by Kira Blakely
“She would never believe that, even if I did tell her myself,” I said.
Chet grinned. “You mean, the way she didn’t believe that you were still hooking up with Lola?” he provoked me. “Don’t you have a license to locksmith? Didn’t you get all that equipment when you started the garage?” He rolled his tongue thoughtfully in his mouth and sauntered toward me, sizing me up like he thought he was becoming the alpha in this scenario. I watched him with even, calm eyes, waiting for his next move. I knew one was coming soon. His body language radiated restrained aggression like heat waves coming off a desert road. “And isn’t it so fucking weird how perfect she thinks you are? How perfect you seem to be?”
I swallowed and told myself that violence never solved anything.
Who said that? Can’t remember. Doesn’t matter.
I surged forward and bound one arm around his weasel neck, wrestling his head down into my armpit in a snug headlock. Unbelievably, Chet laughed.
“And while she’s crying and vulnerable and so scared, I’ll be right next door, making all her favorite foods, listening to all her favorite songs,” he sneered up at me. “She’s gonna lay that pussy out for me like a goddamn buffet, Ace. Mm, mm, mm!”
Everything went white for a second, and the next thing I knew, I felt searing heat travel down both my arms and we were outside, Chet in the air, dangling by his throat. I tossed him into the yard like he was a rag doll and he rolled.
I wanted to feel satisfied and victorious, but I didn’t. I knew that it wasn’t over yet. I knew Michelle was in real danger. No one would believe my word against Chet’s. She wasn’t going to move in with me. I knew that. Even if she trusted me about Chet—and Chet was right, she’d chosen his side before—she’d think moving in was too sudden and risky. She’d be trapped, right here, next to that leering psycho. She’d be trapped, and he must have had a key to her place. She’d be trapped, and he was willing to do everything in his power to make her his own.
Chet scrambled up, streaked in dirt and bloodied, a bruise forming on his cheekbone.
“You never really got to know me, Chet,” I barked at him from the porch, feeling like Michelle’s own personal Rottweiler. “But the first goddamn thing you’re gonna learn is that I protect the people I love. I protect them to the death.”
“Are you threatening a police officer?” Chet wondered, rolling his tongue over his dirty cut lip.
“Fuck yeah, I am,” I snarled.
“You’re not gonna tell Michelle,” Chet sang eerily. His eyes gleamed as he loped backward across Michelle’s yard, back to his own property. “I’ve got access to a lot of things in my line of work, Ace. It’d be a shame to watch that garage get shut down. See little Connie grow up without a stepdad.”
Everything went a little hazy again, but this time, I fought through the urge to kick his motherfucking ass and just nodded at him, eyes slits, jaw tight. Everything in my expression said that I was serious, and he’d understand that. He was not to come back. His life might depend on it.
I closed the door behind him and I almost moved to lock it, but then I remembered that he’d made a copy of the key.
We were changing these locks tonight.
* * *
Headlights swung into the driveway while I was on my knees, back to her, with the front door hanging open and clamped by an extractor tool. The headlights swung away again, blanketing me in shadows. Her high heels clicked and crunched on the driveway as she approached.
I glanced over my shoulder and softened at the sight of her. She wore a simple white sundress, almost too casual to be appropriate for a lawyer, and her hair was down. Her heels were sandals tonight. Her curves were so strong that even the hint of them beneath her clothes was overwhelming to the casual observer. Her breasts struggled against the cotton and her ass bent the skirt all out of shape. “Hey, babe,” she greeted me uncertainly. “What are you doing?”
“Changing your locks,” I answered briefly. I glanced over my shoulder again to watch her ascend the porch staircase. This close, I could smell the zest of lemon and sugar from her body scrub, the sheen of coconut oil on her shoulders and thighs. Her curves gleamed in the meager porchlight and I felt a little crack of jealousy for every person who looked at her when she was this beautiful. “Did you come here in someone else’s car?”
“An Uber,” she answered lightly.
