Bare Yourself (Consumed: Book Two)

by Alex Grayson

  Chapter Seven

  Tegan

  I stand back and look at the intricate design I just finished on the cradle someone commissioned. It’s a piece I’ve been working on for a while. On the outside edges surrounding the top are woven swirls that mimic a rope. The outside wall has the letters KT carved into the wood. On the other side are the words You are my sunshine. On the front is a carved sun and the back is a rattle. Once I’m done, it’ll sit on a stand that’ll allow it to be rocked, and to finish it off it’ll be stained dark. It’s not a piece you normally see for babies anymore—nowadays they have pretty white bassinets and cribs—but I like it. I like that the parents took the time and effort to have someone build something special for their baby.

  I yank the rag from my back pocket and wipe my hands, done for the day. Tomorrow I’ll take it apart, stain it, then put it back together for the parents. They’re due to pick it up the day after. I’m looking forward to seeing their faces when they see it. That’s the thing I love most about my job: seeing the pleased faces of my clients when they first see their visions come to life.

  I lock up my workshop and head to the house. A look at the clock says I still have five hours before I’m supposed to pick up Willow. As soon as the thought enters my mind, my dick starts to twitch. The girl is all I’ve thought about the last two days, which means my dick has been in a constant hard state. I’ve jacked off so many times since the last time I saw her, I swear my dick is raw. I need back inside her like I need my next breath. Her pussy is addicting. I’m not an exclusive type of guy, I like my variety, but the thought of fucking another random girl doesn’t even stir my dick in the slightest.

  Fifteen minutes later, I step out of the shower, freshly cleaned and my dick beat into submission. For the time being, anyway. I grab a pair of jeans and a gray Henley from the closet and slip them on. My hair gets a finger comb, because I’m a guy and that’s just the way we do it.

  A fluff of gray skids by me in a flash in the hallway, and I almost step on it.

  “Hey, cat!” I yell, and dart after the fur ball. “Come here, you little bitch!” By the time I run into the living room, she, he, it, or whatever in the hell it is, is gone.

  A few weeks ago, I came home to a scrawny gray cat on my stoop. I felt bad for it because it didn’t look like it had eaten for a while, so I went inside and brought back an open can of tuna. Later that evening, when I went out to grab something from my truck, the damn cat ran inside. I hunted high and low, but never found it. It’s been hiding from me ever since. I’ll see flashes of it occasionally, but it always runs off when I try to catch it. I put food out for her every night, so it doesn’t starve, and a little box, praying like hell it doesn’t shit and piss everywhere. Hopefully it’ll eventually feel safe enough to be social.

  Hearing my phone ring from the kitchen, I leave the fur ball to its hiding place. Grabbing it off the counter, I grit my teeth at the number on the screen.

  “Hello?” I don’t even try to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

  “Mr. Zander?”

  “Yes,” I grind out.

  “Mr. Zander, this is Dr. Withers. I’m calling about your mother. I tried catching you yesterday before you left, but I was held up with a patient.”

  I twist my head from side to side, hearing the popping of my bones. My hand grips the phone tight. Anytime that woman is brought up, my anger spikes. I’m normally a very laid-back guy, always happy and joking around. My mother is the only one that can spark the darkness inside me.

  “What did you need to talk to me about?”

  I try my best to keep myself calm and reasonable and not bite the doctor’s head off. It’s not her fault. This lies solely on the bitch’s shoulders.

  “Her health is declining faster than we anticipated,” the doctor says. “Her organs are shutting down at a rapid pace. I know you’ve been coming to see her once a week, but I wanted to let you know that you may need to up the visits if you want to be there when she passes.”

  Her words send several emotions slamming into me. I lean back against the counter and pull in deep breaths. Anger for the childhood I ended up with because of her. Bitterness because the bitch has obviously garnered the sympathy of her doctors and nurses when she doesn’t deserve it. Sadness for the mother I knew for such a short time and prayed every night after she changed would come back.

