by Beth Flynn
He laughed. "No, Mimi. I don't feel emasculated because you're a strong and assertive woman. I'm proud of you for it. And last time I looked, my balls were still very much intact."
I gave him a sheepish grin.
"Honestly, they want to explode right now because I want you so damn much." He raised his hips and tugged at the crotch of his jeans. "And I want my wife with me for as long as possible," he said as he returned his butt to the car's leather seat.
I looked around to make sure that no cars were coming down the road. "Unzip your jeans." I was pretty certain I shocked him.
"Are you sure?" he asked me while simultaneously doing as I asked.
"Yeah, but hurry. If someone comes down this street and sees you in my car without me, they'll definitely stop and I don't want to get caught." Christian didn't need convincing as I leaned over and brought my mouth down on his hardness. It was awkward stretching over my console, but his release was quick.
I must've had a strange look on my face because he stopped mid-zip to ask, "Are you okay, Mimi? Are you gonna be sick? You didn't have to swallow it. You could’ve spit it out."
I knew he was alluding to my inexperience. This was the first time he came in my mouth. Actually, it was the first time anybody came in my mouth. The few times I’d engaged in oral sex with Lucas, he never leaked and always pulled out and came on my face. I guess it was his thing.
"I’m okay. I'm trying to figure out what it tastes like."
"It probably tastes like cum," he laughed.
"Yeah, whatever," I replied. "But there's an aftertaste that reminds me of something."
He was still laughing when he shifted the car into gear and made the left onto our graveled road.
We were talking about whether or not we should try to get his mother alone to ask her about the letter, when it occurred to me.
"Kiwi!" I shouted. "The aftertaste reminds me of kiwi. Not that kiwi tastes like semen," I clarified. "Kiwi has an aftertaste that reminds me of cum and vice versa. Is it just your cum or does all semen taste like that?"
He snorted and asked, "How would I know?" He smiled over at me, and then his face grew serious. "And so we’re clear, that is a question you'll never be able to answer."
I knew what he was implying, and I didn't care. I reached for his right hand and held it tightly. I was admiring his profile when I asked, "What are you thinking about?"
He gave me a dazzling smile. "I was just thinking how I'll be insisting you go on my personalized kiwi diet."
Chapter 38
Pine Creek, North Carolina 2007
Christian unloaded Rachelle and Travis's deep fryer from the back of my SUV and carried it up to the side porch. We entered through the kitchen door, and walked in on a conversation about The Ghost. Our parents were sitting around the great room, but we could easily hear their voices from the open kitchen. I nodded toward the pot of coffee that had been brewed and asked Christian if he wanted a cup. We carried our mugs in and joined them.
"You said that before Monster died he was catching a lot of shit from his men because they didn't always agree with his rules," my father said to Uncle Anthony. "Maybe there is no Ghost. Isn't it possible that Blue wants everyone to think someone else is calling the shots so when the men don't agree with his decisions he can put the blame on this supposed Ghost?"
"It's plausible," Anthony agreed. "There is one other thing." All eyes cut to him and he said, "Blue, or The Ghost, doesn't seem to protect the gang. He lets them get caught." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "We did what we could to protect our guys." He nodded at my father. "I don't see Blue doing that, and I know it's not because he doesn't know how or doesn’t want to."
There was no time for further speculation when we were interrupted by my grandfather. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see my best girl's car out front," he announced from the kitchen. We'd been so engrossed in our conversation, nobody heard him come in through the same door Christian and I had used.
My mother jumped up and immediately started making introductions. I could see she was getting nervous about how she would explain our company and Christian's battered face, when my grandfather grabbed my husband's hand and shook it. "Looks like you've been in an accident. Anything else banged up?"
"No, sir," Christian said with a half grin.
Turning to me, my grandfather wrapped his arms around me and asked, "Were you in the same accident?" Pulling back he assessed my face and concluded, "Your bruises don't look as fresh."
