by Daya Daniels
Ivy leans to her right, eyeballing all the food Austen’s removing from the grill. “It really does smell delicious around here. It’s kind of what brought me over here,” she admits. “And I do want to spend some time getting to know Brandon a little better.”
She taps the toe of her canvas sneaker on the deck, debating. “I don’t like him,” she whispers harshly.
He doesn’t like you either...
“I guess I can join you both for dinner, but I want you to come to the house with me for a minute, just to look at a dress I’m thinking about wearing. I want your opinion. Then we can come right back. I promise.”
“Yeah, sure.” I rush across the deck and shove a few crayons back in the box.
Ivy follows and talks to Brandon for a few minutes. Making my way past Austen, I head straight for the bathroom to pee before I leave. I do my business quickly. And as soon as I open the door, a big body shoves me back inside, pinning me against the stone vanity, consuming my mouth in a punishing kiss.
“I’ve missed you,” Austen growls, pressing his hips into mine, allowing me to feel the curved ridge through his shorts.
I grip it, massaging him, earning a groan from him before he pushes his nose into my hair, crowding me, eclipsing me with his bigger body.
“I’ve missed you too.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders and for a moment we just stare at each other. Those brown eyes hold me captive for a moment and I swear I can see something beyond them—something that shouldn’t be there, something I could simply be mistaken about.
Austen gives me a silly smile.
He drags his lips along mine then backs away slowly, still breathing heavily, allowing me to make my way toward the door.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, dragging my fingers through my hair.
“You sure, Callie?” His expression becomes annoyed.
“Yesss,” I hiss.
Austen shrugs, adjusts his big erection, and looks out the window. “I don’t know, Callie, just seems like all sorts of things and people are more important to you than me these days.”
“You sound like a child, Austen. Besides this is justs—”
“Just what?” he quips, his brown eyes narrowed. “Just what?”
I exhale and decide not to finish my sentence. “I’m going to look at a dress. I’m coming right back.” My face scrunches.
Yanking open the door, I head down the hallway and through the den then outside to find Ivy still sitting at the table having a very animated discussion with Brandon, who’s coloring.
The sky has turned a bright orange and the sun is slowly disappearing beneath the horizon. I’m a little disappointed to have to go since I’ve really been enjoying myself. My weekends don’t usually consist of this. Usually, I’m down on my knees scrubbing the bathroom tile covered in sweat. So, as you can imagine, an evening sitting off drinking wine and eating lobster and shrimp appeals to me, even if Austen is acting like he’s younger than his own son.
Ivy stands when I get close. “We’ll be right back,” she tells Austen, patting him on the shoulder a few times.
“Yeah.” He gestures with the lift of his arm then cracks another beer open.
Ivy sets off ahead of me when her phone rings. She’s almost out of sight before I step off the deck and in the sand, walking down the path. I take a few glances over my shoulder, shoving my hands deeper into the pockets of my shorts.
“I really like Mrs. Stone, Dad,” Brandon says in a small voice, keeping his head in the coloring book.
“Yeah, me too,” Austen grumbles, chugging back his beer.
~
“I don’t like the way he looks at you.” Ivy stares me down as she lays a black lacy number across the bed. “He looks at you...I don’t know, like he likes you or something.”
I give her a dumb look. “Whooo?”
She huffs and crosses the room to the closet. “Oh, don’t ‘who’ me, Callie. You know exactly who I’m talking about.” When she emerges, I give her a hard look.
Patrick Swayze’s “She’s Like the Wind” sounds from the 4K TV mounted above the fireplace on the wall across the room. I try to focus on the song for a moment. It’s one of my favorite songs. Trav and I used to dance to it all the time.
I force myself to be back in the present, pretending I have no clue about what Ivy is getting at. “Ivy, I’m Brandon’s teacher.”
“Yeah, and Austen is an ex-convict,” she adds, placing another dress next to the black one. When she stands straight, her green eyes flash. “A very hot ex-convict.” She smiles. “But he’s not a good guy, Callie.” She shakes her head.
