by Olivia Chase
Hale and I agree with Butch that Jamison is out.
No one speaks for a few minutes. I imagine Jamison’s on all our minds. We heard he got married. Indirectly, of course.
I tell myself that I don’t care about it. But truth is, I’m hurt. Deeply.
My oldest brother, the one I depended on my whole life, found a woman and forgot about us. Not that I’d admit it out loud, but growing up, I admired the hell out of him—strong, trustworthy, solid. Jamo never let any of us down. Until he met Claire.
Then, fuck us, because she mattered more. Jamison moved out and ditched us, and that was that.
No fucking way will I ever do that to my brothers.
I pick up my plate, scrape off the excess into the garbage disposal, then drop my plate in the sink. Crack open a fresh beer and go plop down on the couch. My mood has soured with my thoughts.
Because I can tell myself all I want that I’ll never fall for a girl. That I’ll never change so much as to become unrecognizable to my family. I’ll never be like Jamison.
I can tell myself that all I want.
But deep down, I know something is changing in me, because of Autumn. Two fucking days, but she’s already wormed herself below my skin. I can’t stop thinking about her. Wanting to make her smile again. Poking her a bit to aggravate her, just to see her sputter and yell.
And yet…I’m not worthy of her.
I want her, I crave her, but we’re so wrong for each other. Autumn is the very definition of a good girl, someone who should never have to be around people like me or my brothers. I’ll just sully her.
She may have gotten a little excited dumping her soda on Jax’s head, but that was nothing. How would she be if she saw the way my brothers and I enforce safety in our neighborhood? The skulls we’ve had to crack from time to time?
She wouldn’t find that so hot. Wouldn’t be so turned on then.
I take a look around the house. A real, honest look at how we’re living. The wall paint hasn’t been freshened up in years. There are water stains on the ceiling where we had some leaks during heavy rains. The furniture is worn and hasn’t been replaced since before my father was arrested.
If Autumn saw my place, she’d high-tail her princess ass out of here.
My brothers and I try our best to maintain shit around the house, but we’re not exactly handymen. Things are falling apart. I need to make a list of the repairs we need to do. Divvy them out among me and my brothers. When Dad gets out of the joint, he’s not going to want to see everything all fucked up.
A warm flush covers my face and throat. I’m not ashamed of how we live. I refuse to be. We’ve done the best we could—hell, we were barely teens when Dad got thrown in prison. We’ve practically raised ourselves into adulthood. I won’t let some uppity middle-class chick make me feel bad.
As soon as I think that, I shift on the couch, uncomfortable. Okay, she hasn’t done anything to make me feel bad…other than the look of surprise on her face when she dropped me off. I could tell she didn’t expect us to live in such a poor neighborhood.
Then she challenged me for assuming I knew what she was thinking.
Then she let me eat her out on her living room floor. And she sucked me dry.
Is it any wonder I can’t stop thinking about her? She’s turned me upside down. Just when I think I know her, she goes and does something unexpected. Something that draws me closer.
On an impulse, I take out my phone and open the text app. Princess, hope you’re not blowing work off daydreaming about me. I laugh and send the text. Then I tell myself to stop fucking thinking about her.
So, I don’t think about her as I go back to bed…and stroke myself, come exploding all over my stomach, before I clean myself off and fall back asleep for a few hours.
And I don’t think about her as I check my phone every hour or so, despite knowing she’s teaching and can’t text me back.
I make it through the rest of the day by just leaving my phone on my bedside table. Fuck this—I’m not going to let one woman consume me like this.
I’m not going to be like Jamison.
I have lunch, then dinner with my brothers, and we laugh and have more beer. We watch some stupid comedy movie, chortling at the slapstick humor. At eleven PM, I leave them and go back up to my room. Fuck it, I’m going to sleep.
I’m lying in bed, turning side to side and punching my pillow for better comfort, when I hear my phone buzz. My heart gives this sick little lurch of excitement. Fuck.
I glance over at the screen, and I see I missed two messages from her, and this is her third.
Somehow, I managed to keep myself from quitting work and stalking you all day. ;-)
How are you? My throat hurts from speaking so much, and I don’t want to talk to anyone under four feet tall for the rest of the day. Thank God tmrw is Friday.
Sorry, am I bugging you? Have a good night.
I pick up my phone and fire back, Not bugging me. I’m lying in bed. Bored as hell.
I can see the dots indicating she’s typing back. Then I see her message. No wild movie escapades? No men to punch out tonight? How very droll. No wonder you’re bored.
I can’t help but laugh. My earlier emotions are gone now, replaced with a lightness I can’t deny. Punching people just isn’t the same without you, I write. You’re basically my sidekick now.
Are you the hero or the villain?
Does it matter?
There’s a pause as she types, then stops for a long minute.
To keep the good mood going, I add, What are you wearing? Tell me it’s something sexy.
Of course it is. I’m always in my lingerie and heels, just waiting for someone to ask me what I have on. Thank God—it’s getting chilly out.
She’s joking. But now I’m imagining her wearing scant fabric that barely covers those delicious hard nipples, the V of her pussy. And I’m thinking about the way I smelled her for hours after I left her side…
Tell me what you thought about last night, I write.
