A Model Romance (True Love Book 3) (15 page)

I resist the strong urge to call her out and ask her why she felt the need to upset him like she did by telling him, but I know the answer. She did it to get back at me.

I receive a reply from her:
I’m sorry to hear about what happened. You and Lauren didn’t care who you might hurt by what you did. Lachlan is a decent guy, and he deserved to know. Tell your parents that she’s doing OK, and then you can tell them what you did and why they’ll never see her again. Too bad you and Lauren never got together before this. You two are made for each other.

She’s right. I’ve been hiding like a coward, not facing my responsibility. I have to tell my parents what happened. They need the truth about why Lauren hasn’t been around and why Lachlan was speeding. I need to do it separately. I decide to take my dad out for a beer, and let him tell Mom on his own if he thinks it’s best.

I take him to the closest pub where he can get his Scotch ale. He grumbles about American beer, and won’t dare drink the “Paddy Piss” as he lovingly refers to Irish beer. He looks haggard, like he’s aged twenty years over the last few weeks. My heart aches for him, having to watch ones child in that kind of pain, and I’m about to make it a lot worse.

“’Ere’s to me fine boys,” he lifts his glass in a toast, “and how lucky we are to ’ave our dear Lachlan alive.”

He throws back half his glass.

“Dad, I need to talk to you. I know why Lauren has stayed away from Lach’s bedside. She’s ashamed of something she did, and she knows she can’t marry him. She feels too guilty to see you and Mom,” I say as I swallow the biggest sip of my beer my throat will allow.

Dad’s face pales.

“What is it, boy? Tell may!”

“I had sex with Lauren, Dad. I didn’t set out to, it just happened. Lach asked me to follow her on the night of her bachelorette party, and I did. We were both really drunk, and she threw herself at me.”

His eyes glass over with tears. This ox-strong brute of a man is going to cry like a baby in public. I continue; I have to get it all out.

“I’m sick about it. She was never right for Lach, and even told me she stayed with him to be around me. She was a different person than the Lauren we all thought we knew. Lachlan deserves the best, not someone like her.”

Tears stream down his ruddy cheeks as he stares at me with pure disgust. His Scottish roots and his firefighter toughness embody manliness, brotherhood and honor. If I were anyone other than his son, he would have knocked me out cold and spit in my face. That’s precisely what it looks like he wants to do right now. I would take it, too, and not raise a finger in defense.

He drains his glass, slams a twenty-dollar bill on the bar, and walks out. I drove so I don’t know where he thinks he going. A beat later, I’m hot on his heels and he’s gone. When I go outside and look all around, he’s nowhere to be seen. There must have been a cab out front; that’s the only explanation.

I make the drive back to my place, I start my four-days-on schedule tomorrow. I took some personal time off to be with Lach, and everyone understood, but I can’t continue to leave them short-staffed. I keep looking at my phone, thinking I must be missing a call from one of my parents, but it stays silent. No parents, no brother, no woman or friend calling to check on me. What the fuck have I done with my life?

* * *

My mother takes it harder than I even imagined. I knew it would be bad, but she won’t even speak to me. Lachlan has been out of the hospital for three months, living in our parents’ house. He hasn’t been healing well after his surgeries, and his occupational therapy can’t begin until he’s strong enough to handle it.

I’ve had no communication with him, not that I haven’t tried. Our parents won’t let me in the house, and they won’t take my phone calls. They raised us to believe that there is nothing more important in this life than family. They both suffered hardship growing up, and family was all they had. Sometimes the hardship
was
the family, but you had to protect each other. I pray that someday, I’ll be able to repair some of the damage I caused, but it won’t be anytime soon.

Lauren moved away to California. Karen contacted me to let me know, but I haven’t been able to tell Lach. Karen has developed a sudden case of amnesia, too. She’s been texting me with more regularity about “meeting for a drink” and “want to hang out?” She’s crazy if she thinks I would get anywhere near her or her friends. She denounced me as the devil, and ratted me out to Lach. I don’t know what I’d do if I ever see her in person, so I make damn sure that never happens.