I only stare at her. I don’t know what she expects me to say. The secret I have buried deep inside of me is even too vicious to divulge to a best friend. It’s more of a take-to-the-grave-and-straight-to-Hell type.
Ivy shakes her head even more when she realizes I won’t speak. “I don’t know what I’m saying, or why I’m even saying this, Callie.” Her eyes soften as she folds her arms across her chest and moves closer to where I’m sitting. She plops down on the edge of the bed next to me.
I stare at my hands. “Yeah, I don’t know what you’re saying either.”
Her hand finds my shoulder. “You’re vulnerable, Callie,” she whispers.
I inhale sharply through my nose.
“Any virile man with a set of eyes can see that, especially if they know about your situation with Travis.” She massages my back. “I just don’t want you falling into the wrong things. And I know you love Trav, I do. But sometimes things happen. Marriage is complicated. People are complicated.”
I resist the urge to look at her.
“Sometimes things happen, Callie, that you have no control over.”
I lift my head to find her staring out the window wistfully toward the beach, then she looks at me with big eyes and takes my hand in hers. “I’m fiercely protective of you, Callie, and I would never do anything to hurt you or allow anything bad to happen to you.”
I squeeze it tight. “I know.”
“I don’t know why Austen is here honestly. It’s weird. He just seems different, far different than how he was the last time we saw him. The manwhore. The drunk. The violent temper. The law-breaking asshole. It’s like that guy just went away. I don’t know.” She exhales. “He keeps to himself here. He works. He comes home at normal hours and I know because I’ve been watching him.” She giggles. “And now he’s out there spending time with Brandon frickin’ barbequing. It’s just weird,” she snarls with her tawny brows knotted together. “Greg said he’s starting up his own business.”
I don’t let my surprised expression show, but a wave of excitement and pride washes over me. “Maybe he just needs a second chance, Ivy.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” She bites her lip. “I guess we all do.”
Austen
SURPRISINGLY, DINNER HAS GONE well even with Ivy present. She seemed to enjoy the time she was able to spend with Brandon, getting to know him.
The three of us drank wine and told jokes. Callie laughed and laughed at some of the stories I told her about Greg and me when we were younger—most of them Ivy had never even heard about before.
Ivy tolerated me. Over the years I haven’t exactly shown her the best side of me. Not that I cared way back then. She’s softened a lot and seemed to be putting in a bit of effort nowadays to get along with me. I figured I could do the same.
Callie left to walk Ivy down the path back to the main house. Brandon’s asleep on the sofa. I rush around the kitchen, packing up the food and loading up the dishwasher. I put some grilled lobster tail in a Tupperware container and place it to the side on the counter for Callie to take home.
I head over to the sofa and pick up Brandon’s small body, carrying him to his bedroom. When I get there, I nudge open the door, snickering at the blue lava lamp on the nightstand in the corner of the room that gives the inside of it a psychedelic feeling. Crouching down a little, I pull back the sheets and ease h
im under the covers.
He stirs awake, his lashes fluttering to look up at me. “Night, Dad.”
“Good night, Brandon.” I press a kiss to his cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
Never in my life have four little words set my soul on fire.
“He’s adorable,” Callie says, suddenly appearing behind me.
“Yes, he is, thanks.” I reach out, click the lamp off, and follow Callie out of the room, pulling the door closed.
“How is Ivy?” I ask.
She laughs and looks at me over her shoulder. “Drunk.”
I grunt in response.
Callie walks ahead of me back to the kitchen. I move to the fridge, open it, and pull out another beer. I pop the top and drain it as I watch her.
She taps a finger on the plastic container that rests on the kitchen counter. “The lobster.” When she nudges it to the side, she spots the thirteen thousand dollars in cash she’d paid me, wrapped in an elastic.
I give her a long nod. “Yep, the lobster.” I say nothing about the money and neither does she.
