“Why not?” she asks with surprise. “She’s a sweetheart.”
“She is,” I say then look at her. “And I could fall in love with her. And I don’t want that.”
Aunt Betsy’s ponytail moves with her head as she shakes it. “Grant, stop.”
“No, I don’t want to love anyone. Not anymore. Not ever.” Sitting back, I think about nothing more than what I need to do. Anger is filling me. Hate is taking over. I need to find a constructive outlet for all this pain.
My insides are hot as if molten lave is pouring through me. My head feels thick as I think about all that’s occurred. What my father has done is making my brain into something it wasn’t before. It’s shutting out all the good emotions I once had.
What I believed to be real is not. There is no love. There is only pain. Betrayal. Murder.
I’ve never felt like killing anyone in my life. But I could kill my father so damn easily now. I trusted that man. I will never be able to trust another soul in this world.
The anger that’s filling me is unbearable. I don’t think it will be leaving me, ever. I have to find some way to release at least some of it or I’ll do something insane. I feel the insanity clutching me already. There has got to be something that can ease it for me.
The jet takes off and I close my eyes, trying my hardest not to scream obscenities as we take my dead mother back home. I never saw this coming. I never thought this could happen to our happy family.
We did have a happy family. Then Dad came along and ruined it. He ruined my mother and now he’s ruined me. I will never be happy again thanks to that horrible man.
My heart pounds, my body is hot, and I need a release of some kind. Surely there is something that will help me. Surely this will not take me over completely.
I wonder if there’s a place where I can take out my aggression on a willing participant. My cock is hard as a rock and all I want to do is fuck the shit out of some woman then walk away without her wanting more from me.
Now, where can I find that?
Chapter 6
Grant
A dreary morning finds me driving aimlessly. It’s been two years since my father murdered my mother and I’m tired of waiting around to see if dear old Dad will ever open his mouth about what he’s done.
He took a guilty plea, received a punishment of life in prison, but he wouldn’t tell his story. We know Mom’s left wrist was cut. The cut was so deep, it went all the way to the bone. The coroner estimated it took her twenty or so minutes to bleed out. During that time, my father could’ve stopped her from dying. A tourniquet could’ve been fashioned out of a piece of cloth and wrapped around the wound to put pressure on it and slow the bleeding until they could get to help.
My father didn’t do a damn thing. And no one knows why.
He’s never said how the wound was inflicted, other than he cut her wrist. There was a knife that was found with her blood on it. It was her left wrist, she was right handed, she could’ve done it to herself. But he wouldn’t give anyone any information, so I suppose we’ll never know anything more about it. But there was a suspicion that has been lurking in the back of my mind that my father took the blame for something he didn’t do. But why is still a mystery.
With everything weighing heavily on my mind, I head toward Wilsonville, Oregon to the Coffee Creek Correction Facility. My father has been placed there, and it’s the weekend for visitors. What better way to spend a drizzly day than trying to talk to my father in a prison yard?
Chapter 7
Jack
Time stands still. Since the moment Daphne left this world, time has stopped for me. I’m alone without her. There are other people in my life, our four children, but I can’t shake the numbness that’s inside me and all around me. A part of me died with her. The biggest part of me.
My mind is so blank that I don’t have the wherewithal to pray for death to find me. My body moves, mechanically. I feed myself, drink water, shower, brush my teeth. I’m no invalid. No burden to anyone. But I am not all here.
When I had to talk, when I was taken into custody, I could only get select words to come out of my mouth, “I’m guilty.” Those were the two words that had me locked up.
It’s not true, but I don’t want to be free. I don’t want to go back home to our house. The house where we raised four kids. Not that Jake or Becca were done being raised. Becca was only fifteen when she was left by us. Jake was eighteen. He has graduated from high school now, I’m sure. He’ll be okay. I know Grant will make sure everyone is okay. And Jenny is the second oldest, she’ll help him. I have faith in our children.
Daphne and I have us some gorgeous kids. She was the best mother in the world. I tried to be the father she expected me to be. For the most part, I was. I didn’t stumble until she died.
Who am I kidding, stumble?
I fell flat on my face.
And have stayed here, flat on my face, living inside the prison walls in silence. Most of the time, I lay in my bunk and get lost in old memories. Like the fight we had when five years had passed, and we still hadn’t had even one pregnancy.
Daphne was feeling bad about herself. I don’t know why that made me mad, but it did. My wife was perfect. Why did she have to be so damn hard on herself about anything?
That morning is as clear in my head as if it’s actually happening. That happens a lot to me now.
I was getting ready to go to work. I’d gotten a job as a police officer in Portland, Oregon. Dressed in my uniform, I came down the stairs of the large home we’d bought. Five bedrooms, and we planned to one day fill them all. Even if we had to adopt.
Daphne wasn’t doing her usual thing of humming away as she made breakfast. Instead, she was sitting at the kitchen table, steaming cup of coffee in her hands and looking blankly at the wall.
“Mornin’ baby doll.” I pecked the top of her head and went to make my own cup of coffee and get me some of the scrambled eggs I saw on the stove.
“I’ll get that,” she mumbled but didn’t move.