I laughed and said, "I had a close encounter with a kayak that was yanked out of the back of a truck."
He kissed my forehead, and made his way around the room, shaking hands with Uncle Anthony and hugging Aunt Christy. I loved how my grandfather never made anyone feel as if they needed to explain or justify themselves. He had the ability to mind his own business and accept unconditionally. He didn't ask how my parents knew the Bears. He didn't ask where they lived and what they were doing in Pine Creek. It was his way. I remembered asking him once why he wasn't more curious about my father's old lifestyle. His answer was a simple question. "Why pry when you can pray?" He'd winked at me. "Nothing good ever comes out of prying, but a whole bushel of good can come out of praying." I couldn't think of anyone I admired more than Micah Hunter.
He captivated our company with lighthearted teasing about watching Grizz raise four-year-old twins. My father wasn't offended in the least and even joined in with some stories of his own about Ruthie and Dillon.
"Believe me, Anthony and I understand—" Aunt Christy started to say when Christian quietly interrupted her.
"Mom, can Mimi and I have a minute with you?"
"Christian, I was talking," she softly said, giving him a stern look.
"Was that Rachelle's turkey fryer I saw on the porch?" my grandfather asked my mother.
The conversation immediately went from middle-aged musings on raising small children to my mother asking my father, grandfather, and Uncle Anthony to get the fryer set up outside. It was our cue to ask Aunt Christy to follow us upstairs for a private chat.
Once upstairs in my bedroom, Christian shut the door behind us.
"What's this all about?" She was smiling. “Grizz said Anthony and Micah can set up the fryer so he can give me a private tour of the hen house. I might like to set something up like that at home. We definitely have the space.”
“I’m sure my dad will give you a tour after we talk to you,” I answered.
She nodded and gave me an eager smile. I was certain she was expecting us to ask her some motherly advice about our current situation. I watched the corners of her mouth start to turn downward when Christian asked, "What did you do with the letters Mimi sent me?"
She slowly nodded, and softly said, "I shouldn't be surprised that this has come up."
"You don't deny that you got the letters, read them, and obviously didn't show them to me?"
She looked at me, and then Christian. "I thought it was for your own good. And your father agreed with me." Looking back at me she said with a sympathetic smile, "And I was only doing what your mother asked of me. Cutting off contact with your family. I don't need to explain to either of you what was at stake."
"Ignoring them was one thing, Mom. But writing back to her? I still can't believe you did it, but it couldn’t have been anyone else."
I could see genuine shock on her face.
"W-write back?” she stammered. "I never wrote back."
Christian gave me a curt nod and I walked toward my bookshelf. I felt their eyes on my back as I sifted through the deep shelves. My old Bible had been buried behind so many other books I wasn't sure if maybe my memory was wrong and I'd actually disposed of it. I spotted the worn binder and pulled it from the shelf. Turning back to them, I looked down as I flipped through the long-abandoned pages and retrieved the piece of notebook paper that had been pressed between them for the past five years.
I gulped as I handed the letter to Christia
n, not allowing my eyes to meet his. Knowing that he hadn't written the letter hadn't been enough to stave off the reminder of the humiliation and sting the cruel words had inflicted.
I watched his brows furrow in concentration. When he looked up his eyes were blazing with a fury so intense, I half expected fire to shoot out of them.
"I didn't write this, but it's my handwriting!" he spat as he thrust the letter at his mother.
Her eyes widened as she took the note from his hands. I noticed the paper slightly shaking as Aunt Christy read it. She let out a gasp and brought her hand to her chest. "You think I wrote this?" There was a swift but uncomfortable silence. "To Mimi? You think I'm capable of this, Christian?"
"I didn't write it and there is nobody else who could've." He stood over his mother with his arms crossed, glaring down at her.
She looked at me. "I’ll admit that I threw all your letters away, Mimi. I'm not denying that." She turned to Christian. "But those three letters went in the shredder. There is no way anybody else, other than your father, could've seen them, let alone replied to them." She shook her head. "I'm at a loss. I don't have an explanation."
