Free Flesh: A Romance Novel

by Daya Daniels

  I’d fucked Rebecca twice before. I don’t know exactly who she is and I never bothered to dig deeper. I assume she’s the wife of some big shot businessman, since she’d told me her other half was out of town on business meetings in Monte Carlo for a week.

  As soon as we arrived, I demanded her cell phone once inside and locked it with my own inside the safe that’s tucked away in the closet. You can never be too careful these days and the last thing I need is naked pictures of me to be circulating around this city, for fucking the sexually frustrated wives of men who could possibly ruin the rest of my life.

  Rebecca had ordered expensive champagne and caviar when we’d first arrived. She’d downed the entire bottle herself. And instead of me eating the disgusting, overly priced fish eggs, I’d raided the mini-bar for cheese and crackers, while she danced around the room naked to Led Zeppelin and did lines of blow off the coffee table.

  Rebecca is flashy—one of those rich chicks who feel everyone should be at her service. She has a bit of an attitude problem and she has the most annoying laugh I’ve ever heard come out of a woman.

  But she’s paying me two grand to be here with her for three hours.

  So, her annoying laugh is something I can tolerate. At least today.

  I hadn’t planned to be here for this long, but for the life of me this woman is never able to come unless I fuck her from behind. She likes to do it this way first for a while as she screams, like it’s some sort of ritual.

  I let out a loud exhale and smile up at her flushed red face, as she brushes her longs strands out of the way, moving slow on top of me, then harder as she grips my pecs, peering at me from above. I drop my eyes lower down to her bush and at the condom sheathing my dick.

  Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” echoes from the stereo across the room—Rebecca’s selection.

  “God, you’re so fucking big. This big dick!” She exhales and chews into her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

  “Yeah, you like this big cock?” I ask, knowing she loves to talk dirty.

  “Yes!” Rebecca screams and rides me harder.

  And for the love of God I wish she’d come so I can get the fuck out of here.

  Her hand slides up behind my neck and tangles in my hair, nearly yanking it from my scalp. I grit my teeth and push up to my knees, shoving her off me. She lands in the middle of the bed, fake hair and lithe limbs everywhere, staring up at me wide-eyed and breathing heavy.

  I reach out and grab her by the hair. When I flip her over, she yelps. Her hands search the bed, skating over the sheets, desperate for something to hold on to. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pull her skinny ass up to her knees and massage my dick that’s quickly going limp.

  I push into her violently, yanking her head back, then pound into her from behind, pushing the sounds of her poodle yelping out of my head. I settle into a stroke. My eyes rove over the skin on Rebecca’s back that’s tanned from the sun. The line of it is different. She’s without curves and she’s missing the tiny chocolate mole just above her right ass cheek I’d come to adore so much.

  God, why am I even thinking about her?

  My thoughts this past week have been all over the place. I’m unfocused, miserable, rocked by something I can’t quite put my finger on.

  What if she doesn’t call me again? What if she really meant that last Sunday was going to be the very last time I saw her?

  Fuck.

  Sickness swims in my gut at the thought she might’ve been telling the truth, and my temperature rises.

  I fuck Rebecca harder.

  My mind shifts to the measurements of old man Morris’ roof. I wonder if I’m off by an inch or two. It would affect the pitch of the roof. Squinting my eyes, I memorize the numbers I’d jotted down. Were they correct? Should I have written a two instead of a five? I should really measure them a second time tomorrow. I’ll do that...

  But that isn’t the only thing I need to take care of. I’ll be moving into the tiny beach cottage on my brother’s property in the morning, since I’m getting tired of staying in motels and B&Bs around this city. I’m not sure I’m ready to be forced to be around family I already know dislike me for whatever reasons. I was never the favorite. That was all my brother.

  Rebecca screams, mumbling something about my big cock.

  Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

  I’m half in the present, but mostly stuck in my thoughts.

  Taking a deep breath, I exhale through my nose loudly and move to hover over her, fucking her deep in her slit, pounding against her like she called my mother a whore.

