by K. Webster
I’m going back home.
Everyone is somber after yesterday. Our unusual little family was almost broken up. I’d been sick when she texted me that Guy wanted more money. It’s not like he could rat me out for taking his foster daughter without implicating himself. But once he realized she was cared for and wanted to stay with us, he saw an opportunity to weasel out more money. Not that I wouldn’t pay it. Just that she’d feel guilty about it. But she felt more than guilty. She was borderline distraught at not getting to go back home with me. I’d found her bawling her eyes out in the tub.
It broke me.
Took everything in me not to run my fist through that weasel’s nose for upsetting her.
Stupid fucking laws. She’s better off with Torin and me at any age than with her foster father. The asshole is slime. Not to mention, his threats were sickening. My private investigator has more to watch for now.
I’m still seething as I cut potatoes. After the emotional evening last night, we had to go back to the grocery store to finish buying the food for our Thanksgiving meal. I’d suggested we blow the meal off, but Casey was adamant it continued on. So, with my teeth clenched and her eyes watery, we managed to get the rest of our items.
“Casey-Casey,” Torin mutters from the table where he stares at a recipe. He’s been off since yesterday. I’d received the nastiest text telling me I’d better go get “our girl” back or there’d be hell to pay. I’ve never seen Torin so emotionally responsive about anything. Ever. Not even when his horse Lightning got hurt. But his text was in all caps. He was pissed. At me. As if I were the one responsible for keeping her from us.
Last night, knowing Casey was safe under our roof, I fell asleep with the biggest smile on my face. My brother likes her. More than likes her. He was ready to throttle me and I couldn’t be more ecstatic.
Casey keeps bumping her knee against the cabinet. Not necessarily in a nervous way but more of an energetic way. Her cheeks have remained rosy and her eyes bright. Torin and I have had countless Thanksgivings we took for granted, but this is the first special one.
Bump-thump. Bump-thump. Bump-thump.
“Casey-Casey.”
The sounds, the voices, the repetition. It does miracles to calm my anxious heart. If only it worked on the thundering in my head as well.
“You two kids can handle this for a minute, right?” I ask as I reach for a lock of Casey’s hair. Now that she’s back, I can’t help but touch her often. It’s like I’m becoming addicted to her.
She regards me with a brilliant smile, no longer skittish around me like she was in the beginning. I run my thumb across her cheekbone and stare at her for a long moment.
“I’m being creepy,” I grumble, my lips quirking on one side.
“The creepiest,” she agrees. Her eyes shine with adoration. It makes me feel like fucking King Kong. I want to beat on my chest and declare I’ll always look after her. That pricks like Guy aren’t allowed to bother her.
“Casey-Casey,” Torin barks, his voice holding a tinge of warning.
Surprised, I pull away from her and regard my brother. His eyes are on mine. Sharp. Severe. Accusatory. It takes me a second to realize he’s equally as protective. My heart soars at seeing the look on his face.
You’ll get there, little brother.
I wink at him and then exit the kitchen. My eager steps slow as I make my way into my office where I have my medicine hidden in a locked drawer. The headache is worsening by the minute, so I quickly empty some painkillers into my palm and down them dry. Thankfully, this shit works.
For now.
I shake away that dark thought and hurry back to the kitchen. When I come around the corner, I find Torin staring at Casey, enraptured. His features are soft as he blatantly checks her out. She must have gotten hot because she took off her bulky sweatshirt and stands at the stove stirring something in less clothes than I’ve ever seen her in. A pair of jeans I bought her and a simple black tank top. The swell of her small breasts is obvious in the shirt. It also makes me realize just how tiny she is. Tiny but not frail, thanks to all the hearty meals I make sure she eats.
“Casey-Casey.” Torin’s words are a worshipful whisper.
