Still raising what little hell they can in this world that’s so full of it nowadays, a guy on a bike is nothing to even look at anymore.
Ox is the last, but certainly not least to come on through.
He’s the only club member anywhere near as big as I am, and the only one I’d accept as my replacement as VP when I left the club on good terms.
He grabs me by the forearm with one of his mitts, huffing a little as he balances a huge box of meat and produce in the other.
I know better than to ask if he needs anything, and he makes his way swiftly to the barbecue area out back.
It’s been years since I saw these guys, but at the same time, it could’ve only been yesterday.
And we could all be nineteen again, like Brad the shit stain. Feeling like we’d live forever and the world was never big enough to hold us all.
How wrong we were.
Catching a whiff of my pits, I figure at least I’ll fit in on one level still.
Turning to head in I hear the familiar honk of Tasha’s Camaro I restored for her birthday.
My eyes meet hers for a moment as she pulls in. My dad’s heart shifts with nerves in my chest every time I see her drive, but she’s got it.
I make my way to her car to greet her, not even noticing her friend until she steps out of the car.
It feels like I’ve been sucker-punched.
The wind knocked right outta me when I see her.
“You remember Abby, right Dad,” Tasha says, moving to the trunk to grab something, leaving me a few seconds to re-familiarize myself with Tasha’s best friend.
“I remember,” I grunt, feeling how hard it is to swallow suddenly.
Feeling my body grow hot and my dick suddenly remembering I exist.
Pulsing a little, then a lot as I shake my head in disbelief.
Abby?
She’s fucking beautiful. All grown up now, I can see.
And in the best way possible.
I remember Abby as a kid. A young girl just having finished high school.
That was—
Shit, that was a little over a year ago.
The young woman in front of me is no little girl.
In fact, tracing the curves of her sweet body with my keen eye for detail, I can see she’s built for love as well as child-bearing.
Two things have been heavy on my mind for some time now.
“Happy birthday, Mr. Peterson,” she says bashfully, looking down at her feet.
“Call me Slade,” I say firmly. Feeling like I’ve said it too rough but I’ve always hated being called Mr. Peterson.
Guards in the jail used to like to call everyone “Mister” whatever their last name was.
But there’s no time for regrets.
I’m already looking at more than just her feet in the few seconds I have her all to myself before Tasha or Abby even looks up at me again.
It feels like time is standing still for once in forty-two years, everything suddenly making sense to me.
As if everything that’s happened has brought me to this exact moment.
Abby’s long golden hair is tied back from her round face, a button nose and rounded flushed cheeks highlight her milky complexion.
The smooth sheen of youth glows on her, the white blouse and denim jeans she has on cling to her curves.
The large full mounds under the thin fabric of her shirt, strain against it, almost make me groan out loud.
I instantly feel like tearing that blouse off her, ripping it in half, and grabbing both her sweet tits, taking each one in my mouth in turn.
Making her feel as hot as she’s making me right now.
Abby has hips and an ass to match those tits of hers. And it’s no effort for me to picture my large hands running over the smoothness of her naked body.
Picturing a wisp of her maturity over her mound, or debating whether she’s smooth all over undoes me.
I let out a strange, low animal sound. The sound of a man who knows what he wants because it’s only feet from him. But a house full of guests and my daughter close by smother my instincts.
I get one final glance from Abby, flashing her clear blue eyes as she catches her bottom lip with her teeth. Catching a glimpse of my now throbbing dick as it continues to pulse to life.
For her.
Because of her.
Everything is about her now.
What is she doing to me?
Fuck how I’d like to see my cock between those tits.
Fill her with my seed.
That’s my birthday wish.
“Dad! Stop being weird, it’s rude to stare,” Tasha scolds me playfully.
My hand shifts my towel to cover the bulge in my shorts, but I make sure Abby can still catch a peek if she wants.
See just what she’s doing to me.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
I shift on my feet and take the wrapped gift Tasha hands me before she stands on her tiptoes, hooking her arms around my neck to signal me to lean over so she can peck my cheek.