by Michelle Day
“But, I want to stay.” She turned on the little girl lost look that had him every time.
Dammit, she gave him the look. “How bad do you want to stay?” He asked.
“So bad.” She lowered her voice, made it husky as she leant over him. “That I’ll do anything you ask.”
“Anything huh?” He reached for his belt and began to unfasten it, her hands covered his and completed the job by dealing with his button and fly too. He reached in to his boxers and freed his stiffening in anticipation cock. “Blow me.” He demanded. She gave the worst blow job in the world but he wanted it because he knew she hated it.
There was nothing he hated more than having to guide a woman on how to blow him. He just wanted to lay back and enjoy it not issue instructions. She sucked and not in a good way. He eventually just told her to keep still and fucked up into her mouth. She finally managed an adequate suck with him taking over the motion. He pushed deep as he came, too deep, he hit her throat hard, she gagged then vomited his offering as well as her earlier meal, over his stomach.
Pushing her away and jumping to his feet, he could feel the bile rising as saliva filled his mouth and he began to heave. He made the semi naked dash to the bathroom before his dinner re-appeared then he had to deal with getting his vomit covered t-shirt off over his head. He couldn’t face the thought of tiny chunks of half digested food clinging to his hair so he rummaged in the bathroom cabinet and found a pair of nail scissors. He cut the neck band of the shirt then ripped it down its length.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, he went back to his bedroom after detouring via the kitchen to fetch a bin bag. Dropping his ruined t-shirt into the bag, he proceeded to strip his bed and add the linens into the bag. After a quick sniff of his duvet, he deemed it fit for further use and pulled out fresh linens telling Eve she had better make the bed as she was the one who made the mess.
Tying a knot in the top of the bin bag, he took it first to the back of the flat before remembering that the dustbin had been put outside the front of the flat in preparation of emptying the following morning. Dressed just in his towel, he stepped outside and began the battle of pushing the bins contents down enough to allow his bag to fit in and the lid to close. One pinched behind, a wolf whistle, a phone number and a bow to thank the passersby for their attention, he made it back into the flat and to the bathroom to shower off the residual smell of vomit.
Chapter Twenty Seven
The physical side of his work gave him no end of pleasure. After the initial two days or so of aching and tending the blisters on his softened palms, he got back in to the swing of hefting sods of earth and planting trees, laying flower beds. He made sure the site was clean and secure each night when he left and made his evening phone call to his son before showering and eating.
His skin was beginning to take on the healthy glow of someone who worked outside, he was beginning to sleep well again and time was positively flying by. He took the odd day off now and then to make a flying visit to Gloucester but lately Carmen had been less than welcoming and in fact was beginning to put obstacles in his path when he had a free day.
If he had the time, he’d mull over what the problem was but as every hour of his day was filled, he only gave it scant attention. The upside however, whenever he did go to see his son, the angry almost violent sex he had with Carmen provided him with everything sex with Eve lacked.
After the disastrous blow job incident, he’d denied her requests to try again but he set about pushing her limits, telling her she had the option of leaving each time she baulked. Either she was enjoying, albeit under protest, the new things he taught her or she was one hell of a good actress. He was getting a mild thrill from the way her body betrayed her.
Carmen announced on his last visit that she would be happy for him to have Gavin for the occasional weekend and maybe even the odd week during school holidays. Perfect, just when he was at his busiest. He asked about taking the boy with him to Spain as he was planning a trip there when it was Phil’s turn to take on the day to day running of the new project.
He was surprised when Carmen agreed and he handed over the money to get a passport set up for the boy. He noticed Helen looking between the two boys as he spoke of the things he could do with Gavin while on holiday and realised that Luke would be missing out.
“Helen, if you are agreeable, I’d like to take Luke too. It would be a shame to separate them for the sake of a holiday.”
“Won’t two boys be a little much to cope with alone?” Helen asked, toying with the idea of letting her little boy out of her sight for two whole weeks.
“Mum and Tessa are coming with me; I’ll have plenty of help.” He answered. “You know I’ll care for him as if he were mine.”
Helen nodded; he’d already proven that statement many times. “I think he would like that a lot.”
Delving in his wallet and pulling out another wad of notes, he told the two women to get the boys passports and anything they needed for a holiday and not to worry about the cost.
Paul relented and allowed Eve to meet his son and Luke when they arrived in preparation of their holiday. He watched the interaction between the boys and his girlfriend and came quickly to the conclusion that she was not the maternal type at all. While she talked easily with the more outgoing and vivacious Luke, she struggled to communicate with Gavin’s natural wariness and reserve.
Eve decided that Paul’s son was a brat very quickly. He would stand and stare at her but turn away when she spoke to him. His friend Luke was an entirely different matter. He was warm and chatty and asked an awful lot of questions.
When John came home with Monica in tow, Luke wondered off to see what his surrogate grandmother was doing in the kitchen and Gavin wriggled himself between Paul and Eve as they sat side by side on the sofa. He turned into his father’s side and snuggled, fidgeting until Paul pulled him onto his lap and cuddled him.
