by Dani Wyatt
Who knew.
“My beauty.” I shut the bedroom door behind us and pull Betty back into me, marching us in lock-step toward the bed. “Bend that sweet ass over.”
I gently push her head down toward the white bedding, and she arches her back and reaches to the hem of her skirt, flipping it up to expose her bare ass and sweet naked cunt.
“My king.”
My cock is rock hard in an instant, and I kneel behind her and take a long lick from her already juicing pussy, her flavor racing through me like some sexual rocket fuel.
“So sweet,” I mumble into her as I suck and lick her to a quick orgasm, before standing and lining up.
I tease her, running the head of my cock through her satin warmth, centering myself with just a bit of pressure at her opening.
“Come on.” She pushes her hips back, but I retreat. “Roan. Please...”
“What do you want?” Her juices coat my cock, making me half crazed.
“I want it. I want your cock. Pretty please.” She turns her head around and gives me the most delicious look, and I can’t take anymore. I slip slowly and fully inside her, listening to her satisfied moan as I do.
“God, I love your cock.” She rocks back into me, and within two minutes, we are both shaking and cumming, knowing we have a small window of opportunity before one of the kids comes knocking.
I lean down, still buried inside her, and tell her I love her, pulling her hair from her neck and kissing her there before I pull out and admire her sweet upturned ass and the cream dripping from her opening.
“I can’t wait to get you pregnant again.”
“Really?” She stands, brushing her dress down. “You can’t even wait for me to have this one before you’re planning to knock me up again?”
“I can’t help it. It’s my thing. I’m pretty good at knocking you up, if I do say so myself.”
“Yeah, seems to be a thing with the men in this town. Candice and Bill are already trying for another one.”
Candice and Bill danced around each other at the restaurant like I did with Betty. When we got married, Bill and Candice stood up for each of us, and that seems to have been the fuel that lit their fire.
They’ve been together ever since and are about as prolific in the baby making department as we are.
I’m still working with the lumber company part–time, because I love the work. I started a lumber trading business on my own too. I buy and sell rare timbers from around the country to architects, builders, and some celebrities.
I offer commissions to people that find old barns, or structures that need dismantling, and we keep the old beams and wood parts of the buildings housing them in a few warehouses across the country. I also buy and sell burl wood, which is rare and in high demand. It’s kept my heart where I belong, in the woods, but allows me more time with my family, which is by far my number one priority.
Betty still sews. Makes a lot of the kids clothes. She started making the kids these soft, fun stuffed animals too, and one of the shops in town asked her to make some to sell.
They sold in the first week, and since then, she’s had to ration herself to making four or five a week, otherwise, she would be in a self-imposed sweatshop.
All the proceeds from her sales go to the local animal shelter. Betty can’t spend time volunteering there anymore, being a superstar mom to five kids is more than a full-time job. So this way she feels she is still able to contribute to something that is close to her heart.
Dennis moved downstate and helps me with a lot of the tech work for my company. Once we got Dennis into some intensive treatment, he was diagnosed with autism—something that was missed his entire childhood and contributed to a lot of his adult behavior.
He’s doing well, is happy, and we keep up on him financially as well as personally. We see him at least once a month, and he’s become a fabulous uncle to the kids.
“We should get back outside.” Betty smoothes her hair and her dress as I put my cock away and nod.
She steps toward the door, and I reach out and spin her around, crushing my lips to hers.
“I just needed one more kiss.” I sigh as she rests her hands on the bearded sides of my face.
“I hope I hear that for the next hundred years.”
The twinkle in her green eyes tells me all I need to know.
“Two hundred, baby. I won’t settle for anything less.”
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DEEP CUT
Chapter One
Melody
YOU KNOW THAT FEELING...life is just humming along. Things seem to just fall into place.
One minute you’re getting high on eighties music and making the hard choices in life, like should I trim an inch off my hair or two? Bangs or no bangs?
You are just so sure you are one of the lucky ones. Life has smiled upon you and you are walking on sunshine.
Whoooaaa Oh Oooooo...
Yeah, I know that feeling.
You know what else I know?
In the immortal words of Styx...Welcome to the grand illusion.
The sound of party goers outside laughing and talking drifts through my window as I hunker down in my bedroom, frozen with anxiety.
Three months ago my mom left my dad, emptying the bank accounts and telling my dad she was sorry, but she needed to live her most ‘authentic’ life. She took off to a meditation retreat in Bali with a yogi named Greg.
The next two weeks, I watched my father turn into a zombie. Moving through the days, talking to lawyers, barely acknowledging the fact that I’d just lost my mother. In a whirlwind, we packed up our life in London, where my mom was from, and moved back to Roanoke, Michigan, where my dad’s parents’ estate sat empty.
Seems Mom did a number on the finances before she took what was left and went to find herself. Dad had no choice but to move us back here and try to start over. Turns out, for all our luxurious living, in the end it was my mom’s trust fund that financed most of it. My father’s job as a financial consultant was successful, but not enough to bring us the kind of lifestyle we enjoyed—especially in a city like London.