There’s a long pause. Then, sporadic typing. I admit…I was nervous. I’m…well, I’m not very experienced. LOL. Thx for not making me feel dumb.
I can’t help it. I dial her number. She picks up on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“I’d never make you feel dumb for sharing your body with me,” I say bluntly. My dick is already starting to get hard, and I reach down and cup its length. “In fact, I’m thinking about it right now. Are you?”
Her voice is breathless. “Yes.”
“Go lie down in your bed,” I order her. I’m not sure where this is going, but I need some sort of closeness to her, even if just by hearing her voice.
“Why?”
I snort. “Don’t ask why. Just do it. Hustle, woman.”
She huffs, but I hear a rustling as she’s moving. “Fine. I’m in bed now. This is all very exciting.”
“Reach your hand down into your panties. Touch that pussy for me.”
Her inhale is sharp, and it spikes my blood pressure. God, I want to be there right now. It’s delicious torture to listen to her getting turned on but not being there to participate. At least this is a close second.
“Are you wet?” I ask.
“Yes,” she breathes.
“Push those fingers deep inside your pussy. Get yourself nice and wet for me. Then rub your soaked fingers over your nipples, okay?”
“That’s so dirty,” she says, but then there’s a long moan and a gasp. “I…”
“Yes, baby, touch yourself for me.” My dick is pulsing with my hunger. I squeeze my base tight, aching to jerk myself hard, to come. But I’m going to wait for her.
“You make me feel wicked,” she admits in a soft voice.
“You love it,” I counter.
“Yes.” The admission is simple, but it makes me a little heady with victory. I don’t know why it matters. Why I want her to admit her arousal for me. But I need it. Crave it. “I’m touching
myself too.”
“I really liked…” She clears her throat.
“Go on, princess,” I urge.
“I liked tasting you. It was sexy.”
“I’m imagining your mouth on me right now,” I say, closing my eyes, remembering her small, sweet rosebud mouth sucking the head of my cock. “And when you get me all nice and wet, I’d make you straddle me and then I’d thrust inside you. Feel that pussy nice and tight around me.” Oh fuck, just the image of it, the way she’d sound, how her small fingers would grab at my chest, her breasts bouncing as she rode me…
Fuck, I’m getting close.
“Zack,” she breathes. “I’m touching myself.”
“Rub that clit for me, but don’t come yet,” I demand. “Do not come until I tell you that you can.”
“Okay.” Her breathy response pleases me.
I pump my dick harder as my balls tighten and my muscles clench. I imagine her lifting off me, then shifting until my dick is positioned right under her ass. Then she grips her cheeks, spreads them wide open, and slowly lowers herself so I’m fucking her asshole… “Fuck,” I groan. “I’m close. I want you to come, Autumn. Give me that orgasm right now.”
“I…” She’s gasping, and there’s a long pause, then a soft cry as she falls over the edge, and then I’m there too, my cock gushing come all over my belly, thick streams spurting endlessly.
My entire body feels like it’s orgasming. My hands are clenching my phone so tightly that I’m afraid I’m going to snap it in two. My heels are dug into the mattress.
This woman is doing something to me. Something I can’t seem to control. Something I can’t seem to stop…even if I wanted to. I’m struggling to maintain my direction, my sense of self, even as I’m drawn to her in a way I’ve never felt before.
I hear her breathing begin to slow down as she falls to earth.
“Autumn, you there?”
Her sleepy murmur makes me smile. “Oh God, yes, I’m just sinking into the bed now.”
I laugh. “Same.”
“I’m glad you called,” she says. “I like hearing your voice.”
The genuineness in her statement, simple words, tightens my throat. I can’t speak for a moment. I’ve never had someone just appreciate me—not for what I do for them, but how I make them feel. It’s heady. It’s intoxicating.
“I’m glad I called too, princess,” I finally say back. “I’ll let you go to sleep. Have a good Friday. We still on for Saturday?”
“Absolutely. Can’t wait to see what you have planned for our next date. Should I wear all black and bring grappling hooks?”
“Definitely, because I’m going to have you climbing the walls by the time I’m done with you.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“It’s not a lie, princess. Count on it.”
We say goodnight and hang up. I like how she busts my balls. How she sees me and doesn’t shy away. How she takes straightforward pleasures and appreciates things around her. Her attitude is compelling. It just makes me want to be around her more. See what she sees. Feel what she feels.
I may not want to admit it, but she’s changing me. It’s going to be hard as hell to keep myself from going too far to turn back.
Autumn
I’m having trouble paying attention at my job on Friday.
This morning, for school, I dress in my most prim-and-proper outfit, a navy shirt that buttons all the way up my throat and a pair of black plain slacks. But deep down inside, I know it doesn’t make me feel any less dirty of a girl.
Last night’s phone sex with Zack was incredible.
Hearing his arousal, the way he coaxed me to come for him…is it any wonder I’m drawn to the man?
Despite running late at first, I manage to get to school a minute before the bell rings. My students all fly around the room to get to their seats.
