by A. E. Murphy
“Why are you eating shit in my laundry room?” I frown, crossing my arms over my chest. A strike of manly satisfaction courses through me when she looks at my own assets. For an older man I’ve still got it, as I should, I work hard for this body and eat right.
“I’m hungry,” she replies as though I’m stupid as she pushes a hand through her hair, showing me a black and gray, surprisingly beautiful tattoo on her arm. It’s a swirling pattern with roses and hidden faces that has been so artistically done. I pull my eyes away because staring at her isn’t helping my arousal.
I fucking love tasteful tattoos on women and this one, which spans from her shoulder to her elbow, is gorgeous.
“There is a refrigerator full of food.”
Her lips twitch when I say refrigerator. Is she mocking me in her mind? Like she can mock anyone with her common-sounding British accent that is probably fake anyway.
“I’m not the type to make myself at home when my host is less than pleased to see me,” she admits, straight to the point of the issue, I like that. I might just respect her a little more for it.
“I apologize for my less than adequate greeting yesterday, allow me to redeem myself in the form of eggs benedict and toast.”
She smiles happily, stretching her dark pink lips which I think are their natural color. What a lucky, stunning young woman. My son certainly has good taste. She is a beauty.
I allow myself one more act of perversion and move to the side so she has to walk past me and I get to see her delectable derriere as she goes. It’s even better than I imagined. And now, I must put all of that out of my head and treat her like the son-stealing harlot that she is.
“Have you ever had eggs benedict?” I ask, moving to the refrigerator and pulling it open.
“Nope,” she replies, pulling herself up onto the counter.
I’m torn between ogling her bare thighs or following the pretty glow of her tan to her feet and back up to her cunt. I wonder if, when she slides down, the boxers will hug her lips like a glove and show me just a glimpse of her young pussy.
How old is she anyway? If she’s my son’s age she’s far too young for my perverted mind. Even though she looks all woman. Her body is that of an athlete in her mid-twenties at the latest and I can’t stop obsessing.
“There are stools,” I snap, my anger misplaced.
“Sorry, Sarge.” She hops down. I grit my teeth at the sound of that name. “It’s a habit. You just sort of sit wherever you can when you’re backpacking.”
I light the stove and get to work making breakfast, turning on the radio to fill the silence and to stop me from having to speak with her for any longer.
Tempest
He places a full plate in front of me and my stomach growls its approval. I hope he doesn’t hear it over the music.
“Thank you.” I politely bow my head and bring my hand up to touch my hair.
“Something you learned in Cambodia?”
I nod and reply, “A custom in a village I was in a while ago, a habit you learned quickly or you quickly felt a cane strike your bare thighs.” He shifts on the spot and I wonder if I’ve made him uncomfortable. “It’s a habit you don’t forget once you feel the pain of that thin piece of polished wood when it hits you.”
His dark eyes stare at me for the longest moment and then he takes his plate and leaves the kitchen without another word, vanishing into the hall.
Was it something I said?
Moments later Maddox sleepily enters. “Dad’s been cooking?”
I nod, smiling at his nest of messy hair. Yanking the amber beads that dangle around his neck I admonish, “You shouldn’t sleep in those. It’s dangerous.”
He hits my hand away and rolls his eyes. “Sorry, Mom.”
I finish my breakfast as he helps himself to what’s left in the pan.
“What did my dad say to you?”
“He just offered me breakfast.” And he ogled my body in a way that was so obvious and degrading I wanted to kick him in his nuts. Not that I don’t appreciate the attention of a good-looking man, but not one that so obviously disrespects me based on the fact I have a vagina. Which, by the straining in his trousers, he wants to plunder with his cock.
He’s Maddox’s dad. It’s just wrong on so many levels. I mean, Maddox is twenty-one, so he has to be at least forty, that’s if he was a young father. He doesn’t look old, but he does look handsomely mature. Why do handsome men age so well? I deduct he can’t be older than forty-three.
“Good.” He takes a bite of his eggs and moans. “I’ve missed being home.”
“I’m not surprised, look at this place.” I grin, swinging my arms out. “It’s amazing. What does your dad do and can I do it too?”
“He runs a transportations company. He handles imports and exports for some pretty major businesses all around the world.”
I nod slowly, impressed. “He runs it?”
“With my godfather, yep. They started when they were in their teens and worked hard to build something together.”
“That’s inspirational.”
He shrugs and smiles sheepishly. “He missed out on a lot though, building his empire. It’s why he’s so lax with me. He wants me to experience life before I tie myself to his company.”
“That’s actually really nice. I wish I had parents like that.”
His hand squeezes my knee when I tilt my head and spy a fancy-looking camera inside a kitchen cupboard, through a glass panel.
“One of yours?”
“No.” He puffs out his cheeks. “That’s my dad’s. He keeps it there for the memories because he doesn’t get the urge anymore. When he was younger he wanted to be a photographer. He’s the one who taught me all about lighting and angles.”
“Is he good?”
“He’s incredible. He has an eye for images. He never took random shots, even as I was growing up. Every shot was perfect.” He looks to be awed by his own opinions. He really respects and loves his dad. And then he ruins it by smirking while saying, “But I surpassed him quickly enough.”