She turns to retrieve something from the fridge. My brother and I both stare unabashedly at her ass. It’s a cute ass. The jeans fit her well. When my cock stiffens in my slacks, I let out a choked sound and quickly retreat. I’m angry with myself the entire way to my new bedroom, which just so happens to be my childhood bedroom. I lock myself inside and yank at my belt. My cock is wide fucking awake now, confusing the hell out of me. I’m not supposed to be interested in Casey that way. I’m supposed to take care of her.
I push my slacks down and then my boxers along my thighs, freeing my aching dick. It’s heavy and hot in my hand, throbbing with the need to come. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve been with a woman. Months. Months and months and months since the last one. My erection jerks in my hand, irritated by the reminder. Satisfying my needy flesh, I yank on it, suppressing a groan. My eyes slam shut and I selfishly recall the way Casey stood in our kitchen. Happy and comfortable and free.
A hiss escapes me as pleasure pulsates through my shaft and up along my spine. I grip the footboard of the bed as I fuck my hand. It’s easy to pretend I’m in the soft flesh of a woman. Not just any woman. Her.
Disgust ripples through me, but it doesn’t make the vision go away. I squeeze my dick and rock my fist up and down faster with each movement. Pre-cum seeps from my tip. I’m lost in my fantasy—a fantasy where she’s naked and sprawled out beneath me. I worship her pale skin with my mouth. I take my time exploring every part of her. I make her feel wanted and important. Loved.
Shame coupled with bitterness create a storm within me. I come with a loud grunt as I expel my seed all over my bedspread. It takes me a moment to blink away the vision of me plunged deep inside “our girl.” I’m a fucking pervert.
I rush into the bathroom to clean myself off and then yank my clothes back into place. With fury bubbling up inside me, I tear the bedding off my mattress and toss it onto the floor. Pain claws me from the inside out. The ever-present ache in my chest throbs to life, reminding me I don’t always get what I want.
The gnawing thunder at the base of my skull intensifies with my anger at myself. It consumes me and eats me alive. I collapse onto the pile of soiled linens and curl my knees to my chest.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to drive away the sensations rippling through me. Too much. All at once. My thoughts are suffocating me. The beating organ in my chest hurts more than my head ever could. It draws out an anguished wail deep from within the depths of my soul. I let it out, knowing Torin and Casey can’t hear it anyway.
I wail.
I scream.
I curse the entire goddamn universe.
Tears that I didn’t even know were falling streak down my face. But I’m not crying. I’m quiet again. I’m numb. I’m struggling so fucking hard with this that I don’t know what to do.
Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.
My heart rate calms, and consequently, so does the pounding inside my head.
The quiet does wonders for my headache.
Now that my cock has settled and I’ve had a meltdown, I’m ready to continue having the best Thanksgiving of my entire life.
With my family.
“I must say,” I tell Casey slowly as I take another bite of her pie. Her eyes glitter with excitement and hope. So damn pretty. “It’s the best pie I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting.” I grin at her before taking another bite.
Torin is unusually silent as he sits across the table from me. He’s demolished his mashed potatoes and turkey but has stopped eating to stare at me. The tension in the air is thick and palpable. Somehow, I wonder if he knows.
I shake away that stupid thought quickly. Even if my brother ran along his passageways all the way to my room and saw
me whack off, he still wouldn’t have been privy to what thoughts I made myself come to.
Dark thoughts.
Forbidden thoughts.
Disgusting thoughts.
I shove those thoughts away and try to memorize this dinner. Soft classical music plays on the speakers—something I’d hoped would keep Torin chill and engaged. The candles Casey lit flicker on the table and even I’ll admit it’s a nice touch. For three people who aren’t the best cooks, we pulled off a damn fine meal.
“Now I guess we need to plan Christmas.” I pat my stomach, which could burst at any moment.
Casey’s eyes light up and she nods. “Ham. We definitely need ham.”
Torin cracks his neck and his hood falls back. I catch Casey staring at him with curiosity. His dark hair is disheveled and hangs down over his brow. He’s due for another cut soon. Both of his hands are fisted and rest on the table. The muscles in his forearms twitch and flex, as though he’s about to bolt at any moment.