“Good morning,” I say in as cheery a tone as I can muster. I don’t need to let anyone here see my inner angst over what is starting to feel like a split personality. “It’s Friday. Everyone ready for the weekend?”
I get a couple of hands raised.
“Yes, Nolan?” I say with a smile.
“We’re going to ride horses tomorrow,” he states proudly.
Several kids gasp in surprise and jealousy, and a few say they want to go as well.
“Okay, everyone calm down,” I say, raising my hands. “Let’s focus on our bell work. The chalkboard shows what you should be reading. The paper is inside your desk.” I like to start my class off with a reading assignment that we then discuss for analysis. It’s unorthodox, but it gets them engaged, interactive, and sets the tone for the rest of the day.
Leo, one of my students, gets out of his seat and starts walking around, peering out the windows. Ah, there’s a surprise. He’s my difficult child in class. His parents haven’t requested an IEP, which is an individualized program for special-needs students, perhaps because they don’t want to single him out. And since I’m the sole teacher in here, I don’t have anyone to help me with him, so I’m trying to figure out ways to engage him and keep him focused.
“Leo,” I say, waving him toward my desk. “I have a special assignment for you.”
That draws his interest. A few students shoot their heads up to look at what’s going on, but I shake my head at them to continue reading.
Leo shoves his pitch-black hair away from his eyes. “Yes, Miss Douglas?”
“I want you to read the story and then write down the underlined words on the chalkboard for me. You’re going to be my helper today, okay?”
He beams. I’ve discovered Leo likes feeling special. Likes feeling useful. I’m not qualified to diagnose him, but I really want to get him in to see our school psychologist and get ideas on how I can further help him.
He goes to his chair and grabs the story, then starts to read. After a minute, he rolls his eyes and throws the paper down. “This is boring.” He begins to stomp around the play area of the room, and a few students start to titter at his actions.
I bite back a sigh. “Leo, please have a seat.”
He ignores me.
I watch him grab at the toys and get an idea. I go over to Leo and whisper in his ear my idea. “But you have to read the whole story,” I stress after telling him my plan. “Otherwise, you can’t do it.”
He practically takes off, grabbing the paper and reading it. Then he picks out his characters.
“Okay, students,” I say. “We have a special treat today. Everyone come around to the mat. Leo’s going to act out our story using these characters.”
“I wanna help!” Molly, a little brunette who always wants to be involved in everything, cries out.
I scramble to figure out what she can do, and I assign her and a couple of other students roles in the production. Then I nod at Leo. “Take it away!”
It’s surprising how well he remembers it. Clearly the boy gets bored just having to read. But letting him act it all out?
That seems to help.
When he starts sing-songing a couple of lines from the story at the top of his lungs, I laugh but gently ask him to keep it down.
The students seem to love it, though. They start making up their own songs, and they’re just as loud.
“Okay, class. I have an idea. Everyone go back to your seats and let’s write something about this story. I want you to use at least three of the underlined words from the story. You can do a poem or a song, or you can draw a picture and describe it for us.” Might as well go with it, since they’re clearly in a creative mood.
The first half of the day passes, and thankfully, the kids are enough of a distraction that I don’t think too much about Zack until lunch, when they pour out of the room and head to the cafeteria.
I find Harper, and we settle down at our usual table in the caf. She’s already there, eating her salad. I give her a smile and sit across from her, thankful we have lunch aides who keep an eye on the kids for lunch and recess.
>
“How’s your day going?” Harper asks. She grimaces. “Have I told you how much I hate salad?”
I laugh. “Then why do you eat it every day?”
“Because if I eat greens for lunch, I can drink more wine at dinner. Duh.” She rolls her eyes and chuckles. “It’s science.”
“I like the way you science,” I say, picking at the corner of my sandwich. “So, how did your date go? You met a guy for coffee last night, right?”
She groans and grabs a dinner roll she brought with her, slathering it with butter and taking a massive bite. “Oh God, he was the worst. I’m pretty sure he has a split personality.”
I can’t help but bark a laugh, drawing the attention of a few students and a couple of other teachers, who give me the side eye. I subdue myself. “Why is that?”
“He kept talking about himself in third person. Who the hell does that? I mean, really?” She sighs and stabs a lettuce leaf. “I’m destined to die alone.”
“Yes, you’re so ancient,” I tease. She’s only a couple of years older than me, not even twenty-five. “Better start your cat collection now.”
“Very funny,” she says. Her face gets serious. “So, when are you going to see your dad again?” Harper knows the situation with my birth parents. She’s actually the one who encouraged me to reach out to them, despite my adoptive parents’ hesitation. For closure, if nothing else.
I bite my lip and feel a flush work its way over my face. Thinking about my birth father makes me think about the prison…which makes me think about Zack.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“I get it if you don’t want to talk about it,” she says softly.
“No, it’s not that. I’m just not thinking about it right now. I’ve got other things on my mind,” I admit, blushing furiously.
She leans forward, her eyes widening. “What? What? You have to tell me, dammit. Otherwise I’ll have nothing to distract me from this boring old salad.”
“Actually, I…I kinda went on a date last night,” I admit.
Her gasp is so loud that I’m certain the principal is going to march over and tell us to can it.