  “Goddd, Austen!”

  Her hair is all over the place and sweat drips down the sides of her face. I yank her by the hair harder and her eyes water when she looks up at me.

  “I want you to come, Rebecca,” I growl.

  “Uh-huh,” she mewls out as I plow into her. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh.”

  I slow my stroke, pushing into her hard and deep, still looking down at her, fearing I’ll break her fucking neck if she doesn’t hurry up and finish soon.

  I slip a hand down between her thighs, searching for her clit. When I find it, Rebecca moans out a “yesss.” I run circles over it with my fingers, still fucking her from behind.

  A cry spills from her then a shriek.

  She’s coming...fucking finally.

  ~

  When I emerge from the bathroom after showering, Rebecca is lying in the middle of the bed. One of her legs is up and the sheet drapes across the rest of her body.

  “Did you come?” she questions.

  “Yes,” I lie, bobbing my head a few times. “Of course.”

  A smile stretches across her face. “The money is over there.” She points toward a small table across the room.

  I snatch up the cash and give it a good look, without making the obvious move to count it.

  When I spin around, she’s on her knees in the middle of the bed. “Aren’t you going to count it?”

  I shake my head and give her a smile. “No, I can see it’s all there.”

  She gives me a seductive look, her voice soft and endearing. “I can double that for next week, same time, same place.”

  Four grand?

  “But I want you to sleep over,” she adds, brushing her fingers through her hair, making the skin on her fake breasts ripple.

  My face falls, right before I shake my head emphatically. “I’m sorry. I don’t do that.”

  She pouts. “Why not?”

  “I just don’t,” I say gruffly, crossing the room to snatch up my helmet.

  My phone goes off as I stare at Rebecca’s shocked expression. Reaching into my jeans, I pull it out and stare at it with my forehead furrowed, confused.

  “What if I pay you extra?” Rebecca singsongs.

  Callie: Can I see you tomorrow?

  Change of heart...

  I press my lips together and tap out a quick message.

  Me: Why not tonight?

  Callie: Because you’ve probably just fucked someone else tonight. Am I wrong?

  I jerk my head back and laugh. But not like how I’m going to fuck you...

  Me: No.

  Callie: You could’ve lied to me. I wouldn’t know the difference.

  Me: Just because I fuck women for money doesn’t mean I’m a liar.

  Callie: I suppose you have standards.

  My eyes narrow and I swallow back a laugh, unsure if I’ve been complimented or insulted.

  “Austen,” Rebecca calls my name as I snatch up my keys, still staring at my phone. “Austen.”

  I’m already marching toward the door.

  “What about tomorrow then instead of next week?” Rebecca asks.

  “Sorry, Sundays aren’t free,” I tell her before I reach for the door handle and twist.

  “Fuck you, Austen!” Rebecca screams just when something hits the door before I let it shut behind me.

  You wish.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Austen

&n
bsp; THE NEXT MORNING...

  “Oh, you’re here,” Ivy grumbles, looking at me through the screen door. Her eyes narrow as she steps closer and looks me up and down with those eyes like neon stop lights of hers.

  The house I hadn’t stepped foot near in forever looks much the same. White exterior, massive, two stories—the house of two wealthy people, located at the end of a block of houses much of the same size.

  The delicious scent of bacon wafts through the door and causes my stomach to rumble. I never cared for Ivy much, but I just might grovel right now for a bit of breakfast.

  The screen door eases open with a creak as she lets me in.

  Her eyes cut across back to the kitchen and she steps away. No hug. No smile. No, “It’s nice to see you, Austen.”

  I chuckle a bit and take off my helmet, placing it down on a stool next to the door.

  The clock on the wall confirms it’s just after five in the morning.

  Ivy moves to pour a cup of coffee. She saunters back toward me and shoves me the mug. “We weren’t expecting you this early.”

