“Yes,” I answer, feeling bold and needy.
“Jesus. I've corrupted you already huh, baby? Don’t think for a second this dick isn’t calling for his mama, baby. But, if someone walked past this window and watched me stretch your throat, I would have to end them and then I would be taken from you. Do you want that?” he asks, his face fierce and filled with lust.
“No,” I whisper, still watching as he grips his cock.
“You didn’t answer the question.” Shit he is right. His sexy self distracted me.
“I am done at three.”
“Thank you, baby. Now, kiss me and get out of the car before I shower you with this cream you are provoking. I will be here to pick you up after your last class baby. We can go to your house and grab your stuff. Ok?” I nod my head transfixed by the motion of his hand. He pulls my mouth to his with his free hand and kisses my common sense out of me before demanding I exit the car. “Go learn something, beautiful. I will see you later,” he says, kissing me and then pulling off. The faster I get through this day, the sooner I get to him.
Chapter Eleven
Loeb
Christ, she is fucking lucky I am a possessive asshole. I wasn’t lying to her. If someone had walked past this car and saw her gagging on my cock, I would have plugged one between their eyes. I watch as she walks into the building before pulling out of the parking lot. I know I have lost it, inviting her to stay with me while her father is in town, knowing he is having her followed. I am poking the bear and not only is it intended to make him scared, but I also don’t give a fuck. These past few nights and mornings without being able to roll over and slide inside of her warm inviting cunt, listening to her mewl and whine and I love her and fuck her in succession while she begs me for more, her pussy demanding and wet as it hijacks my seed from me has been hell and I am done. I know I told her a few days, but she won’t be coming back. “Shit,” my phone buzzes in my pocket. Looking down, I am tempted to ignore but for some reason, I don’t. “Father.” I am glad he can’t see the grimace on my face though I am sure he can hear it.
“Imagine my surprise to find you aren't dead since I haven’t heard from you in what…months,” he says. I hear the clinking of ice in his tumbler which is no doubt holding his bourbon on the rocks.
“Surprised I’m not dead or wishing I was?” I ask him not really expecting an answer, but also not surprised when he responds.
“You know if I had it my way you would never have seen the light of day.'' He reiterates for the thousandth time since I could remember.
“Then why the hell are you calling me then?” I don’t have time for his shit and no longer feel obligated to deal with it.
“Is that any way to speak to your father?” he asks, his rage growing at my perceived insolence.
“You were never my father. You were simply the one who helped create me and then kept me because you had no choice. Not that you didn’t remind me every fucking day. So again I ask, why are you calling me?” I can feel all of the things I held in boiling, bubbling up to the surface, and as much as I have fought against it, refusing to let it melt inside of me like a disease and turn me rotten.
“I was calling to tell you your uncle and auntie will be here this weekend. We are having a few colleagues over for a barbecue. Your presence is expected.” I swear the older he gets the more he loses his fucking mind. “Did you hear what I said to you, boy?”
“I heard you. I’m just trying to figure out which one of us is having the hallucination.” That pisses him off. I hear a glass shatter in the background and I know I hit the bullseye.
“Listen you piece of…” I hang up on him before he finishes his tirade. Ordinarily, after one of his calls, I would go to the gym and relive a snippet of my childhood in my mind and ask myself the variable questions about my existence. Fortunately for me, I don’t have time for that right now. I have a meeting with a historian who also happens to be part of the Census Bureau. He is helping me look for needles in a haystack. I have an idea of how to find them. I just need more time, of which I don’t have much.