  I hear a noise across the room and glance up to find my dad standing in the doorway. Now is not a good time for him to be here. The anger he feels for my mom is still very much alive. I don’t blame him. After the condition he found me in, and then learning what my mother did to me for years, I’m surprised he didn’t kill her. Looking back, I think the only thing that kept him from doing just that was the cops he brought along with him when he found out where we were.

  I need to cut this conversation short as quickly as possible.

  “I’ll talk to you on my next visit,” I tell the doctor, turning my back on my dad.

  “Mr. Zander, you don’t understand. She may not survive for that—”

  I cut her off, my voice harsh. “I don’t give a shit. I’ll be there next Monday.”

  I hang up before she has a chance to say anything else. I don’t turn back to my dad, but I hear him enter the room and the scrape of a chair as he sits at the table. I look out the window as one squirrel chases after another up a tree.

  “That was about her, wasn’t it?” he says, not caring to hide the anger in his voice. The emotion sounds foreign. I get my carefree nature from him.

  “Yes.” I grip the edge of the counter and count to ten, trying to push back my own anger.

  I turn and face him.

  “She dead yet?” His question isn’t asked with sympathy or remorse or grief. If anything, it’s asked with anticipation. He knows about her condition only because I felt he had a right to know, even if he really doesn’t care.

  “No, but they say it’ll be soon.”

  He tries to hide it, but I can see the relief in his eyes. I’m not ashamed to admit that I feel the same sense of relief that it’s almost over. As much as I wanted a loving and caring mother when I was little, that ship sailed a long time ago.

  I grab a couple beers from the fridge and hand him one before kicking out a chair and taking a seat across from him. I see my dad at least once a week. It’s normally me going to his house, but not because he doesn’t like to come to mine. I just happen to always go to his.

  He leans back in his chair and crosses his ankles. I can visibly see him wiping his mind of all thoughts of his ex-wife, and I sigh in relief.

  “I’ve got a commission for you.”

  I pop the top from my beer and take a swig. “Whatcha got?”

  “It’s a replica of coffee table. All I’ve got is a picture to go on.”

  He hands over a printout picture of an antique table with several designs carved on the top. The design is very detailed and will take time and patience to get just right. There’s a door on the front that looks like it opens to a cubby space.

  “Can you do it?”

  I glance up and raise my brow. He chuckles. “Yeah, shouldn’t have asked that.”

  Looking back down at the picture, I ask, “Who is this for?”

  When he doesn’t say anything, I bring my eyes back to him and see his cheeks are fucking pink. I try so damn hard to hold back my laugh—I don’t think I’ve ever see him blush before—but it manages to slip free.

  “You hush it,” he grumbles.

  I rein in my chuckles.

  “Is it serious?” In all the years since the shit went down with my mom, my dad’s never had a serious relationship. I thought being burned by her ruined him, but maybe I was wrong. It’s about fucking time he got back on the playing field.

  “Yeah” is all he says.

  “Where did you meet her?”

  He shifts in his seat uncomfortably, sitting up and putting his elbows on the table, then leaning back and crossing his arms. It’s
so strange to see him so off-balance. He’s always been so strong and sure of himself. He’s fifty-seven, and other than the silver that’s streaked throughout his hair, still looks younger than his age.

  “Remember the nurse in the hospital when I had the stroke last year?”

  “You mean the one that kept stealing the hamburgers you insisted I bring you? The same one you refused to let give you a bed bath?”

  “Yes, that one,” he mutters grumpily. “Her name’s Samantha. She was at the grocery a couple of months ago. Her buggy ran away when she turned her back to load something in the trunk. It hit my car. She freaked out and apologized profusely. I told her to make it up to me, she had to let me take her out to lunch.”

  “You sly dog.” I laugh. “Wait. She’s likes thirtysomething, isn’t she?”

  I think back to the nurse he’s talking about and remember thinking how much fun she’d be in bed. She was very sweet, but seemed straitlaced. Made me hard thinking about mussing up her perfect appearance. I remember even asking her out, and getting turned down flat. I also remember her being close to my age.