  I take the mug from her. “Thank you. And, um, yeah. I didn’t think anyone would be up this early honestly. I was hoping to slip right into the cottage and not be a bother this morning.” I look around the cozy kitchen and spot muffins stacked up on a plate. Then my eyes drop down to the floor, where a huge Great Dane is sprawled out, drooling. Next to the Great Dane is a Yorkshire terrier.

  “The big one is Digby. The small one is Mila.”

  I nod.

  She removes her housecoat, revealing a blouse and jeans.

  “You work on Sundays?” I ask, twisting my face.

  “Yep,” she says. “You know beauty never sleeps. Sunday at the spa is the busiest day of the week for me.”

  “Oh.” I take a long sip of the warm liquid, dying to get my hands on those muffins.

  Ivy runs a hand through her blond hair and leans on one of her hips. “You look good, Austen. You really do. But I have to tell you and it’s the one thing Greg and I are worried the most about while you’re here.”

  I dip my head down and lift my brows, waiting for her to speak.

  She gives me a hard look. “We don’t want any trouble, okay.”

  “Yeah, yeah, of course.” I run a hand over my beard.

  “The first thing I told Greg when he suggested you stay here was I didn’t want you here.” She tips her head forward a few times. “Yeah, I told him I didn’t like it. I told him it was a bad idea letting you stay here on our property, in our cottage, letting you back in our lives.”

  “Thank you for your honesty, Ivy, but I do plan to pay rent,” I tell her.

  “Yes, yes, but it’s not the rent I’m concerned about, Austen.”

  Inhaling loudly, I smile. “Can I at least have the keys for the place?”

  Ivy shifts and walks toward me, her jaw clenched so tight I fear it’ll shatter. She snatches a set of keys from a hanger on the wall and shoves it toward me. I take it from her hands and look at it.

  “The cottage is a bit of a walk from this house.”

  Thank God.

  “Once you head outside, go right down the beach and you’ll see it right there. The lawn needs to be mowed, and the windows need to be cleaned, but I trust you can take care of that yourself.”

  “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

  “The place has been empty for a while.”

  I grunt in understanding.

  “This is a nice neighborhood, as you know. The people here are friendly. Everyone sort of keeps to themselves.” Ivy’s eyes rake over the simple white V-neck T-shirt, jeans, and boots I’m wearing. “I guess you’ll fit in.” She moves about the kitchen and snatches two leashes up and shoves them toward me, giving me a fake smile. “Greg is asleep and I’m running late. Can you walk them since you’re already up?” She glances over her shoulder at the mutts on the floor.

  “Um, yeah, sure, but only if I can have a few of those muffins over there.”

  Ivy’s brows knot. “Deal.”

  I take the leashes from her hands and step out of the way.

  She moves behind me to snatch up her purse and car keys. “My friend Callie usually stops here sometimes in the morning to drop off the newspapers.”

  Callie?

  My ears perk up and I spin around, but I don’t let the fact I recognize the name show through my expression. “Okay.”

  “She lives just down the street, not far.”

  Down the street?

  “Just be nice to her if she does come by. And no flirting. She’s married.”

  She’s married?

  “And tell her I’ll be back later,” Ivy adds, flying out the door.

  “Okay.”

  Ivy stiffens and gives me one last disgusted look. “Welcome to Mount Pleasant, Austen.”

  “Yeah.” I smirk.

  As soon as she’s out of my sight, I head for those muffins and dig in, sipping my coffee as I savor them. They’re carrot and not too bad. Ivy might be a cow, but she can definitely bake.

  The Yorkshire terrier Mila pads over and looks up at me with big sad eyes. I give her a few pieces of the muffin while I think.

  Callie lives down the street...and she’s married.

  Getting settled in my new place can wait.

  I’ve been so busy this week I hadn’t taken any time to pound the pavement. I take another look at the clock then just outside the window, confirming it’s still dark outside. The sun won’t be up for probably another hour or so.

  Mila wags her tail for the muffin. I crouch down and feed her a little more. “It looks like it’s the perfect morning to go for a run,” I say, scrubbing her head.

