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Girl is silent on the ride back to town. There’s a scent of sadness about her, a melancholy aura as she stares out the window of my truck, her dark hair pulled back, her dark dress so prim and proper.
That dress is driving me up the wall. I’ve been hard since the moment I saw her this morning, and this isn’t the time, but goddammit, I wanna stop the truck and fuck her right here, against the steering wheel, or have her go down on me as I hold her hair in my fist.
But… the kids.
Plus, she’s unhappy.
Fucking shit. Of course she’s unhappy with that message stuck to her door, and having to go through the whole thing at the station.
And she seemed uncomfortable when I told the woman that the message was referring to me…
I’m guessing it was referring to me. If we assume this asshole has been watching us, like the perv he is.
Christ. Watching us. Watching Octavia. My kids. What the fuck?
I tighten my hands on the wheel, fighting the urge to curse out loud and smash my fist into the window for good measure.
What the hell is wrong with Ross? What does he want from us? From me? What’s up with the mysterious messages about who the fuck I left behind?
And my sins? What sins? If he means drinking and cursing and being a fucking bad father, sure. That’s me. Hammer it home, why don’t ya?
But why pretend he knows me from before? Is this some sick game Ross made up to pass the time? How far will he go with this? Why so obsessed?
She’s still silent when I park outside the house, when we herd the kids inside and settle them in front of the TV to watch their favorite program.
And that makes me wanna fuck her here and now, and to hell with it all.
So when she says, “I’m going up to get their coloring books if you wait a minute longer,” I say fuck it, and follow her upstairs.
I’m in too deep already, sinking deeper by the minute. The way her dress hugs her curves and shows off her legs, the way her heels draw my gaze to her shapely calves as she climbs the steps, the way her eyes widen when she glances back and finds me following her…
Priceless.
So fucking hot.
She says nothing, so I just keep after her. She heads first into the bathroom to wash her hands, and I step inside with her.
Her gasp is loud as I pin her against the sink, grinding my urgent hard-on against her pert ass. She braces herself, and her gaze meets mine in the mirror, startled but heating up quickly, her cheeks reddening.
Man, I just love how she reacts to me, wanting but also a bit scared, like she’s not sure what to do with me.
But I sure as hell know what to do with her. To her. I nip at the back of her neck and she shivers. When I reach around her to cup her tits, her nipples are hard like pebbles, pressing into my palms.
“Matt…” Her breathing is chopped, and I feel her chest rising and falling under my hands.
I squeeze her tits. “Something to say?”
“The kids…”
I like how she can’t formulate coherent sentences. “What about them?”
“Downstairs. Waiting.”
“We’ll be quick,” I promise and take away my hands to flip her dress up and stroke her over the cotton of her panties.
Goddammit, this dress has been driving me crazy, and her little girl panties, blue with flowers and lace, make my dick ache.
“We shouldn’t…” she tries again, cut short when I slip two fingers under the cotton and rub them over her pussy, over her throbbing clit. “Oh God…”