I hear my father laughing outside, then his voice above the rest slurs as he announces the hot tub is now clothing optional. Yeah, hot tub, swimming pool, tennis courts...there’s money on both sides of my family tree. This house is nice. Well, more than nice actually. I had no idea it was even here.
Grandpa was a bit of a lumber baron back in the day, and also owned a lot of the land around here. They were the elite of this area and traveled and lived a fairly posh life for this part of the world.
Seems my grandparents had a bit of a thing for the palaces of Europe, because that’s basically what this is. It’s a bit run down from sitting empty for a years, but that doesn’t bother me. There are also things about it I find comforting.
For a start, it’s surrounded by dense forest on three sides and the structure is stone with big rooms, high ceilings and musty furniture, and that feels a little magical to me. Straight out of a fairytale, sitting waiting for something to happen.
Before all this, my parents kept me on a tight leash. They both seem to have found their inner wild child now though. Mid-life crises, I suppose, leaving me to try to maneuver a new town, new home, new school and new life without much guidance.
“Melody.” I hear Cynthia’s voice before I see her standing in the doorway of my room where I’m hiding out. She sees me sitting and fists her hands on her narrow hips. Her yellow bikini is soaked and her blonde hair hangs wet over her shoulders. “You okay in here?”
“Sure.” I answer. I guess I am. At least I’m not half in the bag and wondering what STD’s I may have picked up from the hot tub.
Actually, that’s not fair. I like Cynthia. I just don’t like not having my mom.
“Come on out. Your dad sent me in to find you.”
What makes you think
I want to come out and hang around a bunch of drunk assholes my parents’ age?
Cynthia was Dad’s girlfriend from high school, and they hooked up just a few days after we moved back. This part of the world is nothing like what I’m used to. It’s a lumber town, with logging trucks rumbling down the main drag toward the interstate and no sign of a Starbucks anywhere. But, I don’t hate it, I’m just not used to it.
God, I’m turning into such a brat.
“I’m fine.” I look back down at the open book in my lap and pretend to be engrossed. It’s Saturday night and I’m hiding in my room. My one friend, Ginger, said she would come over, but I haven’t heard back from her and honestly, it’s fine with me.
“Your uncle just got here.”
Fire races through my veins and the words on the pages blur.
The only thing I’ve looked forward to since we moved back is Uncle Cain. I’d never met him before we moved back. He and Dad weren’t that close and lived such different lives. My grandparents adopted my father after trying to conceive for years. Five years later, by some miracle my grandmother got pregnant with Cain. So, they aren’t blood brothers. But he’s still my uncle and the thoughts I keep having about him, well... I know they are wrong.
The vision of Uncle Cain the first time I saw him is seared into my brain. His incredible, hard body in a flannel shirt and blue jeans as he towered in the doorway to the kitchen. Black beard along his jaw and a face that looked like it was carved from ice and darkness. Forearms as thick as my thighs and boots still encrusted with dirt from the other world in which he lives.
As I drew closer, his scent sealed my fate; an aphrodisiac like fresh cut wood and the night air. Things happened inside me I didn’t understand.
When my father told me he was a lumberjack, I’d laughed. I thought he was kidding. I didn’t think that was a real thing anymore. I was wrong. And if ever there was a poster child for the sexy lumberjack industry, Uncle Cain is it.
Every day since, I’ve thought of him. Remembered how he moved through the house with me following behind, as he and Dad reminisced about growing up here.
He barely looked at me that day and I understand why. I’m just a child in his eyes.
Still, it hasn’t stopped me from doing little things to try to get his attention. I can’t seem to put two words together when he’s around. He’s come over a couple times a week since that first day. My dad keeps throwing these parties, inviting people from town or his new job as Finance Manager at a local car dealership, and he invites Uncle Cain every time.
I’m sure he’s here for the women. Beautiful, grown women float around the house giggling and jiggling, making me understand for the first time in my life what jealousy feels like.
I keep myself covered most of the time. I’m a little rounder than most of the popular girls my age and I haven’t yet grown into a woman’s body like the ones I see strutting around at the parties.
When I know Uncle Cain is coming around though, I do different things to my hair. I tried a cute pair of cut offs, a little sundress. But still he barely grunts my way.
At the parties, he mostly sits off by himself and besides the occasional few words with Dad doesn’t speak to anyone.
I’ll walk by, trying not to look at him or seem too obvious.
He looks like he could tear down a tree with his bare hands, heft the thing across his shoulders and carry it down the mountain.
My friend from school, Ginger, has been around a few times during Dad’s parties and has seen Uncle Cain. I can’t tell her what I feel around him, but when she sashays in her purple bikini out by the pool near him, I want to claw her eyes out.
Cynthia starts to turn and walk out of the room, then swivels her head and adds, “Oh, and Ginger’s here with a group of kids from school, asking for you. You really need to come out and be social, Melody. Time to stop sulking and get back in the land of the living.”
Gawd. I knew Ginger was probably coming. But my father threatened to invite some of the kids from my school, I just didn’t think he’d actually follow through. See, the thing is, today is my nineteenth birthday, even though I’m still in high school here in the states.