It didn’t take a psychologist to know there was something on her mind and it must’ve weighed a ton. “Don’t you dare get up. I can get my own coffee and spoon some eggs onto a plate.”
“There’s toast in the oven, Jack. Get yourself some toast too.” She didn’t look at me, she just kept staring a hole in the wall. “I hate yellow. Did you know that, Jack? I hate yellow, and this kitchen is nothing but yellow. I hate the color of the stove, the fridge, the counter tops, and I hate the color of these walls.”
Grabbing some toast and putting it on the plate I’d already filled with eggs, I went to the table and set it down. “That’s interesting, Daphne. We’ve lived here three years, and that was the color of the kitchen then. Funny you didn’t mention that a while back.”
“I was being nice.” Her eyes moved from the wall to me. “I hate yellow, Jack. What can you do about that?”
Getting my coffee off the yellow countertop that I thought still looked to be in great shape, I had no idea what I could do about what she hated. “Well, let’s see. I have that Sears card that we’ve never used. Maybe we could buy us a new fridge and stove. How about that nice avocado green that’s all the rage now? We’ll be on the cutting edge of kitchen fashion.” I kissed the top of her head again before I sat down.
She looked at me with wide eyes. “Jack, that will never be enough. And I don’t think I like green. I was thinking white. I want everything white. Clean, pure, white. Even the living room. I want white furniture and carpeting. All of it, a pristine white. I like that idea.”
“Honey, white is a great color or lack of color, should I say. But what about how easily it gets dirty. Won’t that make your job of keeping the house a lot harder?” I sipped my coffee and watched her face morph from no expression to a sour one.
“What do you care how hard my job of keeping house is?” she snapped at me.
“Watch how you speak to me,” I cautioned her.
“I’ll talk to you any fucking way I want to, Jack Jamison. Who the fuck are you to tell me how to speak?”
“Your husband. A man you will respect the same way I respect you. Now, stop the yelling and cursing. I won’t put up with that, and you know it.”
Her eyes went to the table as the cup shook in her hands. “I’ll shut up.”
Daphne was no bitch. Her lousy mood had to have come from something. I wasn’t sure if it was her time of the month or what, but she wasn’t herself. My wife was a pleasure to be around. She was fun, spontaneous, and above all, she was nice. She worried about people’s feelings all the time. So her little outburst might’ve seemed like something a woman might say, but not mine.
The anger I felt subsided quickly, and I knew I had to be patient and loving with her. “Baby, I care about how hard things are for you. I always have.” I got up and went to her. Taking her coffee cup out of her hands, I placed it on the table and picked her up in my arms. Resting my forehead against hers, I sighed, “I love you.”
Her arms moved around my neck, and she sighed too, “I love you too, Jack. I’m just in a foul mood.”
Without agreeing with her, because any man who agrees with his wife about any bad mood she’s in is a moron, I took her up the stairs to our bedroom and placed her on our bed.
She smiled up at me as I did a little strip tease for her, ridding myself of the bulky police uniform, but keeping the handcuffs. “You have the right to remain silent.”
Pink filled her cheeks as she moved up the bed. She only had on a housecoat, and I unzipped it and pulled it off her. She was looking at me with wide eyes as I took her hands and cuffed them then pulled her arms up and hooked the cuffs on the bedpost. “Jack!”
“Silent, remember?” I asked her then moved my hands all over her beautiful naked body. She trembled with my touch.
Five years we’d been together, and still, my wife trembled each time I touched her, intimately. And she still stirred things so deep inside of me, it hurt sometimes. We were one, the two of us. We knew it, too. And appreciated each other, most of the time. We were humans, things could get to us. But like any great couple, when one of us was feeling down, the other would do their best to perk them up.
So I was perking my wife up. Making her forget about the idea of making our home into a museum of sterile white walls and furnishings. Making her think only about me, and how good I could make her feel.
I’d never used the cuffs on her before, but some of the guys down at the station, talked openly about how their women liked it when they used them. They said it added spice and Daphne seemed like she needed some kind of a change, why not a sexy one instead of one that would cost me lots of money and time?
Her skin was creamy and smooth, her hips had gained curves as she’d grown up. The way her heavy breasts heaved with each breath she took was mesmerizing. I took one of the delicious mounds into my mouth and the other in my hand, massaging it and making her moan.
Licking her nipple until it was erect, I sucked on it, gently and moved my body over hers, grinding my dick against her without inserting it. Her pussy was warm, and as inviting as it was, I wanted to make my woman scream with desire.
Giving her nipple a quick nip, making her squeal, I moved down, kissing my way to a place I loved to make out with. Her pussy lips were every bit as sweet as the ones on her face.
I met her cunt with one long lick then pointed my tongue and searched her folds for a moment before I kissed them. Her legs encircled me as she arched up. “Baby…”
The way her heels pressed into my back made my cock ache to be inside of her. But I wasn’t going to give in to what it wanted until the love of my life was fully satisfied.
I’d be late for my shift, but I’d come home to a happy wife. If my boss didn’t understand that, then fuck him.
