The Sinclair Heir

by Scott, Eliot

  “I…want…to feel you,” she gasps out, biting her lips, her body bucking up, going totally against her words, and because she’s so hot, I can’t help but try to give her body what it wants. I shove two fingers into her—and then three. “Ahh—Alex,” she moans. My cock jerks and throbs harder.

  “I want more; I want you. Fuck. Alex.” She can’t stop moving against me. “Fuck me. I want you inside of me. I want to feel you come. Please.” She moves my hands away, opens her legs wide in front of me while she teases and pulls on her tits, eyes locked onto mine in heated melting want. “Please…”

  It takes all of my strength to not slam into her, but I know I can’t. Though I think she wouldn’t mind it, the rock under her and how I want to pound into her would hurt her. I won’t mar her beautiful body. Quickly, I bend and scoop her up into my arms and bring her inside into the living room couch. I lay her on it and in seconds I’m inside of her, slamming her back into the cushions, loving how she gasps and takes me deep inside. She squeezes me so soft and so hard all at the same time. She moans and cries out my name, and I fall into a trance at the way her breasts move back and forth, those hard, pink tips straining toward my mouth. She meets every thrust until we both come so hard I swear I’ve either broken the couch or there’s been an earthquake under us.

  Or both.

  We sleep for an hour naked and alone, crumpled into each other until I wake up to find her pushing her body into me again. I moan happily as she’s skillfully managed to slip me into her from the back, arching her ass up and against me until I’m wide awake and fucking her all over again.

  “Hold up,” I say, needing more room to do everything I want to do. “As hot as this is,” I whisper out, “there’s no way you can be comfortable like this.”

  Keeping my cock deep inside of her, I manage to stand and flip her up on her knees. She takes temporary control and pulls her pulsing heat away from me, leaving me on my knees in the center of the couch, my cock cold and desolate without her. “How about this way?” she asks, one upping my idea as she walks around to the backside of the couch, quirking up a brow and licking her lips as she lays her self over the tall back of the sofa. My gaze goes over her flushed cheek turned to the side, her tangled mass of hair, and the way her breasts are pressing into the cushions.

  “Fuck yes,” I say, not really even sure how I’ve moved from where I was to standing behind her, about to come all over her ass because the sight of her waiting for me like this is nearly impossible to hold on through. Trying to get some calm back into my body, I run my hands along the line of her spine and slide them around to the front of where she’s pressed herself against the leather back of the couch. I rub her there—slowly and gently—listening to her moan and whisper yes over and over again against a pillow. I let my cock just rest against the back of her folds. I tease us both with almost-touches.

  I’ve nearly got control, but then she looks back over her shoulder, in the middle of her moans and her own pleasure, and somehow tilts that ass up and gets her clit to pull in my tip just one fraction more than I wanted it to go. Suddenly, I’ve got my hands on her hips, and I’m pushing into her.

  She calls out my name when we come this time, and it’s so deep and so hard and so endless that I wonder if, in nine months, Emily’s going to have a sibling. Then I hope and pray that it could be so, that the lake could give us one last gift.

  When her moans stop, she’s limp and smiling shyly at me. “Wow…I’m sorry if I was a bit too demanding and—”

  I pull her close to me and kiss away her next words. “Never, ever apologize for sex like that. Thank you.”

  She laughs, cuddling into my chest. “Thank you back, then. I want to do it again.” She laughs. “Tomorrow though; I need sleep.”

  I scoop her up and head with her into the master bedroom then carry her to our bed.

  When we’re all snuggled into the covers and I’m holding her in my arms, she asks softly, “Are you sad to leave here? Any regrets at all?”

  “I can’t wait, Jojo. I’ve never been happier in my life.”

  * * *

  After she falls asleep, I find that I can’t. So I decide I’ll pack up the few things that can’t be left behind, which, I realize, does not comprise very many things. I head to my office and pull out all of my personal files, things like my passport, all of my non-Sinclair-related investments that did not get signed over to Grady last night, and I shove them into an empty Rubbermaid tub I find in the closet. While I work, I replay the conversation we had with Grady in my head.

