by Amy Faye
"Testify to what?"
"To her hard-working and friendly demeanor."
"I'm not sure I understand the question."
"She's gotten involved in some legal trouble, and—"
"I'm not sure about that. I don't really want to get involved with the courts."
"Very understandable, ma'am. But there's really nothing to worry about, it's all very—"
"I said I wasn't interested, miss. Thank you for your understanding."
That wasn't unexpected. As much as I wanted it not to happen, it wasn't unexpected. My rule still stood up.
I scratched Connie's name off the list. We had a dozen, split between us. And they were going about as well as I'd expected them to, sadly. There was, at least so far, no big trick to getting people into the seat. They could be subpoenaed, of course, if we had to. But that wasn't a good look for someone who is supposed to come in and tell everyone how they'd stake their reputation on the person being a real upstanding citizen.
I set the phone down a minute, rubbed a finger against my temple. Across the table, Eric set his own phone down. He didn't look like he'd had any more success than I had.
"No luck?"
I thought it sounded like a stupid question. One that got on my nerves, frankly, because he could no doubt see that I hadn't had any.
"I've still got two more to go, though."
"Yeah. Same here. You want to take a break?"
"No." I would like nothing more than to take a break.
"Come on. We're going to stop and get something to eat."
"No, I need to make these calls."
"You're exhausted. I can see it in your eyes."
"Shut up, I'm just—"
"Just exhausted. Come on. We're going to go eat."
He wraps an arm around me. I can't help myself. I press into his body, feeling the strength of his muscles as they hold me close. The tiredness seems to seep out of me as his hand wraps around my shoulder.
"Come on," he repeats again, and starts moving for the door. He doesn't pull me, but his arm starts moving and if I don't fight him, I'll be going with it. I don't fight it.
We step out into the lobby. Shannon's gone for the evening. She's got a singularly focused attention to getting out of the office on-time. I don't know whether to like or hate it.
"Where are you taking me this time?"
"Home," he says. I can't tell if he's being serious or not, which might eat at me if I didn't have a throbbing headache. "I've got a couple of steaks as thick as your wrist."
I lean into him. I'm too tired to do anything else. And besides that… I have to admit. Steak sounds delicious.
The other mischief I could get up to in that man's house, well…
I'm just teasing myself now. It's not going to happen, not now and not ever. But if it could, if it did…
I cut the thought off. It's not going to, and it can't, and that's just how it is. No use indulging fantasies. I tell myself that, now.
But I'm not convinced, and my mind's already wandering towards the gutter as I slide into the car beside him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The fact that she was my kid sister hadn't entered into it since the first week. There were lines that people drew, and I suppose that maybe most people drew them thicker than he did, but as it turned out, the line between "attractive woman" and "woman I'd like to sleep with" wasn't as thin as the one between "once-upon-a-time step-sister" and "every other woman."
There wasn't going to be any legal trouble to stop them. He knew that much. It wasn't something he'd looked into so deeply, but the sort of trouble that people run into when they've got so much money that they don't know what the word 'no' means can run into the wild.
Which is to say, can you fuck your step-daughter? Sure. More or less. You shouldn't, probably, but if you're both consenting adults, it's a story you don't want in the paper, rather than a story you don't want the cops finding out about, because a good lawyer will get you off.
An ex-sister should be totally fine. No legal problems, no consanguinity problems, nothing like that. She seems to think that it'll be a problem, for me. It's obviously not a problem for her, or she wouldn't have thought about it in the first place.
But when she thought I didn't know, it was all's fair in love and war. Now that she's told me, she thinks that something has changed. It hasn't.
I sit back from the table and sip the glass of water I poured for myself. Some part of me would like the crisp, sharp bite of something harder. But I don't want to ruin anything for myself, and I don't want to get started without her.
She's eating slower than I am. Small bites, very polite. Very feminine. I can't fault her for it, but even after I've eaten my fill, I'm still hungry for something else. Something more.
And I've got it right here, ready for the taking. But everything has to go in order.
"You've got nothing to worry about," I tell her. I've told her that a half-dozen times or more, but I don't feel as if it's stuck yet. "She'll be fine. We're just making triple-sure that there's not going to be any surprises."
She swallows the food she's been chewing and wipes away her mouth. "Yeah, I know."
"But you're still worried."
"Of course I'm worried. You—well, maybe you do know. She's… Well, she can put up a front for a little while. For twelve people, for however long? I don't know."
"Then we're just going to have to make sure that it ends quickly. You might get on the phone with the DA's office and see if you can't get out of it entirely. See what they're willing to offer."
It's good advice. There's no reason ever to not ask for someone to cut you a break. What's the worst that can happen?
"You're right," she agrees. She doesn't seem quite like she's over it.
Or, at least, it would be good advice, if I hadn't already done it. If I hadn't already dropped hints that maybe there's something here, and if the office digs a little, they might find something.
"Of course I'm right."
She takes the last bite in her mouth and pushes the plate away.
"Thank you for dinner, it was lovely."