“Humble,” I giggle, yanking on his necklace again. “Do you think he’ll let me draw him naked?”
Maddox chokes on a laugh and pretends to vomit. “You’re not… digging him, are you?”
“Ew, I mean, no, he’s nice to look at and I’ve got literally every other body shape drawn. Your dad is like, all muscle.”
He shudders. “I’m staying out of this one, I can guarantee it’ll be a definite no.”
I try to hide my disappointment but it sucks because it’s all for the art.
“Besides, I’m all muscle!” Maddox declares, flexing his biceps.
“Yeah, but I already drew you and he’s twice your muscle size.” Well, he’s bigger but not twice as big. “It’s good you follow his workout regime and a shame you don’t pay attention to his good sense of hair styling.”
Feigning offense, he shoves me so hard I stumble off the stool and fall onto my side. We both laugh until I kick his stool out from under him and he joins me on the floor. I screech and scramble on the wooden surface to get away when he grabs my braid and digs his fingers into my sides.
“No!” I laugh so hard I can’t breathe, he’s relentless. He doesn’t stop, pinning me by straddling my chest. “UNCLE!”
He finally stops, climbs off me and offers me a hand as I pant and gasp for breath. I take it and let him pull me to standing. I slap his chest for good measure.
“Morning.” Sargent enters the room with his empty plate. “Sorry for being rude, I had to make a call, are you hungry, Maddox?”
“No,” Mad replies, still beaming. He rubs his hip, the one that he landed on when I kicked the stool out from under him. “I’m okay. The leftovers were epic.”
“Good.”
“When do you want me to start work?” he asks. “The sooner I have a steady income the better.”
As Sargent replies I take our plates to the sink and figure out the weird tap with a showe
r head that you can move around, I’m assuming it’s to rinse the plates off. I like it.
“We have a dishwasher,” Sargent snaps, no longer talking about getting his son on his own team. “That really isn’t necessary.”
“It’s three plates and a pan,” I reply, looking at the dishwasher door and yanking it open. As expected it’s empty.
“Dad.” Maddox clicks his fingers to get his father’s glowering eyes off me. “Work?”
Sargent
“You can start Thursday,” I reply. “But don’t think we’ll go easy on you because you’re my son.” I look at our guest. Her presence alone infuriates me. “Will you be getting a job?”
“I actually already have one,” she responds, smiling sheepishly and my son looks at her with such adoration.
“Really?” I am intrigued. “Doing what?”
“I’ll be starting at that diner near the freeway on Saturday.”
“Bill’s Space?” I ask and I look at my son who still has that look in his eye. Boy does he have it bad.
“She’s also an incredible painter and even better at drawing.” Maddox twirls a lock of her hair around his finger. I’m not sure he realizes he’s doing it.
“But please don’t worry, I won’t use any paints or anything in your house,” she blurts, looking sideways at my son.
“We’ll find a space for you,” Maddox offers, turning away from me completely. “Maybe in the yard. Right, Dad?”
I don’t reply. As much as I appreciate art, finding her a space will just entice her to stay.
My phone ringing saves me from replying. I walk away, trying not to think about the visual she planted in my mind, of a cane hitting her tanned skin.
Tempest
This morning when I read the note on the counter, the one wishing me the best of luck at my first day of work, I had thought it would bring me the luck it wished for me. I was wrong. Today was hard, so hard. The diner in question is busy, extremely busy, and I just can’t wrap my head around this payment system. Two dollars an hour and the rest in tips? I hardly made fifty quid for ten hours’ work. People in such a rich area of the state are tight with their tips.
I mean, yeah, okay, I get that I’m new and I made a few mistakes but still.
Plus, the other women who work there are cliquey and bitchy and kept taking my tables.
Still, I grinned and got on with it. My new boss, Bill himself, who gave me the job over email after taking pity of my circumstances, told me he was impressed with how hard I worked and gave me a welcome bonus. That brought me up to seventy dollars for ten hours of nonstop work. I got lunch too, so it wasn’t so bad.
Bill seems like a nice guy, a bit overweight and breathless, and a bit sweaty smelling but I could tell he had his heart in the right place.
Besides, I worked for less in Cambodia and Thailand, I guess I was just hoping to have a bit more to put away. Never mind. I’m moaning because I’m tired.
I knock on the door and push it open then immediately go to my room before anybody can see the state of me. My hair is a frizzy mess, falling out of the bun that was neatly made this morning. My eye makeup is smudged, my face pale from exhaustion, and nausea from eating an extremely greasy burger. I haven’t had something so greasy and heavy in so long, it’s not sitting right. There was little else on the menu though but tomorrow I’ll try harder to find something. Perhaps a baked potato.
When I enter my bedroom, I smile when I see a top and matching bottom on the bed, made from soft black material, with another note like the one this morning.
It reads:
Congratulations on finishing your first day. M.
