Dad’s eyes crawled across everyone. “I prefer not having an audience.” He was trying to divide and conquer.
“I prefer having one,” Brooke mocked.
Dad grumbled a chainsaw sigh.
“Let’s go, Mike,” Brooke said, pulling my arm.
“Miiiiike?!” Dad called out in that way he always did when he was pissed, dragging it out and jacking up the pitch at the end.
Normally, that tone always knocked the wind out of me and stopped me like a stun gun. With Brooke pulling me along, it didn’t. Something told me nothing could stop me with her in my life.
“Come back here, Mike! I’m not done talking!”
“Don’t listen to him,” Brooke grumbled quietly. “My car’s over there.”
I could already see her white Miata under the parking lot lights.
“Michael Goodwin Hunt! You get your ass back here right now!” Dad rarely swore in anger. He rarely used my full name either because I knew enough to obey his commands. It took far less effort than resisting the unstoppable force that was my father.
“Your middle name’s Goodwin?” Brooke whispered.
“It’s my mom’s maiden name.”
“She should change it to Good Riddance and divorce your drill sergeant asshole of a dad. I’m telling you, he’s fucking my mom.”
That again. “Can you not mention that? Please?”
“Sure. Sorry,” she said.
“MICHAEL! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE OR I’M CHANGING THE FUCKING LOCKS!” Guess who that was? The drill sergeant.
“Mike!” Mom chastised him. “Don’t say that! He’s your son!”
“Jump in,” Brooke said as she rushed to the driver’s side door of her convertible.
“I should drive,” I said, right behind her.
“I had one drink!” she insisted.
“MICHAEL!” Dad was striding toward us.
Mom clattered after him in her low heels, “Don’t do this, Mike!” She was pulling on Dad’s elbow. “Let them go!”
My friends stood there like frightened mice. Compared to my grizzly bear father, they were.
“Give me your keys,” I said to Brooke.
“Fine. Here.” She dropped them jingling into my hand.
Dad was fast approaching.
Brooke wasn’t exactly fast on her feet in her tall heels. I did the obvious. Swooped her off them and hurried her around to the passenger side.
She laughed as I carried her.
I leaned over and lowered her into the seat, then rushed back around.
“Not so fast!” Dad grabbed my arm from behind, stopping me like a rag doll behind the Miata’s trunk. “You are not going anywhere with her!”
“Fuck you!” Brooke snarled, already spun around in her seat and pushing herself up on the headrest with both arms. “Let go of him!”
“You stay out of this!” Dad barked. “I won’t let you drag my son into your sorry life!”
“My sorry?!” Brooke snorted, climbing over the car seat and scraping across the trunk in her heels with zero regard for what they were doing to the paint job. “Your life is the sorry one, you fucking dickweed drill sergeant!” She landed on the asphalt and one of her ankles rolled on her heel, making her stumble.
“Are you okay?” I gasped trying to stop her from falling, but Dad held my arm in a vise and I couldn’t reach her.
“I’m fine,” Brooke grumbled, recovering and standing up.
“You’re drunk,” Dad laughed.
“You’re blind!” Brooke barked. “I’m wearing six inch heels and I just climbed over a car! I’d like to see you do it without falling on your fat ass!”
I mentioned before I had inherited my Dad’s naturally low body fat. He was solid muscle.
“You don’t talk to me that way, missy!” Dad growled at her.
“Neither do you! And don’t talk to Mike that way either! He’s a good kid!”
“No thanks to you,” Dad said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“I raised him! That’s what it’s supposed to mean, you fucking nit—!”
“Enough!” Mom shouted, jumping between them. “Both of you! Stop arguing!” She meant business. “We will work this out like sensible adults!”
“Tell him that,” Brooke smirked. “Mike’s eighteen. He can do anything he wants.”
“Not living in my house, he can’t,” Dad insisted. “My house, my rules.”
“Screw your rules,” Brooke said.
“Stop!” Mom shrieked. “Just! Stop!”