"Wait," I interjected. "I sent four letters."
"Four?" Aunt Christy asked, her blues eyes objecting. "No. That can't be right." She shook her head again slightly. "I distinctly remember reading three letters." She looked up at Christian. "You can ask your father. He'll tell you. There were only three."
"Well, if you didn't send Mimi a reply it could only mean that someone else intercepted my mail. And the only people I can think of who would've had access to it is Dad or Slade."
Aunt Christy and I both gasped at the same time.
"Absolutely not, Christian!" she whisper-shouted. "Your father or brother would never write something this horrid to Mimi. Never!"
"I don't want to disagree with you, Aunt Christy," I politely stated. "I want to believe that you didn't write it, but if it wasn't you or them..." I paused trying to articulate my thoughts. "Basically you're looking for someone who not only had access to your mail, but let’s face it was someone who knew Christian well enough to emulate his handwriting. I'm not trying to be disrespectful, but it all points to one of you."
I leaned into Christian, as the heartbreak of knowing my new family was capable of something so mean-spirited and hateful weighed heavily on my heart. He pulled me in closer.
"Unless..." Aunt Christy started to say.
"She would've been able to copy my handwriting," Christian growled.
"I can't believe she didn't immediately come to mind," Aunt Christy countered.
"Who?" I practically screamed.
"The woman I'm going to kill," Christian replied in a voice so low and menacing it took my breath away.
Chapter 39
Fort Lauderdale, Florida 2002
Five Years Earlier
“Harder! Faster!" Autumn screamed as she yanked on Christian's long hair and tried to pull his mouth to hers. She squeezed her legs tightly around his waist and locked her ankles.
"Shut up, Autumn," Christian said in a threatening whisper. "Daisy is gonna think something's wrong and come looking for you."
"I don't care," she yelled. "Harder, Christian!"
Christian immediately lifted himself up, reaching behind him and squeezing her ankle hard enough to force her to release him. "You are one stupid loud bitch, you know that?" he said before ripping off the condom and tossing it on the floor. He stood up and stepped into his jeans, pulling them up.
"You didn't think that when I tutored you over spring break," she said in outrage. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have graduated."
"So what? You want an award or something?" he asked without looking over at her. He buckled his belt and headed for the bedroom door. He turned around to look at her.
Autumn was a nice-looking girl. Not beautiful, but pretty in a wholesome girl-next-door kind of way. She’d been a transfer student last year, and she’d honed in on Christian almost immediately. When she discovered that she lived in the same neighborhood as him, she'd shown up one day uninvited and introduced herself to Christy. And she was more than happy to offer babysitting services for Daisy.
"I just think you could be a little nicer, Christian. I gave you my virginity. You could at least act like I mean more to you than just a lay. You've only taken me out twice, and you don't even introduce me as your girlfriend," she whined. Her face was getting red as she scooted off his bed and started to get dressed. "And you don't take your time with me. It's all about you getting off."
"I told you from the start, Autumn. You are just a lay. I don't want a girlfriend, and you knew that from day one. And fucking yeah, it's about me getting off. Why would you think it's something more? My mother is paying you to look after Daisy and I know you left her in the den watching TV. Get out of my room and take care of my little sister. You're supposed to be playing with her. Not plopping her down in front of a television set."
"You didn't seem to care about your little sister when you were screwing me!" she yelled, her voice beginning to rise.
"I didn't come looking for you," he said, his hand on the doorknob. "You heard me pull up on my motorcycle, took off your clothes, and jumped in my bed before I even came inside the house. You wanted to get screwed. I screwed you. Now get out."
He waited until she was dressed before he yanked open the door. She held her head up proudly as she started to walk past him. She stopped and turned to look at him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pushed herself against his body and cooed, "I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry. You're right. You were up front with me since the beginning. I guess I'm upset that I didn't get to come. Let me make it up to you."
