McKay pulls out of the kiss, places a strong hand hard on her back, just between her shoulders, and pushes her down so her ass is in the air.
He grins at me, his large, calloused hand fisting his cock, and presses his thumb up against her asshole to let her know what’s coming. It’s also a way to let her get out of it. But she doesn’t complain. Instead she reaches around and spreads her cheeks open with her hands, giving him full permission to take her in the ass.
When he enters her, I feel everything. The whole length of his cock sliding against mine. Separated only by a thin membrane of skin.
We fuck her like that for hours. She comes dozens of times. We come on her tits, in her mouth, on her thighs and on her back. We cover her in our lust.
And then we wash her off in the shower, put her in our bed, and climb in next to her.
And just as I drift off, I think to myself, It doesn’t get any better than this.
This is what I live for now.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - MERC
Nurse Cerene is taking Donovan’s vitals while I watch Sasha and Maggie through the breezeway windows. They are in the corner of the front porch, the only one I can see from this vantage point, and they are playing some kind of hand-slapping game. Laughing and giggling. And, not for the first time, I linger over the idea that Sasha turned out much better than expected.
I stopped worrying about my girls, and Sasha too, a long time ago now. I wasn’t lying, or even exaggerating the truth, when I told Nick that they were good kids. They are. They’re not rebellious, they don’t lie, they don’t sneak around behind our backs, and they’re not always looking for ways to exert their independence.
Part of this is from the homeschooling. Sasha’s children go to private school with the rest of the gang’s kids up in Fort Collins, but ours never did. And now I’m wondering if my choices were just a way to insulate us. To trick us into thinking we’re all OK, when we’re really not.
Maybe my girls would be different people if they went to regular school? Maybe they would’ve shown more of their innate tendencies? Not that I want the killers inside them to come out—I don’t. But I don’t want to lie to myself, either.
If those little killers exist, wouldn’t it be better to know about it?
This is where I’m at when Cerene reports, “Everything’s normal.” She jots something down on Donovan’s chart and hangs it on a clip at the foot of his bed. “Do you mind if I take a break?”
I shrug. “No. I guess not.”
“I’ll just be in the kitchen. I have a couple phone calls to make. I was supposed to be off this coming weekend, but…” She sighs. “You guys showed up. Doc sometimes forgets that we have lives.”
Her comment is a little bit snide and I’m not sure what to say in response. She might actually be fishing for an apology, but I’m not in charge of her schedule, so why should I feel guilty about her personal life?
After a few silent seconds she must figure I’m not going to respond, so she just walks across the room and exits via the back breezeway.
I turn back to the window, but Sasha and Maggie are gone. It takes me a moment of searching through the large gardens to find Sasha’s bobbing head as she walks along the paths.
Indie grew up here and she never went to school.
This does not make me feel better about my decisions. Maybe I don’t know much about her, but if Nick was telling the truth, she’s a disaster waiting to happen.
And she mostly looks normal when you first see her. There is nothing too crazy on the outside. No real tells. She has some tattoos, so that makes her a certain kind of person. But so many people have tattoos these days, it’s not really a reliable indicator of personality.
Still, I can see a little something in her eyes. That’s where the crazy leaks out.
And look at this place. It’s very nice. And she had three people around her growing up. One to protect her, one to train her, one to keep her sane.
My girls only had me and Syd.
But there’s a real difference there, isn’t there?
Sydney is the difference.
My kids had a traditional family.
Will it be enough to overcome their genetic dispositions?
One can hope.
I sigh and turn away from the window, forcing myself to put the girls out of my mind and focus on the man who has the answers.
Donovan.
Or Carter.
I’ve never dealt with a real double personality. They have a new psychobabble name for this condition these days, but I’m not really a psychiatrist, so I don’t keep up with the politically correct lingo. And while I was a little bit intrigued about doing another job after all these years, that sense of excitement has worn off over the past couple days.