According to the testing I had to take when we got back, I needed to complete a few more classes in order to get my high school diploma. Most of the other kids in my senior class are just turning eighteen, so it’s made it even harder to fit in. They see me as the stupid girl who’s still in high school when she should have already started college.
So much for my fancy English private school education.
This ‘party’ is my birthday party, not that you could tell from the lack of a birthday cake, gifts or anything resembling a get together that would interest me.
I summon some motivation and slip on my flip flops, putting my book down and making my way toward the celebration.
The sun is hot as I come out the back door onto the patio and glance over the fence at the pool. Adults are sitting on the edge and splashing in the water while my dad stands over by the gate entry of the pool, talking to Uncle Cain.
When I look over, my stomach flips at the sight of him standing there. His eyes move my way and stick on me for a long moment, then he nods, running a powerful hand over his face and down his jaw.
“Melody!” I look over to see Ginger waving me her way, where she’s standing with about ten other kids I barely know from school.
So embarrassing. It’s like having to get your cousin to take you to prom. Having my dad try to get some friends here for a birthday party that looks more like an evening at the Playboy Mansion. What could possibly be worse?
I look back to see Cain looking over at the group, ignoring my father who is talking to him about something. Cain’s eyes are focused, glaring, before he gives me one more glance then nods back at my father.
When I give the little group a wave they look around awkwardly. Ginger has grown up here, so she knows a lot of them. I just pray for something less than complete humiliation.
“There’s food and sodas and stuff over there.” I point toward the cabana. “And if you want to swim, you can change in there too.”
There’s nods and half smiles and the discomfort in the air is making me nauseous. I give Ginger a look and she rolls her eyes as if to say ‘It’s okay’.
“Come on.” I hear Bradley Jarrett say, and he tips his head toward the cabana. “Happy birthday, by the way.” He adds as he starts to move that way and the small group falls in step behind, leaving me standing with Ginger.
“Happy birthday for sure.” She looks over at Uncle Cain and bobs her eyebrows.
“Stop.” I shake my head, my eyes flitting from Uncle Cain back to her. “He’s my uncle.”
“Exactly.” Ginger nudges me. “Means he’s not my uncle.”
I cross my arms and wonder what he and Dad are talking about so intently.
Ginger gives me another quick elbow. “Let’s go get some food. I’m starving.”
I look over to see the group from school in the cabana. One of them gets their hands on the stereo and in the next minute, music is blaring, and bodies start moving.
“Okay, but I’m not dancing.” When Ginger rolls her eyes, I add, “I grew up in England. Believe me, I can’t dance.”
She laughs. “Okay, okay. At least try to be cool. Your dad called me and asked if I could get some of the kids from school to come. I did. Now, try to be a good hostess and make sure they have fun.”
Make sure they have fun? This is my party and I’m certainly not having any fun.
As I follow Ginger, we pass Dad and Cain, and my uncle’s nearly black eyes look wilder than usual. They graze me up and down before he turns my way and Dad works his way back to where there’s a few of his friends whooping it up in the hot tub.
“Happy birthday.” Uncle Cain’s deep voice sends my belly into a flutter.
“Thanks.” I pause and Ginger looks back to give me the eye, but she keeps walking.
“I have s
omething for you.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know. I wanted to.” He tips his head toward a patio table and I see a package wrapped in brown paper and a piece of twine.
We step that way and he picks it up and hands it to me. My fingers are shaking as I take it from his massive hand, but I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself.
He not what you would call conventionally handsome I suppose. But, it’s that ‘X’ factor he has. Confidence paired with what would be an ability to kill someone with his bare hands and a body that looks like it could stop a semi makes him almost God-like.
I unwrap the plan paper and set the box down on the table, pulling the top off. Inside the box is another box, a vintage-y looking, white and gold embossed leather. I lift it out and underneath is a stack of paper, and on the front page it says, “The Wishing Tree”.
I lift the papers from the box and flip back the first one, seeing the hand-written paragraphs on the beige paper. When I read the first line, I’m lightheaded and engulfed in warmth.
“Not all stories start with once upon a time.” Cain’s voice comes out deep and serious. “I wrote it for you.”
My face flushes with heat, the first line echoing around in my mind.
Some girls are made for wishes and dreams. And others are made for me. She is one of the latter, and if it takes a thousand lifetimes, I’ll follow her through them all.
“Wow.” It’s all I can manage.
“You can read it later. It’s just a short story, but I wanted to give you something special.”
I nod, wishing that first line was about me. “I’m sure it’s amazing.”
“Not so sure on the amazing part. That’s subjective. Open the other one.” He jams his hands down in his front pockets. This is as close to him as I’ve ever been and his size is even more impressive close up.
Uncle Cain is a exercise in contrast. He chops down trees for a living but also writes fairytales as a hobby. My dad told me he publishes them under a pen name—one that even my dad doesn’t know—but Uncle Cain has quite a following, which by looking at him you’d never suspect.