She tried to kiss him, but he turned his face. He roughly grabbed her by her wrists, disengaging them from around his neck and said, "No, thanks, Autumn. This has gone on longer than it should have. Don't let me find you in my bed again. Ever."
She started to object, but he firmly removed her from his room and kicked the door shut, immediately locking it. He went to his stereo and blasted his music. He dug around in his dresser until he found the hand lotion he kept stashed. He lay back on his bed and unzipped his jeans. Autumn wasn't the only one who didn't get to come. He closed his eyes and fantasized about an innocent stare from smoldering brown eyes and remembered her last words. "No. It's not too late, Christian. Trust me."
* * *
Autumn had tried everything, even giving Christian her virginity. She smiled when she remembered their first time together. She was certain that he would be rough, but she was surprised at his gentleness. Unfortunately, she misread his tenderness and respect for her first time as feelings for her. He was just being nice then, and she had wanted it to be something so much more than sex. He hadn't taken her on official dates. Not even close. She manipulated it so that it seemed that way, but he hadn't asked her out. Their relationship, or rather lack of one, had been totally fabricated in her own mind. She even tried to make him jealous by sleeping with his best friend, Dustin. That had backfired. Christian didn't care. He even told her he was happy for her.
She took a deep breath and headed back to the den. She suddenly felt the need to distance herself from the house—from Christian—even if just for a short time.
"Daisy, want to walk out to the mailbox with me?" Daisy was almost seven years old and a sweet little girl. Autumn's original intentions hadn't exactly been honorable. She only offered to babysit as a way to get herself immersed in their household. And it had worked. She was certain Mrs. Bear thought of her like a daughter, not just the girl who occasionally stayed with Daisy.
"C'mon," she said, holding out her hand. Daisy jumped off the couch and took it. The Bears lived in a residential neighborhood that offered the homeowners a little more space than most developments. Mr. Bear owned a landscaping company, so their property housed a huge, separate garage, and the house was set back from the road quite a distance. They walked down the long driveway to the
mailbox hand in hand.
After returning to the house, Autumn started to toss the mail on the kitchen table when she noticed a letter addressed to Christian. Daisy was busy pulling a chair up to the counter to reach the cookie jar. Autumn took the opportunity to snatch the envelope and shove it in her bag which was hanging on a hook by the kitchen door.
Christian never left his room, and when Mrs. Bear offered to drive her home, Autumn told her she'd rather walk. And she meant it. It would give her time to blow off some of the steam from Christian's rejection and harsh words. She didn't like being ignored. She didn't like being treated like a used-up whore.
She was very curious about the letter addressed to Christian. The need to read it fueled her and she made it home in record time. Letting herself in and ignoring her mother's greeting, she headed straight for her room and locked the door behind her. Kicking off her shoes, she jumped on the bed and pulled the letter out of her bag. She noted the pretty handwriting, obviously female. There was no return address, and the postmark was from some town she didn't recognize in Ohio. She carefully opened it.
Dear Christian,
I guess this will be the last letter you'll be getting from me. I don't know why I'm even bothering since you never replied to the first three. I have two theories. One, I've made a total fool of myself by telling you how I felt. That maybe I read more into our last time together, and these letters are just a nuisance, and you don't want to stay in touch with me. The other theory is that you aren't getting my letters because they're being intercepted by your parents. If this is the case, I'll respectfully ask Aunt Christy or Uncle Anthony to please not do this. If you are getting these letters and not giving them to Christian, please reconsider what you're doing. You might think it's for our own good, but you're wrong.
My mother had the babies. She swore she was the only woman in history that ran well past her due date while carrying twins. We all told her that we think the doctor may have miscalculated. It's probably a combination of both. Anyway, they are beautiful and healthy, and my mom is glowing. She's a little more tired than usual, but it barely shows. She had a boy and a girl. Their names are Dillon and Ruth. They have turned our lives upside down—in a good way.