My dad’s voice shadowed like an assassin and he said, “Mike, go get in the car. We will talk about this when we get home.” He gave my arm a hard squeezed and shoved me stumbling in the direction of his Mustang.
“Don’t do that!” Brooke blurted.
Dad towered over her. “Don’t tell me how to raise my son! You’re nobody! A slut whore-child who lives next door! You don’t tell me what to do!” He got right in her face, pointing his thick finger at her like a loaded gun. “How many men have you fucked this year alone? Ten? Twelve? Twenty? Will my son be number twenty-one? One for each year?”
That was when I snapped.
Fired a fist at my dad’s temple.
Hit him right on the button.
He never saw it coming.
Thank fuck for that.
With his training, he would’ve blocked it and kicked my ass in front of everyone. Specifically, he would’ve wrestled me into a submission hold until I tapped out on the asphalt, at best. At worst, he would’ve torn my arms off and fed them to me. But he didn’t. When I hit him the first time, he dropped like a demolished building.
Mom gasped a raspy inhale. “Michael! What’d you do?!”
I wasn’t quite sure myself. My animal instinct must’ve kicked in.
“Serves him right,” Brooke said.
I was reeling mentally. I had never hit my father outside of training. Believe it or not, I had punched him in the face more than once over the years. He always wore headgear, but he seemed to like the pain. And I’d always worn gloves. The last time was two years ago, shortly before I told him I didn’t want to train anymore. Guess I’d gotten stronger since. Bare knuckles also helped.
“Let’s go, Mike,” Brooke said.
I stared at my dad. Was he dead?
“Mike?” Brooke whispered, tugging on my arm.
I had to make sure Dad wasn’t dead.
No, he was moaning on the ground and starting to sit up.
Mom knelt beside him. “Are you okay, hun?”
“I think so,” he mumbled groggily. “What happened?”
Mom knifed me with a glare.
“Did Mike hit me?” Dad was already shaking it off.
Mom struggled for an answer before giving up.
“He did, didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question. Dad knew.
I was dead.
Back on his feet surprisingly fast, Dad hammered me with a warning look. “You hit me,” he said, his body automatically coiling into a fighting crouch.
Mine did the same. A lifetime of fight training and it was wired into my nervous system better than breathing. Dad never should’ve trained me so well. If he came at me, I would—
“YOU BOTH STOP!” Mom bleated, her voice broken glass and razor blades. I’d never heard her sound so shrill. “I WILL NOT HAVE YOU KILL EACH OTHER OVER THIS!”
Sounded good to me. I had reason to live. Brooke. She was glued to my side, her boobs pressing protectively against my tricep.
Dad scraped the ground with the hoof of his dress shoe, his horns lowered, ready to charge.
I’d kill him if I had to, or die trying.
“Now you’re finally a man.” His nostrils flared with menace and his eyes smoldered at me. “Knocked out dear old dad. Bet you’re pretty proud of yourself.”
“Miiiike,” Mom warned.
“Don’t worry, Kath, I’m not going to hit your son. He’s already dead to me.”
“Mike! Don’t say
that! It’s his birthday!”
“All grown up, aren’t you?” Dad stood where he was, no longer coiling. He stood tall, proud. Too proud. “Go with your whore.”
“Don’t call her that,” I hissed.
“Already got you wrapped around her finger.” Dad’s words were swimming in disgust. “Go ruin your life. Don’t let me stop you. You’re eighteen. It’s yours to ruin. Go. Don’t stay on my account.”
“I’ll drive,” Brooke muttered, guiding me to the passenger side while spearing a sneer at Dad.
“One other thing,” Dad said. “You will find your possessions waiting for you on the curb.”
“What?!” Mom blurted. “Mike! You will not!”
“I will too, Kathleen,” Dad growled.
“Don’t listen to him, Michael.” Mom was talking to me now. “When you come home your things will be in your room where you left them.”
“No they won’t, Kathleen.” Dad ground out the words.
She wheeled on him, “Unless you want a divorce, your son’s things will stay where they are!”
