“Sorry to disappoint.”
“But you sound so…” She gestured with a baster. “Educated. You use all kinds of words normal people don’t.”
“Thanks for that.” I smiled at her and was rewarded by a blush.
“I don’t mean—”
“It’s all right. I know I’m not normal. I have a lot of time on my hands and I read a lot of books.”
She nodded, back to chopping. “So, no big, fat diploma over your desk from Oxford or Cambridge.”
“Nope.”
“I bet your father has one.” She gave me an arch look, humor back in her expression.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You know he does.”
“Bit of a wanker, isn’t he?”
I chuckled again. “You could say that.”
“You are too sometimes, you know.”
“Yes, I am.”
We exchanged a smile and I had to admit, it gave me pause. I hadn’t had a moment like that with a gorgeous woman in… hard to think of when. I’d had plenty of heated exchanges, sighs and moans of lust that suggested intimacy as I watched a woman cum. But a quiet moment of understanding? Not so much.
“You know, you’ve already lasted 10 days longer than the last person my father sent to help me out.”
“Ian, I’ve only been here 11 days.”
I nodded, remembering how fast old Mrs. Kemper had run out the front door after I’d smashed a bottle to the floor and let her know I preferred ‘wheeling about’ as she’d put it in full nudity.
“How drunk were you when you made the last person leave?”
“Stinking.” Speaking of, I made my way over to the cupboard and poured myself a nice glass.
“I think you should drink less.” She offered her unsolicited opinion over by the stove. Had I thought we’d had a moment? It was over.
“Seems to me you should mind your own business.” I toasted to her, preparing to head out once again.
“Seems to me you’re a drunk.”
“Hey, Annie, fuck you.” I gave her a smile. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”
“You could tell me.”
We squared off, level gazes aimed at each other. I considered it, for a moment. I could open up, tell her about all the surgeries and treatments, the shame of my parents. I could show her my mangled foot, how I couldn’t put any pressure on it, how it dragged behind me when I used a walker. My other foot wasn’t much better, burned and atrophied. If my lack of balance didn’t knock me over, the pain I felt when I put my weight on it did the trick.
I could ask her for her opinion, what she thought of the latest options, the stem-cell-regeneration, the cutting-edge use of lasers in burn repair. She might give me a balanced answer, help me weigh the pros and cons of reconstructive surgery on my foot. The last time I’d spoken to a surgeon about it, the procedure had a 20 percent chance of working. What was it now?
“Fine, don’t tell me anything.” She exhaled, returning her attention to her chopping block. “Just know how lucky you are to have access to the best doctors, the best medical care in the world. Not everyone has that.”
There she went, putting distance between us again. Fine with me. If that was the way she wanted it, that was the way it would be. It was easier that way anyway.
“Enjoy your feast. I’ve got plans tonight and don’t want to be disturbed.” I grabbed the whole bottle of Scotch and headed back to my room.
I’d gotten a text and a call earlier that day from a dirty girl I knew, the kind who liked to fuck around and not much else. She was in Paris and she was bored. Would I be up for a video chat? At the time, I hadn’t responded. Now, I did.
Hooked up via webcam, it looked like she had quite a hotel room. She wore heels and stockings that ended at a garter belt. She knew I liked to play with straps and belts. We began in much the usual way, a bit of playful banter as she told me about Paris. Before long, though, she was whining about how horny she was.
“You’re the only one who really gets me.” Skillfully, she cast her eyes down, then suggestively up again to meet mine as she ran her fingers along her breasts, down her stomach. “Can I show you how you make me feel?” Her fingers slid down further still.
I usually enjoyed giving orders. She loved denial, got off on it, and I was a strict taskmaster. Tonight, though, I let her do what she wanted, her hands traveling over her thighs to unhook and unfasten.
I wondered if Annie had ever worn anything like that. I doubted it. She probably wore white cotton panties. Would she like to slip something like that on, all lace and trim, revealing as much as it covered? Annie had generous curves. I could tell even buried beneath all the wool and popcorn stitching. How would she look spread out across a bed, one hand palmed at her breast, the other down, moving slow and languorous as she gave herself pleasure.
I unzipped my jeans and took out my cock, grasping the thick length in my warm hand. Giving it a slow pull, I closed my eyes, imagining Annie lying before me, the shyness in her eyes melting into heat as she gave me a private show. I’d give her instructions and she’d follow them, surrendering with a sigh because it felt so good.
“Fuck’s on your mind tonight?” A woman’s voice—not Annie’s—blasted shrilly from the computer. “Doesn’t seem like me! You’re not even looking at the screen!”
Uh-oh. When I didn’t offer much of an explanation, mostly because I didn’t honestly give two fucks which way the evening went, she ended the chat.
There I sat with my raging wood, no outlet before me for relief. I couldn’t hear Annie, but I was sure she was still nearby. What if I called out to her?
I could. She’d come if I called. What if I told her I needed her to give me a hair cut? The other day she’d said something about it looking shaggy, that I could do with a trim. I could call her in and ask her if she could help me do it. I’d like to feel her hands filter through my hair, hear her breathing while she worked, smell her musky rose scent.
But I never much liked people touching me. I controlled intimacy, not the other way around. Inevitably, her gaze or maybe her touch would linger over my scarred flesh. The wounds that would never heal, snaking up my neck, along my misshapen ear.
Nah, I wouldn’t mess with Annie. She didn’t have what it really took to play with me, anyway. A virgin. Who was still a virgin at 25?
What would it be like to be her first? She hadn’t confirmed her status, but I could tell. The way she blushed and stammere
d when I brought it up, she’d never had sex.
Had anyone even given her an orgasm? Hand back to my stiff cock, I sank again into the fantasy. I’d make her start slow, teasing herself. Then I could fasten her wrists as I took over, using my fingers so I could watch the slow burn, the torturous build-up as her need twisted and built through her body. She’d writhe on the bed, pulling at her restraints.
Right when she’d be about to cum, I’d lean down, devouring her slick heat, sucking and licking and drinking in all of her pleasure. She’d cum so good, crying out, bucking off the bed. She’d scream out my name, though I only uttered hers in a low groan, losing it as I pictured her cumming hard for me, as hard as I came for her.
5
Annie
“Is he dreadful?” My mum set down the shirt she was folding and looked at me over the mountain of laundry between us. I was home for my Sunday “off”, switching up one type of housework for another.
“No, not really.” Sometimes Ian could be, yes, but not all the time. There were moments when Ian was absolutely not dreadful at all.
“Come on, you can tell me,” she insisted. “I know you put on a brave face for Jess and Liv and Brian. But be honest, do you hate this job?”
“No, I don’t, honestly.” I tucked a pair of socks together, settling them into a basket, then grabbed another. “It’s…odd living out there, that’s for sure. The whole place is crumbling, falling down like a set from a horror movie.”
“I hate to think of you living in that.” Mum shuddered. “I know you’re only doing it to make money. I’m so sorry I don’t make more. You’ve done so much for the family, more than any child should have to do.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I hated how she added guilt on top of her daily stress. “You know I don’t resent any of it. It’s not like I see you sitting around eating bon bons.”