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Thinking of a woman that wasn’t here, while ignoring the women who were, was a sure sign that I wasn’t going to get laid tonight. I downed my drink and then headed out into the night. The walk back to my place cleared my head some and had me wondering why I was even thinking of the therapist. She wasn’t my type, and yet, if she showed up now, willing and able, no doubt I’d fuck her.
Since I wasn’t going to be getting laid, I decided to work when I arrived home. I was sure the therapy lady would say I was putting off going to sleep to avoid the dreams, and she’d be right. What was wrong with that?
I pulled up the employee information from HR wanting to see if I could find a suspect to our recent thefts. The problem was, we had hundreds of employees in New York. I needed to weed the options down. Since Ash’s club was the first place hit, I focused on the employees of that club. Unfortunately, nothing stood out. None had any dings on their criminal background check.
Jesus, I really was worthless. Maybe Chase should replace me because clearly, I had no idea what I was going. The anger and self-loathing built, and I was about to chuck my glass of scotch across the room but stopped as the calm, prim image of the therapy lady came into mind. What was her name? Reynolds? Ms. Reynolds, right? Chase had said “Ms.” and that usually meant single.
Shaking my head of her image, I headed to the shower to clean off the day. She’d probably think I was trying to wash away my pain or guilt or some bullshit like that. Jesus, why was I thinking of her again? I pressed my palms to the tiles, and put my head under the spout, but it didn’t douse the image of her standing up to me and my brothers or my dick that started to get hard.
“Seriously?” I said to it. “You like her?”
My dick responded in the affirmative, reminding me of the curves hinted at under her prim clothing. And her lips, good Christ, she did have a great mouth.
“What the hell?” I said, giving in. I wasn’t going to get laid, but perhaps a jerk off to the image of therapy lady sucking my dick would soften the edges and help me sleep. I gripped my dick, closing my eyes and conjuring up the pretty woman in my mind. We were in that ugly office alone. She’d unbuttoned a few of the buttons on her top, and I could see the pretty, soft swells of her tits. She dropped to her knees and looked up at me.
“I can help you take the edge off,” she said.
“Fuck yeah.” I put my dick to her lips, and she sucked the tip. I rubbed the rim of my dick with my fingers as I imagined her mouth there. Yeah, she liked that. I slipped my dick all the way into her mouth, and as my hand stroked him, slowly at first and then faster, I saw her head bobbing, felt her hot, wet mouth sucking me.
“Oh fuck.” My hips jerked forward, and my cum coated the shower wall. I worked my cock until he was empty and flaccid. My body felt light and loose. Yes, maybe I’d be able to sleep.
Just to be sure, when I got out of the shower, I took a couple of sleeping pills, and then went to bed. For the first time in a long time, my brain was quiet as I lay down and willed sleep to come.
I came to consciousness in a dingy room. I looked around to get my bearings. Sara lay handcuffed on a bed, her blood from the loss of her child soaked through the sheets and mattress. She was unconscious and Chase was on his knees by her side, weeping.
Her eyes flashed open, but there was no life in them. “Why did you let this happen?” she asked.
I swallowed as the guilt built up.
“Why did you let him kill my baby?”
“I don’t know,” I croaked out. “I’m sorry, Sara. I’m so, so sorry.”
“You killed my baby,” she started chanting. At first, I took it because she was right, and I needed to own it. But eventually, I couldn’t listen anymore. Like a coward, I covered my ears, begging her to accept my apology.
“You killed my baby, Hunter.” Now Chase had joined in. Then Ash and Kade and my father. All blaming me for the loss of Sara’s baby. The room spun, and now we were all in the desert. The smell of diesel and death filled my nostrils. The bodies of the men I served with were mangled and covered in blood. But like Sara, their eyes were open and accusing me of murder.