Dad blinked once in surprise.
I couldn’t even manage that. My eyes were wide open in shock. Not once in their entire marriage had either of them ever tossed out the D-word, which was why it landed like a hydrogen bomb now, the only weapon I knew of that could stop Dad in his tracks.
Brooke had to help me into the passenger seat of her convertible. I still hadn’t shaken off the effects of Mom’s D-bomb and couldn’t make my legs work, or my eyes. They stared dead straight ahead. Settled, Brooke started her Miata and slowly backed us out of the space and stopped for a moment to shift into drive.
“One second!” Mom called out, waving at Brooke to stop and walking up to my side. She leaned over the door and said, “Michael, I will talk to your father. Please go someplace and calm down. Brooke, you take care of my son.”
“I will,” Brooke said sincerely.
“Are you okay to drive?”
“I’m fine,” she said with two scintillas of irritation, nothing compared to what she’d dished out for Dad. “It was one glass. I nursed it.”
Mom nodded. “Be careful. Michael, do you have your phone?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll call you when it’s okay to come home. You can,” she sighed and glanced over her shoulder at Jorge, Gavin, and Cameron, “if you have to, stay with one of your friends tonight.”
I nodded.
Brooke drove slowly up beside the boys and stopped.
“No Wave World?” Gavin asked carefully, hands on knees and leaning down to smile hopefully at Brooke.
“Maybe not,” Brooke apologized.
“Happy birthday,” Jorge said pathetically.
“Yeah,” Cameron added, “happy birthday.”
I was shell-shocked and staring at my dress shoes, but I managed a half-nod and a weak grunt for their sake.
Brooke drove away at a sedate funereal pace.
Chapter 18
“Trust me,” Brooke said, opening the motel room door for me with the plastic Player’s Motor Motel card key. In case the name didn’t give it away, it was the cheapest place she could find on her phone, and in the cheapest part of town. She said, “You don’t want to go home tonight. I don’t want to go home tonight either. Maybe ever.”
The door closed behind us with a heavy thunking finality.
She dropped her backpack on the bed and said, “We can stay here as long as my mom doesn’t cancel my credit card.”
Her words barely registered. My dress shirt, tie and slacks stood there in my dress shoes and socks by themselves. Me, I was floating somewhere else, trying to reassemble the puzzle pieces of what happened back at the steak house.
Brooke wore her tight black dress and heels.
The way she looked, I should’ve been tearing that dress off.
Not now. Basic movement was no longer a viable option. If I tried to move, something told me the thin thread tethering me to my body would simply snap, and I’d float away to oblivion and be lost forever while my body stood there robotically. Eventually, a few days from now, after succumbing to dehydration, my discarded body would collapse in a heap of exhaustion, never to move again. And that would be the end of my time on planet Earth.
Brooke slid forward, pressing breasts against pectoral muscles that were no longer mine. Her hand cupped sexual organs that were no longer mine either. She tiptoed up and kissed distant lips. Whispered, “Let me fuck your pain away.”
My body vacuumed my mind back into itself as my dick erected relentlessly in my boxers.
Brooke slowly unbuckled my slacks and pulled me out.
She licked me from top to bottom, licked circles, licked pre-cum, nibbled balls with abandon.
I forgot everything that was not my dick.
“Lay down on the bed,” she said softly.
Dick did as ordered.
Brooke reached behind herself and unzipped her black dress, pushing the top down to her waist, exposing naked breasts and straining nipples. She pulled off my shoes, socks, slacks, boxers, her breasts swaying in rhythmic time. She knelt beside me and undid my tie. Unbuttoned my shirt lovingly and laid it open.
Reverently, she bowed over me and took me in her mouth.
She spoke a slow prayer over my dick, consuming it, communing with it, imbuing it with her devotion.
My body woke by degrees, muscle fibers tightening as my balls did the same, limbs twitching as my dick sizzled inside her. She had flipped an electric switch I didn’t know I had, causing me to convulse.
This went on for a long time.