“You should’ve told me you needed the Volvo looked at again,” I told her, even though it was the furthest thing from my mind right now. “Look, Michelle. You know I would never ask you to do anything for petty or spiteful reasons, right?”
“You mean like that time you called me to tell me that my invoice was ready because you wanted to force me to come down to your garage and pick it up like a regular customer?”
I wanted to smile at her comeback, but I had to show her that this was serious. “Please don’t… indulge Chet, okay?”
Michelle furrowed her brow and crossed her arms over her chest. She lowered her voice, like a proper lady does when she’s gossiping. “What are you talking about? I don’t indulge—”
“I mean, you need to start avoiding him,” I hissed, also lowering my voice. It was a good idea. “I saw him myself, walking out of your house, while you were at your appointment. He had a photo album and a notebook. He’s the one, Michelle. I can’t prove it, but please believe me. Stay away from him.”
“Are you sure?” Michelle squeaked. She was too good for this world. “Sometimes he lets himself in when he thinks something is going on.”
“Trust me,” I muttered, returning to the extractor. “You’re what’s going on.”
Michelle scrutinized me as her voluptuous legs idled alongside my work. Several seconds passed, and then she said: “Okay. I won’t say another word to him.”
“Good.”
“Thank you for doing this, baby,” she said. Her hand massaged between my shoulder and my neck for a second. “I didn’t realize you had this kind of equipment.”
“Yep,” I told her. “I’m a certified locksmith, so I’m going to take care of this while I’m here.”
“You just get sexier and sexier,” she mused, not budging from my side. Her sweet, sugary scent tickled at me, calling me away from the task at hand, but I consciously cleared her allure from my head and focused. Focus. “How long do you think that’s going to take?”
Her weight shifted from one foot to the other and my eyes flicked to see why she was shifting.
She beamed down at me, her pink lip pinched between her teeth, her nipples puckering against the stiff cotton of her sundress. I could just barely decipher their shape under the dress and it was tantalizing.
I forced my eyes back to the extractor tool. “Give me another half hour,” I said.
“Okay.” She leaned down and brushed her lips over my ear. “I’ll just be upstairs... taking a bath.”
My dick pulsed out of control and I exhaled, long and low. Michelle stepped over me and her sandals gave up delicate clicks as she passed into the foyer and glanced back at me meaningfully from over one shoulder. I glared after her and came to a stand. I dropped the extractor and slammed the door. Michelle must have seen the monstrous erection in my pants. She must have seen the tightness in my body, the hold that she had over me. Her eyes twinkled as she turned away and continued her saunter, sliding out of her heels, then slipping the straps of her sundress down her creamy shoulders.
I followed obediently, stripping off my clothes with every step.
* * *
It was 2:33 in the morning and I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the dark ceiling and listened to Michelle’s deep, even breathing. I worried about her, alone in this house. I didn’t know how far Chet might go. My heart felt tight and heavy with every beat. I sat up and shuffled over to her bedroom window, stirring the curtains to the side. There was Chet’s house across the way. How many times had he pulled out those binoculars to watch her? When she climbed out of that bubble bath today, had he been
sitting comfortably with a box of popcorn? Did he take pictures of her as she blotted the water from her chest?
My eyes flicked over to Michelle, slumbering peacefully in bed, fully nude. What if I wasn’t here tonight? What would Chet do if he got into the house? How far would he take his clout as a police officer? How much would he do, thinking he’d never get caught? Would he—?
Then he has to get caught.
The problem was that Chet was a cop. He had inside access to the police station, and it was possible he’d done something to block the alerts from Michelle’s phone, to reroute them, or even delete them as they came in. I couldn’t know what he’d done but I knew the police never got the alerts.
Her phone sat on the bedside table, and I crossed the room to examine it. I pulled up the security app and glanced at the settings.
I could send alerts to multiple people... so I added my own number into the field.
There. Now, when there was an alert, someone who could kick Chet’s ass was going to get it.