  I hope he’s happy. I hope he feels the sincerity of what we signed last night. And if he’s not happy now, I do hope one day he truly will be.

  As the dawn light starts creeping in, I walk the half-filled bucket directly out to the Tahoe. When I make my way back to the living room, I pause to fix the couch, moving it the few feet it needs to go so it’s back into its usual position after we’d knocked it halfway around the room last night. I also pick up the pillows we scattered around, then pause to pick up our discarded clothes that litter all of the rooms like giant confetti.

  Smiling now, and half turned on as I scoop Jojo’s lacy bra off the floor, I retrace our steps all the way to the kitchen where our shoes, her panties, and my pants and boxers still lie. When I reach the back door, my eyes land on our ancient fishing rods. It looks like we knocked them sideways as we rushed in. As I right them, I smile more. Jojo has been wearing the engraved lure I made for her since the day she and I reunited. Since the funeral.

  I almost forgot the rods she shoved in that rental car when I returned it the day after Grady attacked her, but the lot attendant found them when he popped the trunk. These rods gave me and Jojo so much happiness. And that lure was my awkward high school way of telling Jojo how much I loved her when I couldn’t say the words myself. The fact that she’d worn it on her heart—and acts like she will wear it forever now—means more to me than anything I could ever own, and when we leave here, we will take those rods with us and leave them in sight wherever we go.

  Satisfied with that thought, I return to the kitchen where I left my messenger bag last night, and pull out my copies of the documents as well as the newly signed deed to the lake and the aquifer because I have this urge to touch them. I just want to make sure I didn’t dream it all.

  I read over every word of it as I make a huge pot of coffee, but when I get to the last paragraph my heart nearly stops beating.

  The document states that the lake—the lake doesn’t belong to me, or to Grady, or to Jojo at all! It wasn’t mine to give. Not now.

  My stomach flips with nausea as I read on. As I read it again.

  “Fuck…” I mutter out, grabbing a pen and underlining the words descendant and offspring. As I read, I underline that word five more times, because… “Fuck!” I say again. According to this newly signed document, the lake—the aquifer—everything I once owned here now belongs to our offspring. To Emily.

  It was buried in the finest of print, along with that document Jojo found of her mother’s agreement with my father. They were words we all took for granted last night. Words left from the original. The document states that should there be any offspring to the Sinclair heirs, that the lake and the aquifer will go immediately to said offspring.

  While I named Grady as the head of the family in the paperwork last night, Emily was alive when I was officially the head. She was alive when I married her mother and made it all legal this week, which means that in a court of law, the deed belongs to her! Worse, it will belong to her, with the Sinclair head of family to hold guardianship over until she’s twenty-one years old!

  My stomach churns again as I let the ramifications of that sink in. If this document is allowed to stay like this, Grady will have huge talons sunk into Emily’s life, year after year. It’s a Sinclair life sentence.

  I know I need to get in my car and drive back to my—to Grady’s penthouse. I need to face him with this, and convince him to change th
e wording with me. I need to tell him I didn’t know…that I want to work with our lawyers or, hell, at this point I’m willing to lie and forge something that makes it all his now. I need to come clean to him about this knowledge before he wakes up, too, because he’s going to think I’ve betrayed him. He’s going to assume that I knew it all along and that I was trying to trick him…just how Father would have.

  He’ll think I was going to drive away with my daughter being the sole owner of the lands and properties he wanted the most, leaving him powerless to do anything with them at all.

  I slide on some flip-flops, pull on my shirt from last night, and pen a quick note to Jojo so she won’t worry if she wakes up early. Placing it near her on the bed, I grab my car keys and wallet off my side table, smiling at her as she sighs and turns over in her sleep.

  I will forge Jojo’s signature again if needed. She won’t care. She trusts me completely. My brother also won’t care as long as it looks legal and he believes we mean, once again, to end all claims on the land as promised. As I rush out toward the garage, I grab the original deed and my entire messenger bag and head to my car.