"You want to stay a while? You need to relax a little."
I can see the mental calculus going on in her head. Am I being friendly? Or am I being coy? Or am I just coming right out and saying what I want?
I like it. I like watching her try to stop the shudder that runs down her spine. I'm just acting brotherly, right? She's the one who was seriously considering sleeping with her older brother. I was just getting close to an attractive young woman, until she told me the truth.
It may have entered her mind that I knew the whole time, but she isn't convinced that it's the case. She thinks that she's had me fooled all this time, and I'm far too amused to correct her.
"I shouldn't," she finally says. "I—"
"Don't tell me you shouldn't. Tell me you want to."
Her eyebrows press together, and her face drops to her lap. "Say I did, then what would happen?"
"Only what you wanted to happen."
"I don't know what I want," she says. I don't know if she's telling me the truth, or if she's lying to herself, too.
"Then I'll show you." I push myself up, and within two steps I'm close to her. Her breath catches as I stand her up. Closer still. Her nose is only inches from mine. And then I pull her in close and take what I've wanted for months now.
Chapter Twenty-Three
He has that same sweet, woody scent that I first noticed on him, just powerful enough to smell it as his lips find mine, as his arms wrap around me, and what little bit of resistance I had left in my body drifts away.
I melt into his embrace, his arms the only thing keeping me from settling into a mess on the floor. His beard scratches my smooth skin, an irritation that reminds me of the masculinity that drew me to him in the first place.
I know that it's not a legal issue, any more. Nobody can judge me for it, either. I waited, I tried to let the attracti
on drop. And I thought I had succeeded. So I thought. Then I met him again and all the feelings came back again.
He pushes me back with his chest, his arms stopping me from falling, and together we walk, bodies still pressed together, into the other room. Until I hit the arm of the couch and he pushes one last time.
My body hits the leather seat and forces all the air out of my lungs. By the time I know what's going on again, he's above me, suspended over me, but I can almost feel the weight that he keeps safely held over me.
My breath comes in sharp gasps. I shouldn't want him the way that i do, but I can't stop myself. His other hand finds my breast, inside my jacket. Even through the fabric of my blouse and my bra, I can't stop myself shuddering at his touch. Imagining it.
He grins wolfishly. He knows I want this as bad as he does. Maybe more. And he's going to give me what I want, in spite of what I should want.
I press myself up into him. Wanting, needing. He pinches, and my nipple reacts, tightening and puckering before he's even touched his flesh against my skin.
"What do you want me to do," he says. His voice is rough.
"Whatever you want," I tell him, my breath still ragged in my chest.
Fingers wrap around my wrist, strong and insistent but not demanding. Firm, but not rough. And he guides my hand to his hardness. It makes an outline against the fine fabric of his trousers, but nothing prepares me for the feeling of my fingers as they wrap a little way around it, as much as I can through the clothing.
It's big. I don't have a long list of dicks I've seen, but this one is big by any comparison point I can make. Part of me wonders how it's going to fit inside me. I already know the answer, though. Deliciously.
"Take it out," he says softly. My hands go to work undoing his belt, unzipping the fly on his trousers. The clothing is well-made and comes undone easily. His hardness springs out at me automatically, as soon as it's freed from the clothing.
My hands find the hem of his boxers next, and pull them down until he's loose of them as well, his manhood standing straight and proud. It looks bigger than it felt, and it felt large. A shiver runs down my spine. I've always liked a challenge, but this is entirely different from anything I've ever had to combat before.
My hand wraps around it. The flesh is soft, and yet it's only a thin layer of softness over something that feels impossibly hard. My mind is racing at a million miles an hour, and I can't stop myself from giving it an experimental tug.
The soft flesh along his length moves with my hand, and his breathing gets a little louder, a little more ragged, just for an instant before Eric can get control of himself again. I move more smoothly this time, a little slower.
His eyes drift shut as my hand falls into a rhythm, massaging his shaft and watching the expressions on his face. How his mood shifts when I do it faster, or when I focus more on the head.
His hand reaches down and stills mine. "Your mouth, too," he says.
As simple as that, and then he lets me continue. My pace, with instruction.
I sit up. I don't know how much I'll be able to fit in my mouth, but I don't feel as if he wants to hear my excuses, or my rationale, or my worrying. Something deep down inside me suspects that has nothing to do with what he wants.
My tongue comes out for an experimental lick along the shaft, one that meets with his vocal approval. A little shiver runs through me. I did alright so far.
He fills my mouth when I take him between my lips. I'm a little bit disappointed in myself when I can only take the first couple of inches. I move my head though, doing what I can. I can already feel my jaw loosening up, can already feel the gag reflex slowly dissipating.
He can feel it, too. The way that his fingers dig into my hair, the way that he can't quite still his hips from moving to meet my mouth.
I move faster, my fingers wrapping around him where my mouth can't reach. I don't know what kind of a slut I must look like. Probably a big one. Even still, I'm not going to stop. Can't stop.
