For A Good Time, Call... (18 page)

“Yeah,”
I said into my phone, my voice sounding breathy. “I'm touching
my clit,” I said and Hunter's hand shifted, running over the
sensitive bud. “Yes. It feels so good,” I said, squirming
against Hunter, reaching down to push him away. But he just slapped
at my hands and continued his torture. “I think I'm ready for
you,” I mused and Hunter's finger slipped deep inside me,
making me arch up. He nodded, pulling his finger back out and I
almost died of laughter, bringing a hand to my mouth and pressing
down.

On
the other end of the phone, my caller was sounding breathy. “You
want a dick deep inside right now, don't you?” he asked.

I
took a long, slow breath. “Mmmhmm. I want it so bad,” I
murmured and watched as Hunter slipped a condom on. No way. No
fucking way was he going to screw me while I was on the phone with a
client. That was so, so unprofessional.

I
shook my head at him and he smiled and nodded. “How are you
guys doing it?” he whispered and I blushed crimson.

“How
do you want me, baby?” I asked, not even having to fake the
desire in my voice.

“Yes,
I love being on top,” I said, watching as Hunter shrugged and
laid down on the bed, patting his lap. He was so adorably sexy
sometimes. I climbed over to him, straddling his waist. His hand went
to the base of his cock, holding it in place so I could lower down on
it. “Oh,” I cried out, sliding slowly down on him. “Oh,
that feels so good,” I groaned, feeling my hips drop down on
his.

Hunter's
hands moved up my belly and grabbed my breasts, squeezing them in his
big hands as I started moving back and forth. “It's so...
deep,” I moaned, to Hunter. The phone was all but forgotten in
my hand. Hunter's fingers swiped over my nipples and his hips drove
up into mine, making me gasp and fall forward, one hand bracing
against the bed the other still holding my cell phone.

I
lifted slightly off of him, holding still as he thrust upward into me
over and over until I was crying out needy and frantic. I could heard
my caller curse, make a garbled sound, thank me and then there was
only silence.

I
dropped it to the mattress, my hands moving to Hunter's belly to
brace myself as his thrusts became more wild and needy. Once I got
the rhythm, I moved too. As he thrust upward, my hips slammed down.
Making me take him as deep as my body would allow. “Hunter...”
I groaned. His hand reached between our bodies, stroking my clit,
trying to drive me up higher. Below me, he was tense. His jaw was
rigid, a muscle ticking there as he fought for control.

“Oh,
god,” I ground out as I felt my muscles grab him once before
spasming with my orgasm, falling forward on his chest.

His
hands went to my hips, holding me still as he slammed into me a few
more times, his fingertips bruising into my skin as he came.

I
took a deep breath that broke off on a fit of giggles. “Well
that gives a new meaning to mixing business with pleasure,” I
said against his neck.

His
hands patted my ass, then squeezed. “You job leaves a lot of
room for office nookie,” he murmured.

“Nookie?”
I asked, pushing up to look down at his face, my hair falling forward
to curtain us. “Did you just say... nookie?”

“Hey
not everyone has a filthy mouth like yours.”

“You
like my filthy mouth,” I said, leaning down and biting his
lower lip.

“Fuck
yeah I do,” he agreed. “As soon as I have some strength
back, I am going to bury my cock in there again.”

“Mmm,”
I said, slowly licking my lips.

Hunter
cursed and half-laughed. “You're killing me, woman.”

“Hey,
you initiated it this time,” I said, sitting up and looking
down at him. I was never going to get used to the sight of him.
Flawless. He was truly a flawless male specimen.

“What?”
he asked, his hands moving up and down the sides of my thighs.

“Nothin',”
I said coyly, leaning back on his thighs as he brought them up behind
me.

“Tell
me,” he said, squinting his eyes at me.

I
shrugged a shoulder. “You're pretty,” I said, smiling.

“Pretty?”
he asked, rolling his eyes.

“Yes,
very. Like... it's unfair.”

He
shrugged. “You're prettier. Stunning actually.”

“Oh,
stop,” I said. But I didn't mean it. I would never get enough
of hearing it. From him.

He
rose up toward me, planting a kiss between my breasts and wrapping
his arms around my back. “Never,” he said, with feeling.

I
slid upward, off of him, putting my weak legs on the floor.

“Get
back here,” he said reaching for me.

I
dodged away from his arms. “Nuh uh,” I said, finding the
t-shirt and pants I had discarded three days ago. “I need to go
and shower and change...”

“I
can help you soap up,” he suggested, putting his feet on the
floor as he watched me.

“You
told me that you have work later today,” I reminded him.

“I'll
cancel,” he said immediately.

“No,
don't,” I said, laughing. He meant it. He would have canceled
his client for me without thought. “You go to work. I will
catch up on some... work...”

“You
mean filling panty sniffer orders,” he smiled. “That
business is going to suffer.”

“Why?”
I asked, my brows drawing together.

“Because
I plan to keep you naked pretty much all the time,” he said
nonchalantly.

I
pulled my shirt down, stooping to grab my bra and panties, then
walked over, kissing the top of his head. He smelt like him. Sawdust.
Soap. Even though he hadn't been near either all day. His arms went
around the back of my legs, pulling me against him. His face planted
in my chest as I stroked his hair.

It
was silly, but it almost felt like goodbye. I was irrationally scared
that if I walked out of that room, out of his apartment, that we
would lose what we had found. That it could never be the same again.
So I leaned forward into him, letting my arms encircle his body.
Trying to hold on just a moment longer.

I
took a deep breath, stepping away. “You get some work done,”
I said. “and I'll get some work done. And then...”

“And
then,” he agreed.

“My
apartment?” I asked.

“Chinese,”
he added.