Stay.
Please stay with us, Torin.
“Christmas is Casey’s birthday,” Torin says in a robotic tone. The way his chocolate eyes flash tells me he’s anything but bored like his voice suggests.
She parts her pouty lips and blinks at him. It’s the first full sentence he’s spoken since she’s been here. I know he can talk your ear off if he wants to. Problem is, you just never know when that will be with my brother. But this one sentence suggests her presence is doing more good than his weekly therapy visits.
“Ahh, yes,” she says, her cheeks blazing crimson.
In this moment, my heart sinks. A deep, burrowed seed of hope had made its way inside me, but I can tell I was wrong. My original instincts had been right. I need to focus on why I brought her here in the first place, not my own selfishness.
Protect her. Protect her. You must protect her.
“Cocaine Casey born December 25, 1999. Left in manger at local church. The child was on the brink of death, but a churchgoer heard her cries of distress and rescued her,” Torin rattles out as if he’s reading a news report for a camera. And I know him. He’s researched her on the Internet. I bet my entire life savings that he’s reciting a news clip he watched and memorized.
“Torin,” I interject.
Casey’s smile is gone and her body is tense. The fork in her hand has begun its tapping on the plate.
Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank.
“She was taken to the hospital where the staff worked tirelessly to save the poor infant whose mother had abandoned her,” Torin continues, his knuckles turning white as he squeezes his fists even tighter. His deep voice holds no emotion or inflection. His darting eyes tell another story. Pain. Shame. Horror. He’s sad for what happened to her. Hell, I am too. “Casey Doe, as law enforcement referred to her, was addicted to crack cocaine. The child wasn’t shivering from the cold, she was shivering from withdrawals. Officials aren’t sure if the Christmas miracle will make it through the night.”
A choked sound escapes Casey and her eyes have dropped to her plate where she continues tapping her fork.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
“Casey,” I mutter, reaching for her.
Torin slams both fists on the table and his sharp gaze sears into me. “Cocaine Casey has survived the night. The hospital was overrun by donations for the baby. Hopeful parents line up to adopt the angel who appeared in a manger. Harry, this truly is a Christmas miracle. Back to you for the weather.”
Clank. Clank. Clank.
“This just in, Bob,” Torin hisses, his voice hoarse. “Cocaine Casey isn’t out of the clear. Medical officials state she nearly died in the middle of the night. Shame on anyone who leaves their child to die addicted to drugs in the snow.” He rattles off precise numbers for the late nineties of survival rates of children born addicted to drugs.
All I can do is ride out this storm. Torin is pained at retelling it and Casey keeps clanging her fork as silent tears roll down her red cheeks. My chest fucking aches, but I don’t know what to do.
“Torin,” I plead.
He slams his fists down on the table again, his nostrils flaring. “Nobody has adopted Cocaine Casey. Bob, did you know that babies born addicted to drugs are extremely fussy? They don’t sleep through the night and cry continuously. Thank goodness for the nurses and doctors as they treat the poor infant during this critical time. Perhaps when she’s healthy again, the little angel will find her own angels.”
Torin jerks to his feet and slaps his hands down on the table near her. She jumps but doesn’t look up at him. When he removes his hands, two pennies sit on the table. With a frustrated roar I recognize from him, he storms over to the wall and beats on it until it pops open. He doesn’t even bother closing it behind him and his furious roars follow him as he disappears into the depths of the house.
I reach for Casey and she yelps, dropping her fork to the plate with a clatter. Her entire body shakes as she pushes away from the table and all but runs from the dining room, leaving her two pennies behind.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
With a vengeance, the thundering in my head reappears like an unexpected thunderstorm on a summer day. Violent. Dark. Furious. It thrashes inside me and I claw at my hair, desperate for it to split my bones open and escape.
Fuck, how I wish it would leave.