She was touched by the interaction between father and son but quickly became irked by it, as it was clear that even at such a young age, the move was a calculated one on behalf of the child in order to monopolise his fathers’ attention.
Paul barely noticed when she said she was leaving. He didn’t offer to take her home and practically ignored her while she waited for the car to arrive. He pecked her cheek as she reached the door; he didn’t put his son down or hand him off to his mother as he told her he’d see her in a few weeks. She was not happy. Not at all. This would be a topic for discussion when he returned from his break.
Out of sight was out of mind as far as Paul was concerned. Once Eve left, he forgot about her and immersed himself in his son and Luke, playing games, watching cartoons and finally, winding down with baths and a story before bed time.
Monica shooed him out of his Uncle’s flat the following morning. She had taken charge of packing much to Paul’s relief and insisted he take the boys out from under her feet while she completed it. Telling him to return for lunch, she flitted about picking up the pile of freshly ironed clothes as he readied the boys for an outing to the playground.
Having done his duty of pushing both boys on the swing and making the roundabout go faster, he took a seat on a bench as they headed for the slide. It wasn’t high and both boys were sure footed but he kept an eagle eye on them as they climbed the four steps to the top and squealed with delight on the slide down and repeated the procedure. He glanced away as a woman began to tear strips off her child for getting dirty and was thinking aren’t kids supposed to have fun and get dirty when he heard the thud.
The silence that followed was deathly but only lasted seconds. Paul was on his feet and almost by his son’s side when he started to scream. The unnatural angle of Gavin’s arm was a dead giveaway that it was broken. Uttering soothing words, he scooped the boy into his arms and told Luke to hold on to him as they crossed the road to his car.
It seemed to take forever to drive the short distance to the hospital. Gavin had stopped screaming and was snivel
ling quietly as Paul carried him through the doors and to the reception desk. He protested having to fill in the forms but at a stern look from the matronly woman behind the glass, he set Gavin down and hastily filled out the required parts. They were ushered immediately to triage where he was told that Gavin would need an x-ray before seeing a doctor. A further form in his hand, Paul, Gavin and Luke followed the orange lines on the floor to the x-ray department.
Yet another woman behind yet another window took the form and told him to take a seat. Following the lines had distracted Gavin from his injury but he was beginning to become agitated as they waited their turn. Sitting Gavin one side of him and Luke the other, Paul found a popup book, way below Luke’s reading age and probably below Gavin’s as Carmen reminded him on every available occasion that his son was exceptionally bright.
Making different voices for the characters and humming dramatically as he turned the page had both boys giggling and the old lady sitting in her wheelchair opposite them joined in the laughter as she watched the two boys delight at the story coming to life.
With the book finished and both boys now re-reading it as they sat on the floor by his feet, Paul glanced at his watch. He should call his mother, it was already way past lunchtime and he knew she would be alternatively worried and annoyed.
“Your boys are beautiful.” The old lady spoke up, pulling him from his thoughts.
Paul smiled, “Thank you.” He answered. He wasn’t about to point out that Luke wasn’t his. For whatever reason, he had felt responsible for the boy ever since first meeting him. Even though he himself wasn’t much of a father figure, he was at least there for both boys which is more than could be said for Luke’s natural father.
“What’s the problem, if you don’t mind me asking?” The old lady persisted.
Stroking Gavin’s hair, Paul answered “He fell off the slide; we think his arm is broken.”
“Pesky things those slides! I tripped over my granddaughters roller skates, broke my hip.”
Paul frowned, they had been here for twenty minutes already and the old dear had been here when they arrived. “Have you been waiting long?” He asked. “You must be in pain.”
“Oh don’t you worry about me, this is just a follow up visit. I’m well on my way to mending. They’ll get to me when they have time.” No sooner had the words left her lips than a nurse came and checked her details before wheeling her away. On passing Paul she assured him that someone would be out to see to his son very shortly.
Three hours and two bowls of ice cream later, Paul arrived home with Luke and Gavin, the latter complete with dark blue plaster cast and sling.
Hearing the door and the chatter of the boys Monica called out from the kitchen “I told you to be home for lunch, where on earth have you been?” She stopped in the doorway when she saw Gavin’s cast. “What happened?” She asked as she crouched and pulled her grandson into her arms, smothering the boy as he tried in vain to get away.
“He fell off the slide and broke his arm.” Paul stated.
“Where were you when this happened? Not chatting up some bimbo I hope.” She accused.
“I swear to God, I literally blinked and it happened. I got him straight to hospital and we stopped for ice cream on the way home because he was so brave and Luke was brilliant at keeping him distracted. Sorry about lunch Mum.”
“Don’t you worry about that. It was ruined hours ago. I suppose this puts the kybosh on the holiday?”
Paul shook his head. “I asked about that, they said it will be fine just not to let the cast get wet.”
“Oh, good. You had better call Carmen and let her know what’s happened.”