She exhales and runs her fingers through her hair a few times. I can’t tear my eyes away from that curvy little body of hers and her cute ass in those hot shorts, the hem of them hitting right below her ass cheeks.
“I envy Greg and Ivy’s marriage,” she admits.
“Do you?” I lift a brow and tilt my head.
Callie’s face scrunches. “Yeah, I do. They’ve been married forever—”
“And everything is perfect, right?” I spin away from her and stroll off to the den, finding a spot on the sofa. “Greg, Ivy, and their fucking dogs...”
Callie follows. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She moves to stand in front of me, putting all her weight on one hip.
“Nothing,” I drawl, looking up at her.
She gets that look on her face she always does when she wants to fuck. “Why are you upset?”
I huff before I finish the contents of the beer and place the bottle on the floor. Leaning forward, I run my hands up the warm skin on her thighs and cup her ass cheeks, breathing in her warmth and the natural scent of her skin that I’ve come to love so much. But it does nothing to lighten my mood.
She lifts a hand and runs it over my hair then along my jaw.
I snatch her by the wrist, stand, and lead her down the hallway to the bathroom. Once inside, I shut the door and approach Callie as she stands facing the window. I push my nose into her hair, breathing in the fresh strands and feeling the softness of them against my cheeks.
She spins around. When she leans in to kiss me, I stop her, easing her down to her knees on the floor as she resists a little, but eventually she gives in.
She looks up at me with those big, beautiful eyes as I unzip my jeans, letting them fall to my knees along with my boxer briefs, allowing my cock to fly free. Gripping it harshly, I whack her in the cheek with it then the nose a few times, leaving streams of pre-cum dangling between us.
She reaches up and takes my cock in her hand, fisting over the length of it a few times. I grip the back of her head and shove my dick in her mouth.
I groan at the feeling of my flesh passing over her hot lips, taking me deep. She lifts a hand up, placing it on my thigh, attempting to steady herself and to hold me back as I get to work, sliding my dick in and out of her mouth.
A whimper leaves her as she tries as best as she can to control the movement. But she’s failing. I’m controlling this. This is my party.
Slurping. Sucking. Slobbering. The sounds are fucking glorious.
She breathes harshly, looking up at me with watery eyes as my fingers tangle in her long hair. She moans then she chokes, but I don’t stop. Saliva slicks her nose and chin and runs down the smooth column of her throat.
Sweat beads along my forehead from my exertion. My balls tighten and my breathing grows deep as she fights me with flailing arms and desperate fingers. But mine are tangled in her hair and I doubt I’m going to let go. She’s moaning, retching, heaving for breath.
With a harsh jerk, I yank her head back and stare down into her messy face.
My nostrils flare at her appearance. All I can think of is making her messy, dirty...like a whore.
I find a better angle and position my body so I’m vertically fucking her in the mouth, and all nine inches of my cock disappear down her hot throat. She gags and spits up, sucking in harsh breaths in between my thrusting, but I won’t stop.
My jaw clenches and my eyes narrow as I keep her in my clutches.
It’s vicious. It’s cruel.
It’s everything she’s been giving me and I’m giving it right back.
Wetness slicks her cheeks. I ignore her tears of oxygen deprivation.
The sight of my cock being shoved down her throat causes my abs muscles to tighten and bunch.
A growl rumbles my chest. Something animalistic courses through me, something savage. If this woman wants to treat me like free flesh, then I’ll do the same. If she wants me to fuck her like she’s someone I don’t care about then that’s what I’ll do.
She better
brace
for
impact.
I pick up speed, blasting into her mouth like I’m fucking her pussy. I grunt. I moan. She chokes when a few savage sounds leave me and I come right down her throat. When she heaves for breath, I loosen my grip on her hair and spill the rest of my cum all over her wet face, slapping her on the nose with my dick as I finish emptying my balls.