I didn’t have anything to swim in and I expressed my need to go shopping as soon as I got my first round of cash. Cash which I can now tuck away in my underwear drawer because Maddox has treated me. It makes me feel bad for not getting him anything on his first day of work which, from what I’ve heard, he excelled at. I knew he would. He’s been groomed his entire life to help his dad. I wish I had a dad who cared enough about my future to help me learn anything.
There’s a knock on the door.
Sargent
Maddox stands when he hears the front door open and close, signifying the end of the girl’s first day of work, leaving me to my thoughts and paperwork. Clearly, he’s had enough of invoices and wage slips. Even though I have a team of financial gurus, I still want him to know how to do things. Should anything happen to me I need to know he’s capable of handling all aspects of our company.
I stack the paperwork in order and then stretch and close my eyes, if only to listen to the blissful silence I haven’t had yet today. It’s like meditation but without the humming and the crossing of legs.
I roll my eyes when I hear the girl’s sharp scream. It pierces my peace and I want to cane her myself for it.
It has been four days and that visual is still in my head.
“Must you?” I snarl aggressively when Maddox comes running through the room moments later in swimming trunks.
The female in question is on his back, her bare legs wrapped around his waist, her slender arms around his neck.
He runs past me at the dining table and straight through the open sliding doors.
She screams again when he launches them into the pool sideways and they hit the water with a loud splash that leaves them both spluttering and laughing.
I slam the door closed and stalk to my room. Noise, so much noise.
When I return an hour later for food, Maddox is standing in the kitchen with a towel around his waist, carefully placing food onto three plates from a glass dish.
“What have you made?” I ask, remembering how happy I am to see him home. Though I wonder, with the salary he’ll soon be making, how long will he stay before he gets his own place with little Miss Charity Case?
“Baked salmon and sweet potato fries with vegetables, nothing fancy.”
“Sounds great.”
He smiles at me over his shoulder, looking like his mother. It has me turning away. He’s the only good thing that woman ever did but it still disturbs me when he looks like her.
“Can you get Pest for me?” He takes a pan off the stove top and dips a large spoon into it. “She’s outside still.”
Of course he’d ask me.
As I turn away he adds, “Be nice, Dad, she’s had a long day at work.”
“If she can’t handle one day of work without complaining…”
“Dad!”
I raise a hand and pad barefoot to the doors, slipping on my flip-flops that sit by them.
When I exit, stepping over the puddles on the white tiles that lead from the pool, I find her standing at the stone wall, looking vacantly over the view. Peaking land, covered in green and brown can be seen to the left, straight ahead is the small town at the base of our hill, the few stores that Eastern Malibu has.
You can hear the ocean from here, smell it on the air.
The sun is setting, casting a warm glow of oranges, reds, grays, and blues in the sky. It’s as though the atmosphere is on fire. It makes her bare flesh look like shimmering gold.
“Dinner is served,” I say, following the soft curve of her back to her round, toned rear that would spill out of my large hands if grabbed.
She’s either ignoring me or she doesn’t hear me.
I refuse to call her Pest. That’s my son’s odd nickname for her, though I find myself at a loss for her actual name. I haven’t been told it yet, likely because I haven’t asked. I really should read those emails.
I click my fingers by her ear and she jolts, her faraway eyes suddenly zone back in.
“Your dinner is ready,” I state.
“Oh.” She smiles warmly and tucks her escaping hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Sarge.”
“It’s Sargent.”
“Sorry. I keep doing that.”
“I’m aware. I really hate it.”
She grins tiredly. “I know.” Little Minx. “I’m actually glad y
ou’re here. What do you want from me in return for my stay?”
“Sorry?” I stiffen, and not just my cock, at her words.
“Money, dollars, coins, etcetera.” She smirks, making her red lips crinkle at the corners in a way I can’t ignore. “I don’t expect to stay here for free.”
Tempest
“I don’t need your money,” he replies and turns away from me without going further into detail. “Dinner is ready.”
“So what can I do instead? You have a cleaner so I can hardly help there, you have a pool boy.” I follow him, careful not to slip on the tiles. “Does somebody iron for you? I could iron?”
“We’ll think of something,” he replies flippantly and me, being the dirty-minded woman that I am, reads into that in so many ways I shouldn’t. “For now, just settle in and keep your things together, in your room and your own bathroom.”
That is something I can definitely do.
He isn’t done. “I hate clutter, especially that of a woman’s. Just keep it all in your room.”
“You got it.” I inhale deeply and step inside after Sarge. “Smells great.”
Maddox grins at me. I set the table, resting the placemats on the black glass surface as Sargent makes the drinks.
Sargent, such a funny name but surprisingly sexy. I feel like I’m in the army. So many unrealized fantasies are coming to mind.
“Hey, Dad,” Maddox says as he brings two of the plates over.
I take my seat without thinking about it, not realizing how close my seat is to the end of the table where a certain man will be sitting. I feel my face heat with anxiety and just general shyness. I’m not typically shy but when sitting beside an attractive man who clearly hates me, it can be awkward.
I sip the white wine that has been poured for me and wonder if the bottle it came from cost more than I earned in ten hours today.
“What time do you start work tomorrow?” Maddox asks.
I cringe as I reply, “Five thirty. They want to show me how to open.”