No longer hungry and overcome with exhaustion, I push away the dessert Casey made and rest my forehead on the cool wood surface.
Dear God, help me fix this.
I’m sick.
Sure, I’ve read the stories, but hearing them spoken aloud by someone who has barely said two words to me was devastating. It soured the delicious Thanksgiving dinner in my belly. I threw it all up and spent hours crying.
Why?
Was it some sick joke?
To ridicule and humiliate me?
Once I was done throwing up, I showered, brushed my teeth, and crawled back into bed. Normally, I’m cold, but tonight I’m clammy and hot. I stripped down to just a tank top and panties, choosing to lie on top of the covers rather than beneath them.
Numbness has taken over my body.
My heart and head hurt as I try to make sense of Torin’s humiliating outburst. Tyler couldn’t make him stop. I just sat there and endured the reminder that I’m Cocaine Casey. Orphan. A sad soul with no family.
Slowly, sleep wraps its tentacles around me and pulls me under. My dreams are simple at first, but soon I wake to a sensation of being trapped. Pinned. Held hostage. Taken. A scream gets lodged in my throat but doesn’t escape because of the hand over my mouth.
Wake up!
“Casey-Casey.” The sad whisper in my dream has me calming considerably. My chest still rises and falls in rapid succession, but I no longer thrash. The fire has long gone out and my room is pitch-black.
This is a dream.
A very real dream.
I’m aware now that the heaviness on top of me is a body. Strong. Muscled. Hard. All male. Since I’m sucking in air, I catch his scent. Familiar and masculine. Despite being pinned by his large body, desire sparks in my core and ignites a fire. One of my hands is pushed against the mattress by his, but the other is free. I reach up in the dark and my suspicions are confirmed when I finger Torin’s longish hair.
This is a dream.
His nose nudges against my ear as he inhales me. I stiffen and squint in the darkness, trying to make out his face.
This isn’t real.
A hot tongue licks my flesh just below my ear, drawing out a mewl from me. My panties dampen at the way his breath tickles me where my skin is wet. Something huge hardens between us. Holy shit. That thing is giant.
This time when I whimper, it’s more from fear than desire.
But then his tongue runs up the side of my neck again to the back of my ear. His lips brush along my hairline and when his tongue makes contact with my skin, I shudder. I attempt to wriggle free, but he’s too big and too heavy.
Bare. Naked. Hot.
This isn’t a dream.
My heart rate skitters in my chest. When I pull at my trapped hand, his grip tightens. The licking on the side of my neck intensifies. Holy shit, I feel teeth again. Scraping and nipping. Torin Kline is biting me. Gently. Softly. In a possessive way that doesn’t match up to the man who cruelly delivered my life’s story as though it were an evening news broadcast.
As I recall how emotionless he was as he recited those ugly reminders, horror washes over me. I whimper as tears spring in my eyes. With his hand clamped over my mouth, I can’t scream for help. My breathing becomes erratic as a terrified moan manages to rumble from me.
Torin groans—the frustration in his tone evident. His forehead bumps against mine and he rests it there. Our noses brush against each other as he breathes on me. A minty scent that surprises me.
“Casey-Casey.”
I sniffle as my body trembles with sobs aching to be released. Just as I think I might pass out, the heavy weight is lifted. Quick thuds pound across the wood floors and then a creak. Before I can register what’s happened, I realize he’s gone.
Panic startles me into action and I surge from the bed. I run from my pitch-black bedroom into the hallway. From what I remember, Tyler’s room is close by. I want to tell him about his brother and what he did. Clumsily, I run into things as I stumble through the dark. Eventually, I push into a room that smells like Tyler. I can hear his heavy breathing as he sleeps. I fumble my way over to the bed, diving under the covers, seeking out his comfort and safety. The moment my fingers come in contact with his bare chest, I wrap myself around him. He stirs in his sleep and I consider waking him, but then exhaustion settles in my bones. After my adrenaline rush, I’m weak and tired.