I’ve been a recluse through this situation. The union prevents us from working too many hours, so I’ve had a lot of time alone which for me, is dangerous. I’m afraid to go out to clubs, I don’t want to take the chance of running into anyone. I feel like I don’t deserve to have any fun. When I’m at the station, I workout or read, and when I’m home I masturbate. I haven’t had sex since the night with Lauren, another thing I feel I don’t deserve, but the tension is too much. Yesterday, I masturbated four times–I can’t seem to stop. My penis is sore from how much abuse I’ve given it. I’m going insane not being able to touch a woman, and the self-satisfying just makes me feel worse. I’ve always had a pretty constant stream of indulgent sex. I feel like a world-renowned chef that has to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for every meal. I’m getting the basic need met, but no satisfaction.

My boss calls me in for a meeting when I arrive at work to begin my four days. I can’t be reprimanded for not doing my job; I’ve never been so focused. I’m the first one to check in every shift, I’ve picked up chores from the other guys and I’ve excelled in training exercises. I’ve been the model firefighter.

“Wickham, I’m not going to sugarcoat this, we’re worried about you. You’re doing your job well, but at what cost. You can talk to me, son, we’re a family,” he says, looking earnestly at me for reaction. When he used the word “family,” I feel a pain in my chest.

“I know, sir, thank you. It’s been difficult with me brother. I just feel so helpless,” I say, hiding that I not only feel helpless, but I’m responsible for it all. “I don’t know what to do with me-self.”

He hands me a card with a doctor’s name on it.

“Call Dr. James. She’s one of the best psychiatrists out there. She’s there to help after job related trauma or personal issues. Guys here in our own station have used her with great success. I know your troubles can’t all be from your brother’s accident, there’s more. Wick, you’ve got too much to lose if you shut down your life this young. You have to learn how to cope.” He stands to indicate we’re finished with our conversation, “It’s not required that you see anyone, but I highly suggest it. You can’t properly do your job when your mind is elsewhere. This job is too dangerous and you need your wits about you.”

A shrink? Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. Scottish men don’t go to shrinks.

I take the offered business card, and shove it in my back pocket without looking at it. My boss looks defeated, and he’s such a good guy that I don’t want to let him down.

“OK, I’ll call,” I say, with no intention of doing so.

* * *

Two more months pass, and I can’t stand it anymore, I have to go out. I’m so nervous before I leave home, I throw up twice. That’s never good when you’re planning on a booze-heavy evening, I need something in my stomach. I keep having flashbacks about that night with Lauren in the club bathroom. It makes me horny, and then I feel disgusted and ashamed. I have to have more self-control if I’m going to do this.

I go to a club on the North Side, where no one knows me. I need some drinks, and some sex. I took an expensive cab ride over, so I don’t have to drive home. The place is dark and loud, just like I need it to be. I sit at the end of the bar, and scan the place. There are some beautiful women in here. Not your typical club regulars, but nicely dressed, sophisticated women. This might have been a bad choice of venues. These don’t seem like the type of women I can lure into a bathroom for some casual sex.

Two drinks later, I have an impressive erection from watching all the dancing, but I decide it’s time to go. The whole vibe in here just doesn’t feel right, or maybe its just me. As I pay my tab, a gorgeous, long-legged blonde sits down on the stool next to me. I’ve already made up my mind to go home, so I try not to stare, but she’s boring a hole through me.

“Already leaving for the night? Isn’t it a tad early? You haven’t been here that long,” she says, as she takes a sip of her cocktail through a long, thin straw. Her lip gloss glistens as she purses her lips to sip; I can picture them on my cock. The image makes my pants move.

“Well, not much is happening, so I figured I’d head home.”

“We can change that, right?” Her eyes light up with possibility.

“I believe we could,” I say, holding my hand out to introduce myself, “Me name is Wickham, and you are?”

“Pam. It’s very nice to meet you, Wickham.”