“Are you kidding me? If I tell her now, she’ll get down here at lightning speed and take him home. No, I’ll tell her when we get home. This is my opportunity to spend some uninterrupted time with my son Mum; I’m not letting that slip out of my grasp just because he broke his arm.”
Paul found that having to amuse two young boys dissipated his fear of flying quite a bit although he still made his customary dash to the tiny bathroom to void his breakfast once take off was complete.
Given that neither boy had spent any length of time away from their respective mothers and had also never been on an airplane, they were remarkably well behaved, a relief to all on board. Confined space. Screaming child. Not good.
The two boys were exhausted and hungry by the time they reached the villa. Paul set about opening it up to the sunlight, removing shutters and opening windows while trying to work out where the musty smell was coming from. In the meantime, Tessa changed both boys into their pyjamas while Monica whipped up something quick to eat with the supplies they had brought with them.
Over the days that followed, Monica watched her son slowly unwind. The tension left his shoulders as he fully immersed himself in his time with the two little boys. There were constant peals of laughter as he would perform some trick or let them bury him in the sand.
Gavin seemed completely unaffected by his broken arm and showed little signs of missing his mother which was pleasing for all concerned. Monica had even devised a way of wrapping Gavin’s arm to allow him to go swimming.
It warmed her heart to hear Paul teaching Spanish to the boys and by the end of the first week they had firmly grasped the basics meaning she could ask them simple questions in her native language.
It took two days for Paul to start to get restless in the evenings. As he was accustomed to staying up late while working at the club, sitting around and chewing the fat with his sister and mother was driving him slowly insane and so, on the second evening, once the boys were sound asleep, he asked Monica if she would mind if he disappeared for a few hours.
He loved stepping out of the cool evening air into the heat and noise of a night club. This particular one being his old haunt on previous holidays. He knew it well and was remembered by a few of the locals. His colouring meant he could blend well with his Spanish compadres but the fact that he was relatively new to some of them meant he was quite literally mobbed within minutes.
Having never been particularly shy, Paul danced it up with some stunning ladies and downed far more than his fair share of alcohol. He did ponder, hours later as he staggered back to the villa, if he would have fucked that girl in the alley at the side of the club had he remained sober and by the time he’d managed to get his key in the lock, he had come to the conclusion that he absolutely would have done the exact same thing had he been sober.
He was quite literally dragged from sleep the following morning by a loud metallic screech and the sound of a diesel engine beneath his window. Sitting up, his alcohol induced headache hitting him full force, he slid his legs over the edge of the bed and stumbled towards the window.
“Wow, I really did drink too much last night.” He mumbled to himself and squinted against the sunlight as he opened the muslin curtains. Leaning on the window sill, taking a deep breath of the sea air, he glanced out to the beach where he could see his sister entertaining the boys with sand castles. Looking down, he saw the cause of the horrible noise that had woken him. A large flat bed truck, stuffed to the gills with tools and building equipment. “Shit.” He groaned, turning from the window, he went to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face before boogying the stale alcohol taste from his mouth with the aid of a healthy amount of toothpaste and vigorous brushing.
Dragging a t-shirt over his head and his fingers through his hair as he jogged down the stairs, he came face to face with his Mother and the burly, obtusely hairy, local builder he had employed to sort out the damp problem he had discovered in the basement of the villa. Employed then promptly forgotten about. Whoops.
Apologising to his Mother in English for his slip up, he switched easily to Spanish and guided the builder outside, explaining the problem as he unlocked the basement doors. Striding into the relative coolness of the basement and over to the dampness that he had discovered, he was pleased when the builder uncovered further small
er areas of it and left him to sort it out.
Stepping back outside into the sun, he decided to ignore his grumbling empty stomach and took just the one step towards the beach when a voice stopped him. Turning slowly and shielding his eyes from the sun, his heart skipped a beat when he clapped eyes on the girl he’d been balls deep in only a few hours before.
She skirted the truck and glanced into the basement before coming to stand in front of him. He grasped her arm and pulled her over to the relative seclusion of the garden at the maids villa as he demanded to know what she was doing there all the while racking his brains trying to remember if he’d told her his location or indeed made any promises to meet up with her again.
His relief must have been evident when she explained that she was only there to hand tools to her father in the absence of his regular helper and she would only be there for a few days. Her concept of personal space was somewhat lacking, not that he minded, she smelled lovely and he began wondering if his mother would notice if he borrowed the keys to the maids villa for a few hours.
Monica caught sight of her son as she went to join Tessa and the boys on the beach. It was hard to miss the bright yellow t-shirt he was wearing but she was curious as to why he would be in the garden of the smaller villa. She quietly moved closer and almost wished she hadn’t upon hearing the conversation between him and the girl who had accompanied the builder.
She didn’t say anything all morning; in fact she had a lovely time with her family and laughed more than she could remember in a long time. Conversation was kept light while they ate lunch but as the boys drifted inside to stay out of the heat of the day and watch cartoons, she turned to her son who was still covering freshly baked bread with a thick layer of butter.
“You seem to be acquainted with the builder’s daughter I see.” Never one to beat around the bush, she delved right in.