I kissed, licked, and bit her cunt until she was shaking, then I sucked her engorged clit until she came and wailed like a banshee while she did it. Thrusting my tongue into her, I tasted her sweet essence. Then I moved up her body and kissed her.
She was ravenous for me. Our tongues entwined as I pushed my fat cock into her throbbing canal. We both moaned with how wonderful it felt to be connected. She was like my socket, and I was her lightbulb. We lit each other up.
With her arms bound, it was different. She’d usually run her hands all over me. I realized that it took away from the sensation of my dick in her pussy. With her hands not on me, I felt more with my cock. It was odd, but a great odd.
I moved in different rhythms, adjusting my speed and my thrusts just to feel the difference inside of her. She was wet and hot like she always was when we made love, but I could feel that more intensely.
My cock was shaking, I swear it was. I could feel so much, and it seemed like she was feeling it too. Without her hands moving around, taking some of our attention away from our connection, the one that counted, we were both feeling more than we ever had before.
Pounding my dick into her, I went crazy with lust. I moved my body up so I could see my cock going into her pussy and it sent waves of desire through me. My arms began to shake as something inside of me began to crest. “Fuck, baby. I’m about to blow!”
“Yes!” she screamed. “Jack, yes!”
Before I ejaculated, an orgasm moved through her. I felt it from the start to the finish. Her stomach went tight, her vagina squeezed my dick, and I sent a burst of cum into her. Her orgasm milked me, and we both made hellacious sounds as our bodies seemed to be on their own agenda.
Spent, I fell on top of her, and we tried to catch our breath. I couldn’t help but chuckle as she said, “Jack, you have to use your cuffs on me more often.”
Chapter 8
Grant
White tents have been erected to keep the rain off the inmates and their visitors in the outdoor area where the outside meets with the inside. My father hasn’t come to me yet, even though I’ve been signed in for thirty minutes. Time is running out, and I’m sure he knows that.
Obviously, he doesn’t want to face me. The last time we laid eyes on each other was when I drove him and Mom to the airport to leave on their trip to Africa. A place Mom always wanted to go but never had. They seemed happy that day. There wasn’t one reason in the world for me to suspect that Dad was going to kill the woman he seemed to love more than life itself in the matter of a few days.
Mom had kissed me goodbye and given me a hug. Dad had shaken my hand and told me to take care of my younger brother and sisters while they were away. I assured them I would and told them to have a nice time.
A couple of years has passed since that fateful day. I know Dad might have a hard time seeing me. But he has to get over that sometime, this might as well be the time. I’m tired of waiting to find out why he killed my mother.
As I sit here at this picnic table, I have nothing else to do but think. I’m thinking about the club a few of my male friends and I have in the works.
We have talked in great detail about what we want. With money put into an account just for the club we’re planning, we’ve purchased a piece of land just outside the Portland city limits.
Nothing is currently on it. It’s a flat piece of land, and we all decided that building underground will be the best thing to do. What we’re making is going to be on the taboo side of life, for most people.
The more it’s hidden, the easier it will be to have it without the interference of people who hold moral beliefs that what we’re doing is sinister. We’ve all been studying up on the history of BDSM to get ready.
Once only the gay community had clubs that catered to their specific kinks and needs. We want a club where heterosexuals can also engage in activities most don’t want to do at home.
Your normal couple does not want to have to explain the one room in the house that’s filled with things that most people consider to be torture devices. Whips, chains, and ropes hanging on the walls, and bondage equipment filling the room, could be a red flag to those moral pe
ople who think anyone who is into this sort of thing must be insane. Or morally bankrupt.
I’m neither, nor are the men who sought to partner with me to build us a playhouse of sorts. One where men and women will come willingly to participate in things that need to stay hidden from polite society.
Lately, I’ve been reading things and making rules our members will have to abide by. So far, I’ve found the list to be getting longer with each article I read. But we’ll make sure our club was safe, sane, and consensual.
I’ve been watching an old man and his family talk while I’ve been waiting. They are an animated bunch, using their hands to say nearly every word. I think they must be a blast to sit and listen to. They all laugh a lot, including the inmate.
It’s funny to me how they can be so joyful when one of their own is trapped behind these tall fences with razor wire topping them. From the moment I drove up to the prison, I felt the heaviness in the air here. No one wants to be here, they’re forced. How can anyone be happy when inside this fence?
My attention is drawn away from the happy group as someone catches my peripheral vision. An orange color moves and sits on the other side of the table. Turning my head, slowly, my eyes land on my father.
For the first time in a little over two years, I am looking into the glassy, pale blue eyes of my father. “You look terrible.”
He doesn’t say a word back to me. He looks right into my eyes, but he says nothing. The guard who has brought him does say something, though, “He doesn’t speak.”
I look at the guard as I nod. “I can see that.” Then I look back at the man who should be happy to see me. “How’s he getting along here?”
“No one bothers him,” the guard answers me. “He keeps to himself.”
“Do you know if he needs anything?” I ask, even though I have no intention of making his stay at the prison any better. He deserves to sit alone and sad for what he’s done to our family.
Nobody's Girl: A Billionaire Romance Novel Page 28