“Sounds
good,” I agreed, leaning down for a quick kiss before turning
and walking away. Before I could think better of it and run back into
his arms.

I
felt different. Which was a total teenager thing to say. But that was
how I felt. Different. Like myself, but improved. Happier. Lighter. I
closed his front door behind me, leaning against it for a moment.

Hours,
I reminded myself, it would only be a few hours before I saw him
again.

I
was being ridiculous. I was a strong, independent woman. It was
unacceptable to bemoan a few hours on my own. I took a deep breath
and moved the couple feet toward my own door, slipping my keys into
the locks.

I
closed the door behind me, kicking out of my shoes and walking into
my living room.

“You
really do bring shame to our family,” a voice said, making me
move back a step, a hand flying to my chest. But it wasn't him. It
wasn't my father. My eyes shot up, finding eyes as green as mine.

“Isaiah,”
I hissed out his name like a curse. “How the hell did you get
in here?”

He
looked older than I remembered him. Two years older than me only, but
hardened. His blonde hair was short but choppy from cutting it with
the edge of a knife. His skin was darker than mine, a bit ruddy in
the cheeks. There were lines next to his eyes, etching deep from
hours spent squinting in the sun, squinting at bible verses.

“I
picked the locks,” he shrugged.

“What
a regular criminal you have turned out to be,” I said, holding
my phone tight in my hand. I could call the police if it got messy.
But they would take too long. Better to scream. Hunter would charge
over in a heartbeat. I took comfort at that.

“At
least I'm not a harlot,” he seethed, his eyes dropping down to
my hand.

“What's
the matter,” I started, holding up my hand. “never seen a
bra or panties before? Still not married? Cant find someone to put up
with your particular kind of perversion? Or,” I said, feeling
downright empowered around him for the first time in my entire life.
“are you and your father sharing a more than familial bond out
there all alone in the woods?”

“Don't
be disgusting,” he said, looking like he was going to spring
off of the couch and throttle me. But he knew he no longer had that
power.

I
dropped my bra and panties on the floor, leaning back against the
wall. “Never could get out from under his thumb, could you
Isaiah?”

There
was a flash of something in his face, something that was gone too
soon for me to analyze. “Not everyone is as ungrateful as you,
Fiona Mary.”

I
felt myself smile, shaking my head. “It's hard to be grateful
for beatings and mutilation.”

“Discipline,”
he countered.

“Child
abuse,” I shot back.

“Where
did you get ideas like this?” he asked.

“From
the real world, Isaiah,” I said, almost feeling sorry for him,
waving a hand out. “not some isolated shack in the woods so
cut-off from everything else that we couldn't even know how we were
being abused. It is sick what we accepted as normal.”

“Godly,”
he objected.

“God,
or more accurately, the counsel men who decided what to put in the
Bible,” I said, rolling my eyes. “said a lot of things
father skimmed over. Did you ever notice that? We didn't keep slaves.
He didn't insist Mom be silent at all times or else he would put her
to death. He didn't go out on the town and kill the homosexuals.”

“Because
it's illegal,” he said.

“It's
illegal for a reason. Because its wrong to have slaves. It's wrong to
kill your wife. It's wrong to kill gay people. And it is just as
fucking wrong to carve up your daughter. It's just as wrong to deny
me an education.”

“You
seemed to manage well enough,” he said, ignoring everything
else I said.

“Yeah,”
I said, raising my chin. “I have my mother to thank for that.”

“Mother?”
he asked, sitting forward, looking suddenly interested. “Mother
taught you to read?” He said it with almost wonder. Like maybe
he had never even considered that our meek, submissive mother would
be able to defy our father.

“Every
day when you went out into the woods we would sit on the floor and
work on letters and, later, basic math. Because she knew I was going
to get out of there one day... like she always wanted to, and that I
would need to be prepared.”

“Mother
was happy with Father,” Isaiah insisted, but it didn't have the
edge to it that it usually did.

“Mom
cried every single night after our father went to sleep. And then she
killed herself, Isaiah.”

“That
was because you...”

“No,”
I said, shaking my head sadly. Because it was useless to be angry
with someone when they were so brainwashed. “Mom didn't kill
herself because she was ashamed of me. Mom killed herself because she
no longer needed to protect me. I was free. So then she got free.”

“She's
in hell for it,” Isaiah said firmly. Some sins couldn't be
forgiven.

“Yeah,
well, maybe she prefers it there,” I said and his face shot to
mine like I had struck him. I took a breath. “Why are you here,
Isaiah? You obviously didn't want to come here to have an argument
with me about religion and our shitty upbringing.”

“No,”
he agreed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Father is sick.”

Good.
That was the first thought that came to my mind and I felt like an
awful human being for it. It was petty an vengeful to wish someone
unwell. But I couldn't ever bring myself, allow myself, to feel bad
for him. “And?”

“No,
Fiona Mary... he's in the hospital, looking more and more frail by
the minute. It's cancer.”

I
hated that word. Everyone hated that word. It was ugly and cruel and
unforgiving. Three words that also described my father. “How
long does he have?”

“Days,
weeks maybe,” he said. “they say it is advanced bone
cancer. It must have went undetected for years.”

“Yeah
because he refused to see a doctor,” I said. Because you didn't
mess with God's will. “Is he refusing treatment now?”

“Yes.
He's half delirious with pain all the time.”

“Okay,”
I said, setting my phone and keys down. “Thanks for telling me.
You don't have to come again when he dies... just send me a letter.”

Isaiah
looked up like I had struck him. “You cant be that cold.”

“I
can,” I said. “I am. Maybe it's from not knowing my
mother, the only person I ever loved... the only person that ever
loved me, died. Split to pieces in the woods while I fought over food
to stay alive. That might have something to do with me not needing to
fall into nineteen-fifites dramatics over this.”