Next time, I’d call the police myself. I’d have a video camera ready. I would do whatever I could to expose him—except endanger Michelle.
I had to keep her away from any final showdown. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if she got hurt, and she was so fragile and meek. I swallowed as I considered the odds that Chet might be able to overpower her.
I promised Chet then, and now, at 2:48 in the morning, I settled Michelle’s phone back onto the bedside table and slithered under the warm covers with her. Even the thick air under the blankets smelled of her vanilla and her sugar. I curled against her luscious ass and bound my arms around her. She puddled against me, completely asleep, and I stared at the dark wall.
It was 2:48 in the morning and I still couldn’t sleep. Heat thrummed through my biceps and my quads, and for the first time in weeks, that heat wasn’t the result of arousal for Michelle. This intense heat brought a new type of alpha male to the surface: the one who would clash antlers with any hopeful suitors.
Chet had fair warning.
Chapter Twelve
Michelle
The sound of Creed’s “Arms Wide Open” blared with a tiny, tinny speaker, right next to my ear, and my eyes bulged open.
“Ah!” I slapped my palm onto the screen of the phone several times, ineffectually silencing this abomination. Bleary with fading sleep, I couldn’t comprehend the screen, and Andrew’s juicy bicep floated overhead like a blimp. He snatched the phone, touched the screen once, and filled the bedroom with gracious silence again. I slumped back into my comforter and grumbled. “What time is it?”
“Time for the garage to be open,” Andrew grumbled, and the mattress jostled as his weight left me. “I’ll be back to finish re-keying your doors on my lunch break, okay?”
I rolled onto the warm dent he’d left in his side of the bed, deeply inhaling and grinding softly against it. I wished he could stay... but there was no way I was getting out of bed this early. The sheets smelled like a man. Mm. I listened to the sounds of Andrew moving around the room—the clink of his fastening belt, the buzz of his zipper going up—and smiled to myself.
I was smiling like an idiot for no reason at all, languishing on a spot Andrew had just vacated, breathing him and listening to him move.
Andrew leaned into my space and pressed his mouth against my cheek, firm and dry. A goodbye kiss.
“Love you,” he noted casually, pulling away, his boots thudding on the carpet as he moved.
“No, you don’t,” I called after him lightly.
“Do too.” The door swung shut behind him and I flipped onto my back, smiling with my eyes closed, stretching long and languid.
No matter what happened with Andrew—even if he got back with Lola tomorrow—I was ecstatic to be with him today. He was such a man. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I needed him in my system.
Last night, when he followed me to my bathroom, I didn’t even have my sundress all the way off when he swept me up onto the sink. We crashed against the mirror and our clothes came away like dead skins, tossed to the floor, crumpled and useless, disgusting. We grinded against each other, my hands on his sex, his hands on mine, like we just needed to get each other off. It didn’t matter if we didn’t have sex. It didn’t matter if we were hungry or tired or filthy dirty. All that mattered was pumping him until he came, and he touched me like he felt the exact same way.
Underneath the blankets in my bed, my hands skated over my white silk slip and down between my legs, ready to tousle with Andrew again in my imagination. My middle finger swept over my folds, collecting the wet nectar there, and spread it over my clitoris. I vibrated to life instantly beneath my own hands and I was wide awake, even if my eyes were still shut. My back arched and I groaned behind my own closed lips. I kicked the blankets off; too hot. My finger worked and orgasm danced in my center, waiting for the perfect opportunity to sink its sweet stinger into my pussy.
I gasped and contorted, exposing myself widely to the empty bedroom walls, tits trembling as my hands worked frantically on myself. I remembered how Andrew and I had dumped into the bathtub and wrenched the shower on, pummeling our bodies with a stream of hot, steamy water. He slid into me harder and wider and longer than he’d ever been before—or so it’d seemed, anyway. I came so deeply over his cock that I saw stars for a second. Andrew pumped into me with flawless rhythm and roared when he spurted. I felt his member pounding with the flow.