His hips are moving, now, a thrust meeting me every time I bob my head forward. I can't suppress the choking sound it pulls out. And I can tell that he's getting close. I don't know how close until he growls out 'fuck' and misses a thrust.
His fingers tighten in my hair and his cock thrusts deep into my throat, as deep as it can go, and he holds me there, his cock spasming as he shoots cum straight down my throat and into my belly.
Part of me wants to be annoyed that I didn't get a warning. Another part, a much bigger part, wants him between my legs yesterday.
Chapter Twenty-Four
She looks up at me with such fire in her eyes that I'm amazed that she doesn't tackle me right there. I've got to get control of her before she goes nuts. I can't help but crack a smile. That's exactly what I'd hoped for.
I drop my hips and drive a hand into her chest, pressing her back against the sofa. She presses back, trying to claim dominance from me, but my teeth find her neck and bite down, hard, and she can't fight the pleasure that ripples through her. Her body arches a little into my mouth.
Her shirt pulls up and over her head easily, and by the time it hits the ground I've already forgotten about it. Her legs spread easily around my hips and her ankles lock on the other side. I force myself back. I've got other plans, and she's just going to have to wait.
I can see her trying to follow me with her hips, trying to force things into the position she wants, but I'm not going to allow it. My hand presses her down again, and she lets it, though not without letting out a little groan of disappointment.
I make quick work of the button holding her skirt together, pull the clasp free, and then it comes down her hips. It joins her shirt somewhere in the room. Somewhere that doesn't matter, because my fingers are nearly where I want them.
Her mound fits into my palm and my fingers find the sensitive nub at the top of her entrance, teasing and toying and never quite touching, and she's moving under me with a need that I can already feel starting to grow in myself.
And then finally I give her what she wants—my fingers pull aside her panties and press gently inside. My thumb finds her clit, and her hips press into it, her body taking what it wants before she can even tell it to.
I let my fingers probe deeper, moving faster. Harder. Rougher. And she lets me. She wants it, I know, and I've got every intention of giving it to her.
When I finally let my fingers slip free, she lets out a groan of frustration until I move to replace them with my hardness.
I take her deeply, with a single thrust that pushes me in all the way to the hilt, and then she can't stop her voice from letting loose.
"God, you're tight," I growl.
"Shut up and fuck me." Her voice is thick with need, and I do, pinching a stiff nipple and pulling it roughly as I use my other hand to pull myself into her harder, faster, more. Her ankles lock around my waist, her legs pulling me in, urging me faster and deeper and harder, and I've got every intention of giving her exactly what she's asking for.
Both hands sit on her hips, pulling her up to me, using her like a toy. I can feel something building inside me. Need. And then I feel her legs tighten around my waist, her walls tightening down around my hard cock.
She shudders, and I thrust into her again, teetering on the edge, and finally feel myself tipping over it. An electric shock runs through my body as the orgasm rips through, until finally it subsides and I'm left gasping for air above a perfect goddess.
"Fuck," she purrs. "I needed that."
And I have to admit, I did too.1
Chapter Twenty-Five
She's my mother, and I shouldn't be angry with her. Even if I have to be the adult here, I should be able to do that. No problem. But some part of me wants what it wants, regardless of what I should be thinking.
I thought, on some level, that it would go away when I gave myself something else I wanted. Like a compromise. Well, you can't just tell her to sit and spin, Autumn, but you can have the night of your dreams.
Like offering a child a cookie if they finish their chores first, or something.
As it turns out, dark desires don't act anything like children trying to get out of chores. You can't just bribe yourself with something else that makes it all alright. Give yourself an inch, and a mile seems that much more possible.
Mom knew better when she stole that stupid dress. It was just another in a long line of things she had done, knowing they were stupid, knowing they'd get her into trouble, and not caring.
No, that was too charitable. She cared. She wanted to get into trouble. She thought, I guess, that it would mean that I'd have to pay attention to her again.
I turn over in bed. Eric lays beside me, his toned body laid out smooth and flat across the surface of the bed, the slow, even, shallow breath of sleep. I smile looking at him and try to let it distract me.
But I don't know if I have it in me. I don't know if I can even manage that much any more. The thoughts come again, and this time I don't know if I can shut them off.
When does it end? When do I get to be myself again? When does my time come, when I can think about myself? When I finally can stop thinking about her first?
When can I stop living her life for her, and start working on my own? I thought that I'd be able to do it now. I thought, I'd be in my own place, I'd have a job, I'd be working towards a career. I'd be set.
But it couldn't last. It never lasts. She always needs someone to come along and tell her that it's all going to be okay, that she's fine. That it doesn't matter that she screwed up, that she knew she was screwing up when she did it. She wants to act like she's five years old, and that it's okay that she acts like she's five. That nobody is mad at her about it.
Well, I am mad. And I don't know what to do now.
Because I can't let her go to jail, not if I want to look myself in the mirror tomorrow, and next month, and next year. I can't just let her down like that, even if it's exactly what she's done to me all these years.