  “Thirty-three,” he says unashamedly.

  “That smart? Going after someone that much your junior?”

  He looks up at me, his gaze unwavering when he says simply, “I love her.” He nods down at the picture lying on the table. “That was her mother’s piece, her grandmother’s before that, and her great-grandmother’s before that. It burned in a house fire when she was seventeen. It meant a lot to her. She said it was her favorite hiding spot when she and her cousins played hide-and-seek. It won’t be the same because it won’t be the original, but I still want to give it to her.”

  I nod. This woman means a lot to him. In the grand scheme of things, age doesn’t matter. It’s what’s in the heart that does. And this girl obviously has his heart. As long as he’s happy, then so am I.

  “Okay. It’s going to take me a while. There’s a lot of detail here to replicate. Do you know the type of wood it was made out of?”

  “Red oak.”

  “Give me a few weeks, and I’ll get it made for you.” I take a chug of my beer, then set it down on the table. “In the meantime, I wanna officially meet this woman of yours.”

  He laughs. “You’ve already met her.”

  “Yeah, but it was under shitty circumstances. I want to meet her as your woman.”

  “Why don’t you come over in a couple weeks and we’ll have dinner together?” he suggests.

  “Sounds good. Anything I can bring?”

  “Nope. Just yourself.” He shoots me a look out the corner of his eye. “Unless you got yourself a girl you want to bring along.”

  I chuckle. “We’ll see.”

  I keep my mouth shut when his eyes question me. I’m not even sure if I’ll want to see Willow after tonight, let alone in a couple of weeks.

  We shoot the shit for several more moments, before he finishes off his beer and tosses the bottle in the trash.

  “That coffee table is a surprise, so don’t go ruining it for me by mentioning it.”

  “Got it.

  “I’m off. Thanks for the beer and for taking on the job.”

  “Hey, Dad,” I call. He stops in the doorway and turns back around. “You should probably know something. I asked Samantha out when she was your nurse.”

  He grins. “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “Yep. She remembered exactly who both of us were, because you flirted with her and asked her out, but it was your old dad she wished was the one flirting and asking her out.”

  With that, he gives a loud laugh and walks out the door.

  Damn, I think with a laugh, shaking my head. It’s a sad day when your fifty-seven-year-old dad gets chosen over you by a beautiful young girl.

  Later that evening, I rap my knuckles against Willow’s door, my dick already hard at the prospect of seeing her again, even after another jack-off in the shower. When a minute later she pulls open the door, I’m about to step forward and plant a kiss on her lips, but I look down and see she’s holding the same baby as she had at the diner. My dick dies a slow death, but I have to admit, Willow looks cute cuddling the baby girl. She looks like a natural with her bundled in her arms.

  Somehow she manages to hold the baby in one hand and uses the other to grab mine to drag me in the house.

  “Here. Hold her a minute.”

  She doesn’t wait for my reply before she’s handing the baby over to me and taking off out of the room. I’ve never held a baby before, so I’m sure I look awkward and stiff as shit standing there as she walks away. I look down at the cute face and see blue eyes staring up at me. I’m not scared of babies, but they are intimidating as hell with their fragile little bodies.

  “You’re a cutie,” I tell her.

  She obviously doesn’t respond and just keeps staring at me. I start swaying my hips, because that’s what I’ve seen mothers do before and figure it’s a good idea to do now. Her little face starts turning red, and I’m scared something’s wrong with her. I’m just about to yell for Willow, when I feel a vibration on my arm and a second later, smell something foul.

  “Whoa,” I mutter. “Whoooa,” I say again when the stench gets worse. “You really know how to let it rip, don’t you?” I wrinkle my nose and try to shallow my breathing. “I’d have never thought a cutie like you was capable of something so harsh.”

  A giggle catches my attention, and I look up to see Willow standing in the doorway, her hand over her mouth trying to contain her laughter. Her eyes look beautiful as they shine in the light in the room. I didn’t get a chance to look at her a few minutes ago before she took off. She’s in a dark blue dress with spaghetti straps. The bodice forms a V and shows off a generous amount of cleavage. It ends just above her knees. Her heels have straps crisscrossing over the top of her feet.

