“And?” Tobias prompts.
“He’s losing them,” I sigh.
“Good. Go home.”
“Not yet. I’m going to help flush the streets until I’m sure the rest of Florida is headed south. Tobias, we can’t let this go. I can catch up with Tyler, and we can end this tonight. Miami—”
“You’re needed home.”
“So are you,” I snap. “But you aren’t fucking here, are you?”
He exhales harshly, circling the ice in his tumbler in his typical repetition of three. “How is home?” Delphine.
“Here’s an idea, call her,” I clip out and hang up.
“When someone blushes, doesn’t that mean ‘yes’？”—Le Petit Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
“My rainy days are yours, Dominic. If you want them.”
She didn’t run.
Even after witnessing me at my most hostile and being made aware of some of the depth of our deception, she stayed. Not only that, but she also met me downstairs when I got home from patrol after the Meetup, bandaged my wrist, and fucking bathed me before tucking me in. The only conclusion I could draw was that Sean had prepared her—and well. Well enough to the point that when he left the next morning, she chose to stay at the house for, and to be with me. A day I’ve re-lived with my right hand through one too many cold showers.
“It rains a lot here.”
The weather in the days since has made a liar out of me. Evidence by way of the sun’s rays currently lighting the room in the reflection of my bathroom mirror. Razor poised an inch from my face, I glare down at Sean’s spitz, Brandy, who whines just inside my bathroom door.
“What the hell do you want?” I snap. She replies with an order-filled bark. Sighing, I rest my razor on the sink and jog the solid white hairball downstairs to the sliding glass door. Opening it enough to let the dog through, the heated summer wind breezes in as a reminder that the season has set in. Brandy races toward Cecelia, who’s wearing the bikini I rid her of the first time I fucked her. Her back to me, she’s bent over, pert ass thrust in the air in offering. I inwardly groan as Sean yells instructions from the side of the house, realizing the reasoning for her positioning as she moves a sprinkler.
“A little closer to the fence,” he shouts.
“Here?” She asks.
“Yeah. That’s good, Pup.”
“Is the water on?” She scrutinizes the arched metal bar full of holes. “It’s not working.” As she further lowers to inspect the sprinkler, her bikini shifts, revealing a heaping handful of ass cheek.
This. Fucking. Girl.
Temptation mocks me mere feet away, along with the knowledge that there’s not a drop of fucking rain in the forecast anytime soon. Each time I pull up the weather app, I hate myself a little more for it. The summer sun has decided there’s no relief in the future for little Dom, who’s currently growing three sizes too big in my boxers at the sight of a beautiful girl. A girl I now know a lot more intimately after a solid day in bed together but crave to fuck like it would be the first time.
“Now?” Sean asks.
“Nope,” Cecelia calls back to him as I imagine a half dozen scenarios to approach her with how she’s situated. She might not have run, but she did lay out ground rules. Ground rules I start to resent her for as the throb continues in my boxer briefs.
“Huh,” I hear Sean say, knowing that tone. “Crank the dial up and see if that works.”
“This thing looks ancient,” she shouts, “It’s probably broken, okay, try it—” her shout turns into a shriek as she’s soaked by Sean’s design. Sean’s deep laughter rings out as she scolds him with an “asshole!”
Brandy begins to bark at the offensive sprinkler, the dumbest damned dog in existence, which is why I mostly ignore the fact that she does exist.
“I’m going to cut and trim out front. Give me about thirty minutes.”
“K,” she calls, bending to pet Brandy as she eyes the sprinkler fanning water over the yard. Expression lightening, she stands and sprints toward the fence before turning and running to leap over it, soaking herself, a shriek bursting out of her.
Images of Sean, Tyler, and me doing the same when we were rugrats shutters in. As she makes another pass in my direction, the sight of her so full of carefree joy has my chest tightening. Despite her physical allure, she’s the picture of purity. Even if she experienced enough during her start with her parents to be just as jaded as I’ve become, she isn’t. It’s by choice that she embraces the lighter side of living, whereas I welcome the dark, dwelling amongst the shadows and manipulating them to suit.
Like me, Brandy stands by observing her, equally captivated by what makes her tick, in an attempt to try and understand her.
Cecelia continues to run back and forth through the waves of water, urging Brandy to join her.
“Come on, girl,” she coos, running back and forth in demonstration. When Brandy joins in, leaping over the sprinkler in time with her, Cecelia’s melodic laughter crashes into my chest, further widening the crack she’s managed to create.
Disgusted that I’m inching toward creeper status after watching one too many passes, the half of my face covered in mentholated shaving cream begins to burn. Ripping my eyes away from her, I make my way back upstairs. Patting my face down with a damp towel a few minutes later, I spot the summer of my discontent staring back at my reflection.
“Hi,” she whispers, her eyes rolling appreciatively down my frame.
Hi?
Hi?
I narrow my return gaze on her.
If this is hard-up, I’m not going through it alone.
Turning, I grip her wrist, yanking her into the bathroom. Palming the wall next to her head, I crowd her as I trace the droplets of water skating down her glowing skin. Her eyes search mine for a reason for my aggression, but my cock lets her know as it salutes her and remains at attention—pointing straight at her. When she opens her mouth to speak, I press my finger against her lips as Sean cranks the mower outside. Her chest rises and falls as I lower my gaze to her pink-painted toes while deciding my course of action.
Gripping her shoulders, I position her in front of the toilet before shutting the lid and taking a seat. Draping the damp towel over my lap, I gather the rest of my supplies from the counter. Flicking on the faucet to refresh the water, I plug it before switching it off and lifting her foot, resting it on my knee. Wordless, Cecelia rattles in anticipation in front of me while I dispense some shaving cream into my hand.
Palm full, I slowly begin to cover every inch of her leg and thigh as I speak. “It takes an average of twenty minutes to ready a woman to the point of orgasm.” Scraping the blade from her ankle up to her calf, I swish it in the sink and tap it twice before running it from above her knee to her thigh. A harsh exhale escapes her as I look up to see her dark blues hooding.
Once I’ve made a few passes, I swish the razor through before again tapping away any lingering excess.
Swish. Tap. Tap.
“Unfortunately, for women, twenty minutes of stamina is pretty average for a man, which would make our creator seem like one cruel motherfucker,” I scrape another path up the length of her leg, “if said creator hadn’t given us ways to remedy that. You see . . .,” I glide the razor along the ridge of her leg, “what most men don’t know—or give a damn enough to know—is that said creator did give us a number of efficient ways to get a woman where she needs to be. In fact, there are thirty ways . . . or more, depending on the woman.”