  If Jojo sees one word of what’s written on this deed it will scare her more than it’s scared me. She could think I’ve betrayed her too. She would never believe we’re free from my family. Worse, she’ll never think Emily is truly safe, maybe not even from me, because after all—I am still a Sinclair.

  I vow to have it all corrected, rewritten and re-signed by the time she wakes up. At least by the time we drive the hell out of this place forever.

  18.

  Alex, Present Day.

  My phone starts buzzing and the caller ID says Grady.

  “Damn,” I grumble. He’s probably awake reading the same shit I’m reading right now and royally pissed off. He’s going to think I’ve tricked him.

  I push to accept his call from my dash, and I start talking fast before he can utter a word. “Grady. I was going to call you. I just woke up and reread the deed. The lake belongs to our daughter. To Emily. We need to fix that.”

  “You hid her from me. From all of us. Father always said I’m stupid, and I guess I am…”

  “You’re not stupid. We’re both stupid. It was a mistake…”

  “He said that, too. Mistakes. That’s what you and me are to him. He said we’re too much like our mother. Weak. Stupid. He’s finished with us.”

  His words are all twisted; the pressure of this—of our lives--has finally taken his mind. He’s also distraught, like he can’t breathe…or maybe…like he’s…crying? No. Impossible. Not Grady. Not in front of me. Never where I can hear it.

  “Dude. It’s fine. We simply didn’t read the small print.”

  “Father told us to always read the small print,” he grunts out.

  I think it’s sad that he still seeks Father’s approval, even when the man is dead. “I’m on my way with the laptop, the original deed, everything. We’ll rewrite it all. We can fix it.”

  “You think you’re so smart—keeping that kid a secret. All these years, I thought Father was proud of me. Even proud of you sometimes…shit…” He coughs—and then coughs again, nearly a choke. I wonder, and then worry—is he wheezing? He sounds like he can’t get air.

  “I didn’t know about her either, Grady. I didn’t know…” I say, trying to keep the conversation going. When he doesn’t answer, just wheezes into the phone, I ask, “Dude. Are you okay?”

  “You didn’t even tell me her name last night—you sneaky mother-fucking liar! And I fell for it! I should have known her name, don’t you think? Emily. A niece. A Sinclair granddaughter. Now, she’ll be the heir to replace us both.”

  Grady laughs like a man about to dive from a rooftop, driven to a psychotic break from grief and abuse. I try to process what’s going on with his coughing, too. It sort of sounds like he’s so upset he’s having an asthma attack. Only, Grady doesn’t have asthma. Maybe he’s drunk? That’s more like him, and when we left him last night he was well into the glass of scotch I poured for him, so maybe he finished the whole bottle, staying up all night on a binge.

  “Yes. Emily. That is her name.” As I drive into the outskirts of Tacoma, I work to calm him with honest answers. “Please be clear that I’m not hiding anything.”

  Like I’d done last night, I try to make Grady see Emily as a real person instead of someone he should hate. “She’s tiny. A ball of sheer joy. She’s good and sweet and has hair exactly like Jojo’s.”

  “And a smile—a little like mine, you said,” he whispers.

  “Yes! She’s also got a fighter’s spirit that’s like yours. When she falls down and scrapes a knee or an elbow she never cries. She just tells me that she’s okay.”

  “It’s the Sinclair way.” He sighs out, continuing, “So she’s small?”

  “She’s going into kindergarten. Do you remember being in kindergarten?”

  “Yes. It was the first year Father beat the hell out of me—that I can remember anyhow. He said I was a big boy now and needed to be able to handle the pain. You don’t remember. You were in diapers.”

  “Pain for pain,” I whisper, remembering how I also got a beating in kindergarten. How I missed two weeks of school and how Mother wasn’t allowed to tuck me in or even see me until I could get myself out of bed.