  She’s fucking gorgeous and my dick springs back to life again. That is, until another whiff of shit hits my poor nose. My dick wants nothing to do with that and the tingles that started at seeing Willow wither away.

  “Laugh all you want, but you’re the one that’s changing her.” I look around the room. “Where’s Minnie? Did something come up and you have baby duty tonight?”

  She steps further in the room and scoops the baby from my arms. “Nope. She’ll be here any minute. Logan’s session ran a few minutes late.”

  “Session?”

  “Studio time,” she clarifies, taking the baby over to the couch and placing a plastic mat down on the cushion, before laying the baby down on top of it. She pulls out a diaper, a box of wipes, and a container of powder.

  “What’s her name?” I ask, keeping my distance. I’m sure once that diaper comes off, the smell is going to get ten times worse, and I’ve had enough of that shit. Literally.

  “Luna.”

  “Interesting name,” I remark, sitting down on the cream-colored sofa.

  “Yeah. It was Logan’s idea. But”—she leans down and smiles at Luna, putting her face entirely too close to the source of the awful smell—“it totally fits her, doesn’t it, Luna girl?”

  I sit on my perch and watch with fascination as she changes Luna’s diaper without any trouble at all. She looks like she’s done this before many times. She smiles and talks to the baby in what can only be described as baby talk.

  “You’re a natural at that,” I remark, once Luna has a fresh diaper and she’s back in Willow’s arms.

  She comes to sit beside me on the couch. I lean back and throw an arm along the back behind her shoulders.

  “I babysat when I was younger to earn extra money. The Starlings down the street had a baby I watched a lot.”

  She lays Luna down on her thighs and starts cycling the chubby little legs like she’s riding a bike. Luna’s hand goes to her mouth and she sticks half of it inside. I smile as I watch Willow play with her.

  A few minutes later, there’s a noise out in the hall, then a shouted, “I’m here, I’m here! I’
m sorry I’m late!” Minnie rushes into the room, out of breath.

  “No worries. We were just sitting and chilling,” Willow says, standing and handing Luna over to her mother.

  I get up just as Logan walks in the room.

  “Thanks for watching her for us,” Logan tells Willow.

  “Yes. Thank you, Willow. I miss going to Logan’s sessions.”

  “Anytime. You both know that.” Willow bends down and places a kiss to Luna’s forehead. “You know I love spending time with Luna.”

  “Okay. You both shoo,” Minnie says, waving toward the door.

  Willow laughs, but grabs my hand and walks me out of the room, tossing over her shoulder, “Don’t wait up for me.”

  We walk out to the truck, and I open her door. Before helping her inside, I have my chest pressed against hers and my hands on her ass.

  “Did you do what I told you to do?” I murmur against her ear.

  She moans and lets out a breathy, “Yes.”

  “You know I gotta check.”

  My hand creeps under her dress and she wiggles her hips. “They might see us.”

  I pull back and arch a brow. That’s a stupid statement if I ever heard one. She should know better. I fucking love for people to watch.

  She laughs, then her cheeks turn pink. “She’s my friend. And that’s her husband. I see them both every day. Them seeing my goods is not something I want.”

  I can respect that, but it still doesn’t stop me from feeling if she’s wearing panties or not. I just adjust my body so it hides her from any view of the windows.

  When my fingers meet her bare ass cheeks, I slide them down between her legs until they touch her soft pussy lips. Lips that are soaked with her arousal.

  “Fuck me,” I groan. “You’re already so damn soaked.”

  I push a finger inside and her warm walls grip me. I want to yank up her dress and fuck her senseless, right here out in the open, where any neighbor can walk by and see. Instead I grind my dick against her once, then twice, before I pull my fingers from her and bring them to my lips, sucking her flavor from them, and watching her watch me do it. Her eyes flare wide with desire, and that leaves me very satisfied.