Every part of Andrew Bogart was so fucking hot. I peeled the straps on my slip down and my fingers went to my nipples, furiously pinching as I thought about his cum, so sweet and pure. I’d lap it up out of my own pussy if I could. I sank two fingers into my twat and grinded my hips into the air. I’d always been terrified of anal, but with Andrew, it might not be so bad. It might be fucking hot to fill every hole in my body... every night...
My sex-crazed imagination gave up a fantasy of Andrew plunging into my ass from behind, quivering, stretching me and filling me. Then there was another Andrew in front of me, driven into my loving cunt, up to the hilt. He was on top of me, too, with his dick in my mouth and his hands in my hair. I wanted Andrew on every inch of my body. I would never stop coming for him... shuddering and leaking juices helplessly for the rest of my beautiful life....
Orgasm moved through my body like a bolt of white-hot lightning and I came with a shriek, squirting all over the mattress, my eyes squeezed shut, my tits high in the air, my hands clawing desperately over my every erogenous zone.
“Jesus Christ,” a familiar Texan male voice penetrated my masturbation and I shrieked again, scrambling into a ball up at the headboard. My eyes were wide open now.
Chet Browntooth stood in my bedroom doorway, twirling a toothpick with his tongue, grinning at me with impossibly bright eyes. I scrambled off the mattress, sensing my role as prey, and he bolted toward me as I reached the dresser. I slammed against the wooden drawers and pulled at the handle, but Chet pressed into me from behind, both hands planted firmly over the drawer. I rattled it and gasped for breath, my heart thundering in my chest. My hands trembled.
Andrew tried to warn me, and there was no way I could alert him that I was in danger.
“What are you doing, Chet?” I asked in my most measured and calm voice. I sounded like I was freezing to death, my voice shook so hard.
“I saw your front door hanging open and I thought I might check,” he breathed against the back of my head. I could feel his rock hard little dick nestling in the crevasse of my ass cheeks through the silk slip.
“That’s not true,” I told him. I swallowed hard. What do I do? What do I do? “That door wasn’t open.”
“The door was wide open, Michelle.” Chet’s breath burned against my ear and he subtly grinded his erection against me. “You were making so much noise in here, I knew you were trying to get some attention, darling.”
His hands left the wooden dresser and brushed upward over my torso, skirting around my tits. He didn’t grab them. H
e just let them hover beneath his hands. He just felt them scrape his palms every time I breathed. “I was thinking about someone else,” I insisted. “Stop. Get out of here, or I’m calling the police.”
Chet laughed. “I am the police,” he hissed into my ear as his hands smoothed down over the sides of my slip. His prick pressed into my buttocks again, his hips against my hips, and both hands smoothed all the way down to the hem of my short slip. He pressed his palms where the hem ended, pressing his hands and my slip up against my pussy, still soaked from my reverie of Andrew.
“You’re so wet,” Chet sighed. “I had no idea you wanted this so bad.”
“I’m with Andrew,” I told him. “He’ll kill you.”
“Shh,” Chet hissed. “No one can hear us, Michelle. You don’t have to pretend. I won’t tell.”
He’s going to rape me. He’s going to rape me, and there’s nothing within reach to stop him. Nothing.
“Okay,” I forced myself to say, even though his hands were still binding my slip against my sex, even though the thought of his disgusting little dick inside my body made me want to vomit and cry. “But we have to use protection because I—I have herpes.”
“Who doesn’t?” Chet whispered back.
“And I don’t want to have a baby,” I tried again.
“You can get an abortion,” Chet replied. He curled his fingers and began to lift my skirt over my ass.
“And you should go get your uniform!” I yelped, clawing at the hem of my skirt and twisting to push at him. “It’s my fantasy!” Chet had his dick halfway out of his pants already. Tears stung my eyes. “I want to put on some thigh-high boots and you put me against the wall and say ‘Spread em’ and frisk me!”