The pleasure of it became overwhelming.
I sank into it, rose skyward, eyes closed, never wanting it to end.
Sudden coolness breezed over me.
My eyes slitted enough to reveal Brooke rolling back on the bed, her legs in the air as she pushed panties up, flashing her glistening pussy and kicking the panties away. She rolled forward onto her knees and straddled me.
Reaching down and grabbing me, she positioned me against her wet entrance. Then she sat down with the weight of the world.
Now devoured, I throbbed inside her.
“Oh, Mike,” she moaned and rode me.
My hands found her hips and held on.
We traveled into each other, melting together.
Brooke never stopped, never faltered. Her passion was persistent, my pleasure her only goal. She achieved it, marking each milestone with her own moans.
My eyes locked on the hypnotic hammering of her hips going up and down on my dick, viewed through the swaying of huge boobs. It was transfixing, a holy vision. I was swollen inside her impossibly tight heat, her juices the only thing preventing combustion.
She switched from riding to grinding.
Her leisurely squeals told me she was doing it to stimulate her own clit. “Oooooh, Mike.” She was breathless, drunk on sex. “It feels so good, doesn’t it?”
I could only groan. It was all I’d been doing for the last twenty minutes.
Our orgasms built together, forming an immortal temple of abandon.
When I started to come, I sat up on the bed, my abs crunched into rippling washboards.
“Come with me, Mike, come with me right the fuck now,” she gasped with desperate determination.
A ticking grunt was all I could manage. Everything was too locked up.
Seconds later, she screamed, hugging me with shivering arms and legs, her full weight sinking onto my cock, her pussy a tight slippery quivering fist as she came all over me.
What seemed like breathless minutes later, sexy staccato gasps from her as she came down, “Oh, Mike, that, was… The. Next. Level.”
I was happy for her. Thrilled.
She’d made it all the way.
I hadn’t. I’d gotten lost on the journey there. Somehow, I was still coming, or building to coming, or I don’t know what. The intensity was electricity, a lightning ride I never wanted to end or share with anyone
else other than my electric angel, Brooke Hillstrom. I might not have made it to the next level with her, but I had arrived at paradise.
Eventually, any shaking from her ceased completely.
Mine had not.
“Have you come yet?” she asked, surprised.
“No,” I hissed, my entire body one big frustrated grunt. I was on the edge but couldn’t go over, my dick an ever expanding inner tube compressed by the wet walls of Brooke’s tight vagina, my balls hard knots.
“No?” she giggled.
“No!” I gritted.
Still clamped onto me like a lemur on a tree, she ground her pussy with slow purpose. Every stroke only intensified the electric pleasure that was on the verge of frying my brain. It wasn’t pain. It was something else. A sexual high beyond any I’d experienced.
The.
Next.
Level.
Brooke soldiered on, transitioning from enjoying herself to working me over, torturing me with her sex.
Like a slow fist unfurling, my orgasm did the same, an inverse explosion, a relaxing, an emptying.
Complete release.
My cum flooded her in jerking spurts, the rest of my body done. I sagged back onto the bed with Brooke still holding on, her weight on her knees, her body rocking onto mine and coming to rest.
I continued to ejaculate several more times inside her.
I was awash in sticky orgasm.
Brooke was too.
Laying there with her dripping on top of me, neither of us moved. Slowly, sleep steeped into our bodies and pulled us out of them. Where we went together was an eternal secret between us.
Chapter 19
I woke up flat out on the bed, still in my unbuttoned dress shirt and nothing else.
Brooke was gone.
My heart clenched so hard it cracked.
Then I heard the shower running.
Lacy white light from the open bathroom dusted the rug.
I slid off the bed and went to the doorway.
Brooke was visible through a gap in the curtain, a tan shadow in the snow white shower.
“Hi,” she smiled. “Climb in.”
I did.
We showered together without saying a word. Our bodies did the talking for us. We didn’t have sex, but we did kiss intermittently, pausing between washing each other tenderly, soft soapy hands roaming every inch.
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