When I’m done, I back away. I take in the horrified look on her face, but she quickly rights it. She stands shakily and heads across the bathroom to find a towel. She stares at herself under the moonlight in the mirror as she cleans her face, swiping at it leisurely, keeping her teary eyes on me every now and again in the mirror.
I pull up my boxer briefs and my jeans casually, then lean against the wall in a relaxed pose.
We meet eyes in the mirror, but neither of us says anything.
She takes a few steps toward the door. She reaches out a shaky hand for the handle, her shoulders hunched forward. “I’m going to go, Austen,” she whispers.
She waits for a beat, I don’t know for what...then looks to her right at nothing.
I let out a harsh breath. “Yeah, and take your lobster with you.”
She twists the door handle, then she’s gone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Callie
MY FACE HURTS AND I don’t think I’ve been in a mood this rotten since 1995.
It’s eight o’clock at night and the house is quiet. I came back an hour ago after driving out to Sullivan’s Island hoping to see Austen since it is after all Sunday. He wasn’t there. I don’t know why I expected him to be. And Arthur Morris’ place was locked up completely as though no one had been to the property all day.
I sat in my truck for nearly an hour texting and calling him. Of course, there was no response. And after taking a few deep breaths, I couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down my cheeks.
What have I done wrong?
It was almost as if in an instant, the loving, caring, tender man I’ve known disappeared, replaced by a cold, distant, heartless bastard.
I don’t know what happened last night, but that face-fucking was brutal, punishing. For a second, I debated if he was trying to suffocate me with his junk or drown me in his cum.
I scratched at his wrists. I clawed at his T-shirt. But, still he wouldn’t let go. He just kept fucking me. Even the sound of my moaning and whimpering was consumed in the sounds of his own pleasure.
He treated me like a prostitute!
The back of my throat still burns and my jaw aches.
Ripping open the fridge with more violence than necessary, I pull out a bottle of merlot and pour myself a glass. Setting the bottle down, I drink the first glass in one gulp then swallow back another.
Rummaging through the drawers, I find a cigarette and a lighter. Snatching up the bott
le of wine, I make my way to the front of the house, pushing the screen door open.
The night air is warm and the street is quiet.
I find a seat on the top step and stare at the cigarette and the lighter. Growling, I decide I won’t. But I will drink the wine. I pluck up the glass and sip it slowly.
Across the street Summer and Anthony are sitting at their dining room table, playing cards. A bottle of wine is set to the left of them along with their half-empty glasses. They both laugh every now and again. I find myself laughing with them then resisting the urge to sob.
Their house is alight while this house is in complete darkness as if no one lives here.
At the sight of it all, I’m reminded that our lives used to be like theirs.
Now it’s all fragmented, but the cracks are barely exposed even though they’re there.
Glancing past the steps, I decide that my rosebushes need some attention. I’ll get to them tomorrow, along with a few other things around here that I could do to keep myself busy. Music echoes from the den on low volume. At first, it’s jazz then it changes again.
The creak of the screen door forces me to look behind me.
“Hey,” I say, facing forward, hoping the soft breeze will dry my wet eyes.
“Hey.” Trav wheels his chair outside and stops when he reaches where I’m sitting. “I didn’t realize you were here,” he says with a small laugh. “You’re never back this early on a Sunday.”
I look up at him. “I was tired today.”
“Oh.” He glances at the murky liquid in the glass in my hand. “Can I have a taste of that?” He gives me a sly smile, lifting a dark brow.
“Sure.” Shifting, I pour a bit of it into his mouth. He smacks his lips after he swallows it, his expression silly and dramatic, and I know he’s just trying to make me laugh. He always did make me laugh.
I sit back down and take another gulp of the wine, looking up at Trav. His hair blows with the wind, leaving a thick, dark tuft of it resting across his forehead.
He reaches his hand out and smooths my bangs away from my eyes, peering into them. “You watch them all the time, don’t you?” He nudges his chin in the direction of Summer and Anthony’s house across the street.