by Freya Barker
With only sponge baths and two piddly showers to my name since landing in the hospital, I’m eager to try out the spray of the dual shower-head; one spray and one adjustable high pressure. I strip out of my boxers and am about to step in to the stall when the door swings open on me. Beth stands in the opening, her mouth hanging open.
“Jesus! Sorry...so sorry,” she mutters, slowly backing out, but not before she gives me a good once-over, which immediately results in a very distinct physical reaction. On my part—or maybe I should say of my part. My cock is happier than I am to see her. I’m tempted to make a smartass remark, but for once I check my mouth, knowing that what usually comes out in her presence goes down the wrong way. I simply stare back at her and wait until her eyes make their way back to mine. It takes a while. Long enough for my brain to lose its hold on my mouth.
“Gonna join me or just stand there and watch me?”
Beth’s eyes shoot up. If looks could kill, I’d be a sorry puddle on the floor. Without a word she walks out, failing to shut the door, but when I go to close it behind her, it swings open again and there she is: a couple of towels in her hands and a stern look on her face.
“Don’t need you to go slipping all over the floor, just cause you forgot to bring towels. Typical...” She trails off, never finishing the thought, but before she stalks out again, she turns at the last minute, a hint of amusement on her lips.
“You may wanna keep that thing covered.” She waves in the general direction of my dick, which seems to enjoy all the attention and perks up even further. “It looks dangerous.”
Just like that, she’s gone again.
Oh, sugar, you have no idea.
-
When I make my way to the kitchen after my first, christening experience under the new shower, where I finally sank on the floor after jerking myself to a release of impressive proportions for the first time since forever, I find Beth fussing over some pots on the stove. I like it, and I don’t like that I like it. I had worked hard on getting her from under my skin, where she didn’t seem to wanna be, and now suddenly she’s everywhere I look. It’s hard not to appreciate the hourglass shape of her body and the lure of her Gypsy-like looks. Dark brown eyes like melted chocolate, wavy chestnut hair, which I realize I’d never seen flow free, and lips that would turn a priest into a sinner: full, wet and a deep red. Immediately my imagination took me under her clothes, wondering if her nipples would be the same deeply flushed color. Or her pussy lips...Jesus. With a firm shake of my head, I snap myself out of it, at the same time causing another dizzy spell that has me grabbing the edge of the counter for stability.
“You okay?” she asks, eyeing me with concern written on her face.
“Yeah,” I can’t help but chuckle at myself. “Just gotta remember not to make any sudden movements, it sends the world spinning.”
“Sit your ass down then, I’ve got some jambalaya on the go. Figured you’d be sick by now of the bland hospital fare, and what better way to wake up your taste buds than some good Cajun spices? Nothing like jumping in the deep end, right?” she says, turning around and filling a bowl. It’s now I register the fragrant smell of spice that’s been teasing my nostrils. My stomach immediately roars to life. When she sets the bowl in front of me on the counter, I have the first spoonful shoveled in my mouth before she can even turn away.
-
-
“Slow down, Big Guy, before you give yourself a stomach ache.”
I fill a bowl for myself and sit down beside him at the counter, eating at a much slower pace and trying to ignore the proximity of his thickly muscled thigh. The same thigh that only half an hour earlier had been on bold display, along with its twin and the heavy ball sack that hung in the shadow of what may well be the most impressive bit of man flesh I’d seen in memory. The man is a fucking Viking god, all dark russet body hair with just a sprinkling of grey mixed in. Thick solid muscle covering his legs and chest, without being overly cut. His newly shorn bald head has a surprisingly nice shape and the thick scruff on his jaw a stark contrast. He can pillage and plunder me any day of the week. I have to smother a snicker at the thought and quickly stuff another bite in my mouth. I must’ve made a noise anyway, because Clint turns his head to me and tilts it to one side.
“Something on your mind?”
“Nope,” I lie, fighting off the telltale blush that I can feel crawling up my neck.
“Mmmmm,” he half growls, not helping matters down south for me.
Heel, woman.
“So,” I attempt to divert attention, “did you rest okay?” A grunt is my only answer, but I plough on. “Did you get a chance to talk to Kendra?”
Kendra is the physical therapist, who is going to work with Naomi Waters at the new clinic in town.
“Yeah, when I went to lay down. She’s coming by tomorrow for an assessment. Says since we’ll start gently. We can do it here until the clinic opens this coming weekend.”
Right. I’d forgotten about that; the entire town was invited for the ‘open house.’ Emma had mentioned it when she came to visit the hospital last week.
“Almost slipped my mind, that. We should go.”
He looks at me with some reservation.
“You want to go to the opening?”
“Well, yeah? And you’re coming,” I add sounding more courageous than I feel.
A small twitch of his lips shows he’s probably on to me.
“I am?” he challenges before leaning in, his face only inches from mine. “You’re kinda bossy. Could get interesting, since I like to be the one in control, but I might make an exception.”
Holy fucking Batman. There went my panties. In a desperate attempt to ignore the bright red flush on my face, the hard peaks of my nipples, and the flood in my undies, I try to bluff my way out of the danger zone. Those words teased the deepest of my fantasies that had never seen the light of day.