  He coughs again then breathes heavily into the phone. “I always believed Father when he said you were the one that always fell for his games. That you were notorious and consistent for being played. He said you were like some sitting duck, buying into the tricks we played on you. You’re supposed to be the easy mark—not me. Never me. I thought I had greater value, you know?” He coughs again. “But I guess—fuck. Alex…” Another cough. “Joke’s on me.”

  He wheezes, then adds, “Tell me, Alex. How are you going to fix this? How are you going to try and rush in and save everyone this time? Despite everything, will you still save me too?”

  “Yes,” I answer automatically, mind rushing in a million directions now. “If you need saving I will try.”

  He laughs. “Of course I won’t put that on you. I get now that I don’t deserve any kind of saving. None.”

  “What?” Confused, I shake my head, trying to process his words, trying to calm his thoughts that I’ve betrayed him. “Please believe me. It’s an easy fix to add an addendum to this deed. I’ll make it read however you want. I’ll call the lawyers right now. I don’t want you to be so upset. My words, my feelings about us last night, were sincere.”

  “I want you to know I believe that.”

  “I’m almost there—I was already in the car driving to you to make this right when you called.”

  “Too late. Don’t come…”

  “Grady…” I floor it, the front of the SUV lifting with the speed. “Five minute or less and this will be solved.”

  “You left them alone? Tiny, small Emily? And…Jojo? They’re alone?” He sounds incredulous. “Again. See? So stupid. Why, Alex? Or did you bring them with you? Are they in the car?”

  Because he sounds slightly hysterical, and because I’m used to a lifetime of not trusting him, my gut wrenches at his line of questioning. Stomach sinking with doubts about leaving Jojo behind, I deliberately don’t answer him. Instead I try to divert him by blabbing about the topic of the deed.

  “If we can’t get her out of the deed, we will draw up a letter that makes you the executor. And—and—we’ll both sign it and refile with the state. Should something happen to you, those rights can revert back to the Sinclair head of family. Which will become me—though that is the last thing I want.” I remind him of my own goals, to cut ties with the Sinclair family forever. “When Emily’s twenty-one, I promise you, I’ll promise it every damn year in blood until it happens, that she will sign away her rights to the land and to the lake and to the aquifer or whatever is left of it. It’s my solemn oath to you.”

  “Blood,” Grady whispers. “Poor little Emily.” His voice fades like he’s walked away
from his phone. He begins shouting from a distance. “I fucking fell for it—just like you always did. You were right last night. I am tired of the feud. I’m satisfied it’s going to end this way. Happy that I’m going to be done.”

  His voice grows more muffled, and his slurring grows worse.

  “Nothing has changed, Grady. Nothing has changed,” I shout, barreling my car through the downtown area, hoping he’s not so drunk that he’s just passed out. I try to keep him lucid and awake, shouting into the phone, “Grady! One signature, and we’re done. One document, and we’re both going to be done. This car is already half-packed as promised, and you’ll never see any of us again after today. Never. Not unless you want to see your family.”

  “My family…ha! It’s a terrible painful thing, my family.” He’s moved back closer to his phone, but he’s still not holding it to him.

  “You’re right about one thing though.” He laughs darkly. “Nothing’s changed, Alex. It’s all so fucked up. You. Me. Betrayal. Family. Fucking Sinclairs!”

  He sighs out long and loud, voice trembling. “I’m so tired, Alex. Aren’t you tired? And…fuck, it’s so late for this, but I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for everything I did. People who believe…” He gasps out like he’s choking again. “Those people. They say you can ask for forgiveness and shit at the end. They say if you’re truly sorry maybe you won’t burn in hell, and I’m so tired of hell, Alex. I don’t want to go there again. I hope you’ll tell Jojo. When she forgave me last night…that felt good. I know I don’t deserve it, but I believed her.”

  As I park across the street from the building, I transfer the call from my car console into my phone so I can run through the street, keeping him on the line as I look up to the penthouse windows above and find all of the lights have been turned on.