Chapter Twenty-Seven
Two hours, one pelvic exam, one enema, and ten orgasms later, Gunnar buckled Twyla into the car. She could barely stand after Eric was done with her, and he couldn’t blame the poor little thing. That was a lot.
She had handled it beautifully. There were some tears when Eric had emptied the bag into her and she was cramping and coming and restrained and… He’d been hard almost the entire time because she was magnificent. And now she was falling asleep in the front seat, a puddle of post-orgasmic bliss. His sweet babygirl.
When he got her home, he gave her a couple of bottles at Eric’s direction before putting her to bed. She tried to argue but when he laid down with her, she was asleep in minutes.
After changing into more comfortable clothes, he had some work to do before he could go to sleep so he cracked open a beer and his laptop and got to it, writing the finals for his students.
The end of the year was so close, they’d almost made it. Even if Twyla didn’t pass all her classes and couldn’t graduate, she could go to summer school and finish high school that way. Or next year. Sooner would be better, and he thought they both felt that way, but he’d wait and see and cross his fingers that all of her hard work paid off and she was able to overcome the shit hand she’d been dealt.
After working on the questions for the in-class portion of his first years’ final, he took a break, stretched, did some calisthenics and then remembered he hadn’t checked the mail. He jogged out to the mailbox and snagged the small stack, flipping through it until one of the envelopes made him stop in his tracks.
It was addressed to him, and there was no stamp or return address. Someone had put this in his mailbox. They had been here. And while he was used to his mail carrier being somewhat careless and cramming packages into the mailbox and damaging them, this envelope looked crinkled and worn and dirty, like someone had picked it up off a floor that wasn’t clean and hadn’t been in some time. His stomach lurched because there was only one place where he could imagine this coming from—Twyla’s parents.
Gunnar wanted to set it on fire, didn’t even want to bring it in the house. But he should read it before he shredded it or tossed it in the recycling bin in the garage so he knew what he was up against.
Gunnar Fox,
We may not be able to press charges because Twyla’s nineteen, but we can make your life miserable in other ways. You took her from us and we want her back. You bring her back here or we’re going to make your life a living hell and we’ve got some friends in high places who are more than willing to help us do it too.
The letter rambled on for a bit with a lot of expletives, calling him a pedophile and other vile things. Had some not-nice things to say about Twyla despite saying they wanted her back. For what? Had they got word she was doing well in school and would likely graduate and they wanted her to go to work so she would bring more money into the house? Were they tired of not having their punching bag around? Was Wade bored with Debra and wanted to get his hands on Twyla again?
Not as long as he was alive would they get her back, that was for damn sure. But the threats worried him.
What were Wade and Debra planning to do? Wade may be a creep but he wasn’t stupid—when he was sober anyway, which thankfully didn’t seem to be all that often. And Debra—if she had half the brains in her head that her daughter did, she wasn’t stupid either. He had to prepare, but prepare for what? He didn’t know, and he didn’t want Twyla to know anything about this if he could help it. She had enough on her plate.
The door to the house cracked open and Twyla peeked out. Despite the dread swirling in his mind about Wade and Debra taking an interest in the daughter they’d all but abandoned, his little girl could still bring a smile to his face. He knew she wouldn’t come outside in her short nightie and her diaper but she was looking for him and that was sweet.
He shoved the letter from Twyla’s parents into the middle of the stack of mail and strode toward her, coming inside and closing and locking the door behind him.
“What’s up, little girl? You’re supposed to be asleep in bed.”
Twyla bit her bottom lip, and looked up at him. “I know, and I was, and I wasn’t trying to be bad, Daddy, I promise, but…”
He knew that mischievous, faux-innocent look on her face. Knew it well and loved it. Gunnar knew exactly what his princess was after but he wouldn’t just give it to her—where would the fun be in that? No, he’d make her ask for it.
“But what? Are you thirsty? Dr. Eric said being given an enema can make you dehydrated.”
She shook her head, her red hair swaying around her shoulders, her cheeks turning that pretty shade of pink that made his heart swell.
“No, Daddy.”
“Then what is it?”
“You said some things while we were at Dr. Eric’s office.”
“I said a lot of things.”
She huffed at him, knowing she was being teased, and he chuckled. He did not, however, give her what she wanted.
“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
“I think it’s important that you learn how to ask for what you want.”
Which he did, but he also enjoyed making her flustered, making her blush and stammer. Who would’ve known just a few months ago that the brashest girl he knew would stand here, fingers knotted together and digging her toes into the floor, being shy?
“Fine. You said when you got me home that you were going to…you were going to fuck all my holes.”