  ~

  According to my iPhone strapped to my bicep, I’ve already logged six miles. The morning is beautiful, and the orange sun is just beginning to softly light the sky.

  The houses on this street are well-kept as are the lawns. Cars line the road here and there, but it’s largely open space.

  A few lights are on this morning and the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the delicious scent of eggs being cooked wafts down the block.

  Digby and Mila heel next to where I stand until I set off jogging, listening to my own breathing and the sound of Kings of Leon’s “Sex on Fire” blasting through my earbuds. It all only takes me back to my thoughts of a certain someone who, apparently, is married.

  Fuck.

  She has a husband!

  I want to know who he is. What he looks like. What he does for a living.

  He’s probably some upper-crust schmuck who’s too busy with work to fuck her. Or some asshole who beats her. Or some fool who has no clue his wife likes her hair pulled or likes to be kissed in that tiny spot just beneath her earlobe.

  I bet he’s one of those guys who has no fucking clue what she wants.

  My jaw clenches.

  All the way here, I wondered what to make of the news.

  Callie-is-married.

  But it’s none of my business, right? Who am I to judge? I fuck women for money. I’m not exactly in the running for the Morality of the Year award.

  I make it to the end of the block and bring my pace down a notch when I spot the blue Ford truck I know belongs to Callie. I slow to a walk, tightening my hold on the dogs’ leashes. I pass two more houses then cross the street just to make certain I’m not lingering too close. I don’t want to be spotted out here even though I’m wearing a New York Mets baseball cap pulled down over my forehead concealing most of my face.

  I’m pissed off.

  I’m pissed off that I’m pissed off.

  Why the fuck do I care that Callie is married? I fuck married women all the time!

  The air seeps through the cotton shirt I’m wearing and cools my skin as I keep walking. I slow right down when I get to a mailbox a house away that’s parallel with Callie’s house across the street. I face left and stare at it.

  It’s a big three-story farmhouse-style home with a wraparound porch
with a bleached-white exterior. It looks like it would be cozy inside.

  The front lawn is manicured, and a row of greenery edges each side of the front steps where white lilies and other colorful flowers are. It looks pretty—precision lines and a mixture of the correct foliage for this time of year that appears to be watered regularly.

  She gardens...

  I bend over to tie my shoelace that isn’t untied, so as not to look suspicious. I stand straight and do a few stretches, making sure my quads don’t end up tight later tonight when I’m fucking this woman.

  Digby and Mila look around curiously and I know soon they’ll both need water.

  On my last stretch, I flinch when I spot someone sitting on the porch in the corner almost in the dark, in a chair. A tiny fire is what catches my attention.

  My eyes narrow. The husband?

  I take a few more steps, still glancing to my left. All I can see are the white slats in the railing, until an open gap where the entryway stairs allow me to see him clearly and the baseball cap covering his head.

  He’s in a wheelchair, smoking a cigarette.

  It all seems to happen in slow motion.

  I walk some more and get another good stare at him, unable to close my mouth.

  He has a decent face and what looks like a full head of dark hair sticking out from beneath his hat, but...he has no legs from his knees down and when he shifts right, his left arm is gone from the elbow down. His very muscular right arm is extended where he’s holding his cigarette between his thumb and his index fingers, because they’re the only fingers he has on that hand.

  The chair moves forward a little as if it’s automatic because he hardly moves before it happens. The shift puts his face in more light.

  We meet eyes and slowly he lifts his cigarette-holding hand in a wave sort of thing. I wave back, stunned. I’m still walking.

  My eyes flicker up to something I hadn’t noticed before.

  A flag.

  All stars and stripes—red, white, and blue, as it flaps proudly in the breeze coming from the ocean just behind this row of well-kept homes.

  I look at the man on the porch for a second time and at the gold emblem on the blue baseball cap he’s wearing—an eagle, globe, pistol, and anchor...the official emblem of the Navy SEALs, one of the most elite fighting forces in the world.