“Hardly a challenge now, Big Guy. You’re weaker than a newborn calf.” I had to go and say something and just like that, the flirting tease disappears from his eyes and his mouth draws a grim line before he turns back to his bowl.
-
The rest of dinner takes place in utter and extremely uncomfortable silence. Clint eats two bowls; his stomach is apparently made of steel since he doesn’t seem to be bothered by the heat I added to the jambalaya. My own, on the other hand, is throwing up signals of distress. Well, shit.
I’d realized earlier when I’d needed a pit stop—one now that I think of it, I still haven’t taken—that neither of the bathrooms in the small house provided much privacy; one attached to the master bedroom and the other too close to the living area for comfort. Yet another thing I hadn’t considered when forcing my care on Clint. Ugh.
“Coffee?” I ask, sliding off my stool and grabbing the empty bowls to put in the sink.
“Probably keep me up all night,” he confesses, looking rather sheepishly.
“Bought decaf. I have the same problem but still like my coffee after a meal.”
“In that case, all right. I’ll have one.”
“Why don’t you go sit in the living room, I’ll bring it to you.”
He has to hold himself up by the counter again, when he slightly stumbles getting off the stool, but I don’t intervene. This is a man who self-admittedly likes to be in control. It can’t be easy, like Gus said, to be struck quite helpless.
Suddenly it dawns on me why he shut down after that tantalizing come on. It was right after I told him he wasn’t a challenge cause he’s weak. I’m an idiot. Just kicked the guy in the balls when he was already down. Nice move.
-
“Extra sheets in the linen closet.” Clint points out as he heads for his bedroom.
We’ve just watched the first two episodes of “Sons of Anarchy;” a series everyone raves about but neither one of us has seen yet, when he announces he’s ‘wiped’ and needs to hit the sack.
“I already grabbed some. Spare bed is made. No wor
ries.”
Still he lingers in the doorway a little awkwardly.
“Look, Beth, you don’t need to do this. I mean, I really appreciate it and all, but I don’t want you to be put out. I’ll manage.”
Trying hard not to feel it as rejection, I take a minute to filter my thoughts.
“I know I don’t need to. That’s not why I’m here. Actually, I’m not sure why I’m here, just like I wasn’t sure what I was doing at the hospital. All I know is I have to do this for me. Let me?”
Opening myself up like that causes a sliver of anxiety to snake up my spine, but now that I’ve made the decision to show myself, I’m not going to back down. Not even the long steady glare I’m subjected to is going to change my mind. It may shake it a little, but not change it. After what feels like along time, but was likely no more than a few seconds, Clint nods once and disappears into the hallway.
I slump back down in the couch that we’d been sharing just moments before. Holy crap.
Ten minutes later, when I hear a soft but steady snore coming from the room at the end of the hall, I slip into the bathroom and finally find relief from the constant gurgling and popping of my belly all night. I better start watching what I eat if I’m going to survive staying here without embarrassing myself thoroughly.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Hello?”
It’s still dark outside when I open my eyes after the shrill ring of my cell phone wakes me. In a scramble to find the damn thing on the floor beside the bed, I knock over the lamp that sits on the floor with a loud crash. Dammit. So much for trying not to wake Clint. A goddamn nightstand would’ve come in handy.
“Ma? Where the hell are you?”
“Dylan? What’s wrong? It’s five o’clock in the morning.” I point out after a quick glance on my phone screen.
“I’m at your house. I need a favor.”
“I’m sorry—you’re where?”
“At your house, Ma. And you’re not here.” He’s starting to sound irritated, which only pisses me off more.
“Nope, I’m not. What the heck, Dylan? What is it you need? What’s going on?” I can hear the panicky edge in my voice but I can’t stop it. He’s freaking me out.
“Ma, I gotta get back in time for work or I’ll lose my job. I have Max with me. Tammy left yesterday. Just took off, leaving Max behind, but clearing out every last penny from my last paycheck. Can you look after him for a couple of days until I get sorted?”
My head is spinning with all the information he’s slinging at me.
“Wait—Tammy left? Just like that? Did she say anything?” I fire off questions as soon as they formed in my head, not giving Dylan much of a chance to respond.
“Jesus, Ma. I gotta get goin or I’ll be late. Can I explain to you later? You coming home?”
“You’re gonna have to give me ten minutes, I’ll be there in ten, okay?” I’m already out of bed and stumbling toward the bathroom by the time I hang up, when my path is blocked by a very large bulk. Not seeing much more than a shadow, I let out a scream and swing my arm with the phone in my hand, connecting with a solid wall of muscle.
“Beth! Christ, woman, it’s me. What the heck is going on?”
Clint. Of course, the crash of the lamp must’ve woken him up if my nasty ringtone hadn’t already. He grabs me by the arms, as much for his own stability I suspect, as mine.
“Something’s up with Dylan. He’s apparently at my house dropping off Max. Something about Tammy up and leaving last night. He sounds panicky, says he can’t afford to lose his job, which he will if he doesn’t get back to Durango in time for work. I gotta go.”
I try to push past him, but he holds me firm.