“Pam. That’s a lovely name”

“I love your accent! Where are you from?”

We share small talk and have two more rounds of drinks. Neither of us share anything of a personal nature, just inane chatter. We both know we’re appropriately killing time before we can fuck.

“Now?” I say to her after I finish my beer. She gets the message, and nods her head. I pay for our drinks, and we leave. I love it when a woman is just like me, which is a rare find. She’s not playing games; she just wants to fuck.

I’d rather not go back to my place, and I’m thankful when she tells the cab driver her address. I have the control as to when to leave this way.

Her place is impressive. She lives in a high-rise, overlooking Lake Michigan. We never shared what either of us do for a living, but by the looks of this place she does very well. Shit. She could be a high-priced escort picking guys up in bars. Not that I think a woman would have to be a hooker to have a nice place, but she was there alone eager to leave with someone. Not typical behavior for a high-end club patron.

She walks over to a stunning white marble bar, and proceeds to make us cocktails. She pulls her long hair out of the high bun she was wearing, and it falls sensuously down around her shoulders. She carries our drinks to the sofa, as I join her. She hits a button on a remote, and soft music is playing. I feel like I’m being seduced in a movie.

“So, Wickham, do you have a good story?”

Now she wants to talk? Fuck that. Much of her body is exposed from the tiny dress she’s wearing, and I can see from where the fabric meets her crotch that she’s panty-free and hairless. No, this is happening now.

I set my glass down on the table, and take hers, too. I run my hand up her long bare leg until I reach the warmth between her thighs. Her full body relaxes and she melts into the sofa. She spreads her legs for me, granting me access. My mouth follows the same path as my hand, starting down at her ankle where her sparkly stilettoes are fastened, licking her sweet smooth skin, until I make it all the way to her pussy. Her dress is bunched around her waist, and her head is resting on the back of the cushion. I nuzzle my face in slowly to tease her lips, and she moans. She bucks and grinds her hips toward my mouth, trying to get me to move faster. I purposely slow down, just to drive her wild.

“Yes! Stop. Just like that. Tease me, and then stop … I like it,” she orders in a very loud voice. She likes to direct, and that’s just fine by me.

We move our session into the bedroom, where she has one of the largest mattresses I’ve ever seen. This had to be custom made, I’ve never seen one in a mattress store. We get naked, and climb in. She props me up on a large stack of pillows to be comfortable, as she spends an hour pleasurably torturing my cock. She strokes, massages, sucks, slaps and tickles it. She brings me to the brink of orgasm, then stops until my erection goes down, then starts the whole process over again. Every nerve cell in my body is humming. I’m accustomed to ejaculating whenever I feel like it, during sex, blow jobs or masturbation. This is the first time I haven’t had complete control over my erection.

She decides that it’s her turn, and swaps place with me. She’s splayed out at the head of the bed on the silk pillows I was just enjoying. She tells me what to do, another first, and I obey. I finger her, and suck her pussy aggressively, just as she asks, then stop. I finger her ass while sucking her nipples, then stop. We stay at this punishing rhythm for more than two hours. The sun is beginning to rise, and my head is spinning with erotic pleasure.

She lays me back down to my starting position, and climbs on top of me. My cock pulsates with the rhythm of my heart. She lowers her delectable body over me, and slides herself down, swallowing the full length of my cock with her soft pussy. She squeezes and releases her vaginal walls moaning with each movement. Everything about her and her motions are calculated for maximum pleasure, both hers and mine.

I try to grab her hips so I can fuck her, and she moves my hands. She folds her body against mine so that her pussy is tight, and she grinds her hips. Her pace becomes frantic and she grunts and groans from her exertion. She shoves a breast in my mouth and I latch onto it hard. I suck, and tease with my tongue as I feel her pussy grind even harder against my cock. She sits up and rubs her clit vigorously as she comes on my dick. Watching her amazing body writhe with pleasure makes my own begin to shudder in the most exquisite orgasm I’ve ever had. Prolonging ejaculation made for a highly sensual experience.