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As cool and calm as can be, Jason asks, “After I have your father stuffed, how would you like him displayed? Mounted in the trophy room?”
I choke on the pie.
fifteen
Jason
Outside, I’m calm. It’s a practiced reaction from years of managing high-drama employees.
Inside, I’m ready to rip Journey’s father a new one.
I don’t want to scare her.
So, I focus on what matters. I focus on taking care of her every need. I focus on giving her more than what she asks for. I focus on loving her the way she deserves to be loved.
“Let’s go shower,” I say, reaching for her hand as I rise from the table.
“What are we doing, feeding the raccoons? We need to clear the dishes!” she says.
I mutter under my breath as I take everything in one trip. Journey follows close behind me. “I can help, you know.”
“You can help by getting naked and warming up the outdoor shower for me, little one,” I throw out over my shoulder, gesturing to my left.
Her tiny gasp of surprise is followed by, “I’ll take ‘Ways That Rich People Spend Lots of Money to Imitate Poor People’ for $800, Alex.”
I laugh all the way to the kitchen at her smart ass. Journey is already taking full advantage of the shower when I finish cleaning up.
I drop my clothes on the hidden stone pathway leading to the open-air shower, wondering if she’ll cluck at me about my pants being left on the ground, too. Probably.
“How’s the water?” I ask, curling my arms around her soft middle and bending down to plant kisses along her wet, warm shoulder.
“Fine, after I asked for directions,” she snarks.
“Are the wise-ass comments gonna taper off anytime soon?”
“Nope.”
“Then I’ll have to punish you.”
She reaches behind her back and snakes her arm downward between our bodies, gripping my cock unexpectedly. I hiss at the pain and pleasure of it all.
“But Daddy, I’ve been so good tonight,” she croons. “I cleaned my plate and everything.”
My muscles tight with restraint, I rest my forehead on the crown of her head, closing my eyes, willing myself not to nut yet. Breathe. Just breathe through it, man.
“Baby girl, if you keep touching me like that, I can’t control what happens next.”
She hums like she does when she eats good food. I grow harder in her hands.
“That’s not making me want to stop, you know,” she says, fisting me tighter and giving one long, kneading pump, working me with the meat of her palm.
“Fuck me,” I groan.
She keeps touching and stroking throughout the actual bathing part of this shower, her greedy hands pulling away at brief intervals to wash and rinse. She is relentless and greedy and filthy and I fucking love her.
All the while, I grit my teeth and try to think of things that are decidedly not sexy.
Grease traps.