“Why not tell him to come here?” Clint asks.
“I was trying not to wake you. I thought I’d be back before you got up. Look, I’ve got to pee and then I gotta go.”
This time he lets me go but not without a warning.
“Wait for me to get my pants on. You’re not going off half-cocked in the middle of the night without me. You hear?”
It’s only because I need to get to my house fast, that I don’t want to start an argument now. Otherwise his bossy ass would get it both barrels. I slam the door shut, quickly relieve myself, and brush my teeth before nearly barreling into him again as he comes out of his bedroom, this time pushing the walker in front of him and wearing clothes.
“Get dressed,” he barks and I snap out of my stupor and beeline it into my bedroom, pulling on yesterday’s clothes that I’d left on the end of the bed. By the time I step into the hallway, he’s already walking into the kitchen grabbing the house keys off the counter. I snag my jacket off the dining chair and pat my pocket to see if my keys are in there. With keys in hand, and my phone in my pocket, I join Clint by the open door where he’s waiting. After a bit of a struggle getting the walker folded and in the trunk, we’re off.
“So what exactly did he tell you?” Clint wants to know.
“Not much, just what I said, Tammy left taking what little money they had in the bank but leaving that precious baby behind. Who the fuck does that?” The sudden burst of anger at my daughter-in-law is welcome. It distracts from the niggle of fear that is unsettling my stomach.
“Anything leading up to this? Did you know something was wrong?”
“Something was causing stress, I know that much. But each time I’d try to talk to Dylan, or even Tammy about it, they said everything was fine. Dylan can’t lose his job, Clint. He’s just started making some decent wages after many years of struggling. I know they have debts to pay off.”
I hate it. Hate no longer having control over my kid’s wellbeing. It used to feel so burdensome when he was little and there was no one but me looking out for him, but now—hell, I’d welcome back that kind of control. I have none now. Nothing but the love in my heart to do what he needs me to do so he can ‘sort things out.’ Oh dammit. How is that going to work with Clint? I throw him a furtive glance to gage his mood. Not much better than it had been, but I can’t really blame the man. How the hell am I going to solve this?
“Quit staring at me, woman, and drive. We’ll figure it out.”
Despite his surly mood, I reach over and grab one of his hands resting on his knees and give it a squeeze. Feels good having someone solid to worry with. He squeezes back before putting my hand on the wheel.
“Eyes on the road, hands on the wheel. Reckon I’ve spent plenty of time in the hospital already, not looking for another go,” he grumbles, but I can here a hint of a smile in his words.
“Whatever,” is my intelligent comeback.
-
-
Christ, she’s gonna get us killed.
I’ve never been a good passenger, not since I got my driver’s license at sixteen. It’s been on my lips to tell her to let me drive, but in all honesty, I trust myself even less right now—and that is saying something considering the hair-raising ride she takes me on.
When we pull up to Beth’s place, a strange pickup truck is in the driveway. A man is sitting on the porch steps with a car seat beside him and a toddler in his arms wrapped in a blanket. Never having met Beth’s son, I assume this is him. Beth parks, flings open the car door, and gets out, going straight for the little guy. Sweet isn’t usually a word I’d associate with Beth, but seeing her with her grandson in her arms, snuggling him with a big smile on her face, it’s oddly the only word that comes to mind. Her son, however, is not looking too happy and seems agitated, glancing over to where I’m sitting in the car. When I see him gesturing aggressively toward his mom, I decide it’s time for introductions. Not wanting to end up on my face in the driveway, I manage to get myself and my walker out of the car and make my way over to where their voices are starting to carry.
“What the fuck, Ma? You’re shacking up now? What are you getting out of this? You know he’s just using you, haven’t you learned anything?”
“Dylan! You’re waking the neighborhood, would you simmer d
own?” Beth tries to keep the little boy in her arms calm while facing off with her son.
“Who is using her?” I turn to Dylan with my eyebrow raised. “From what I can see, you’re the one who calls her at the butt crack of dawn, expecting her to drop everything and come running. And then you have the gall to browbeat her and question her or me about motives?” I’m seething and clenching the handles on the walker tight enough to turn my knuckles white. It’s that or lay that snot nosed, self-righteous punk out on his ass.
“Clint...” Beth puts a moderating hand on my arm, which only pisses me off more.
“You know you shouldn’t let anyone talk to you like that. As if no one can see you for more than a means to an end. I don’t care if he’s your son, he has no right to berate you like that. Come on, let’s take that baby home. Little thing’s about to fall asleep on you.” I point out, watching the little boy fighting to keep his eyes open on his grandma’s shoulder.
“And you,” I turn back to Dylan. “You should grow the hell up. Sounds like you’ve had a rough night, and I get that you’re overwhelmed, but you have no fucking right to take it out on the woman who is saving your ass. And from what I can tell, it isn’t the first time either. Am I right?” From the way the kid lowers his eyes and the slump of his shoulders, I can tell he’s run out of steam. That boy’s got troubles and I get a sneaky suspicion it’s more than his wife leaving. Watching him wrap his arms around his mom and son, that suspicion is only fueled when I hear him talking in a low voice.