestries. There’s no surface that’s not gleaming from the golden glow. At least there’s not a speck of dust anywhere. That’s a plus.
