Father's Keeper

by Parker Ford

  Chapter 13

  At the tavern, I relived those moments in my head over and over. I could feel the small bruises on my breasts from Gil’s teeth thump in time with my heart. I’d even caught myself glancing at them when I dressed for work. I pressed them with my fingertips off and on to feel the sharp little flash of pain and then the dull thumping pleasure that followed.

  Carl sat with the band over in the corner. His landscaping buddies bought rounds of beers and I tried to be calm and professional when I served them. Carl glanced at me one moment looking chagrined, the next looking enraged. I could only assume that he wasn’t taking the break up well at all.

  I did my best to avoid him and when the after dinner crowd came rushing through the front door, it was easy to get swallowed up by the crowd. It was easy to not pay attention to Carl or his group or even Tammy the slut who fucked everyone’s boyfriend.

  “Careful. Don’t be too judgmental,” I reminded myself with a snicker.

  “Who you talking to?” John asked, grinning.

  “Myself. I am old and senile and I talk to myself,” I said pulling a draft beer and slapping a bowl of pretzels on my tray.

  “Just as long as you don’t answer yourself,” he said, winking. “At least that’s what my grandmother always said.”

  “True story,” I laughed.

  My shift passed pretty fast thanks to all the daydreaming. I glanced up to find only fifteen minutes left in my shift. Then I could go home. Would Gil be there? Would he take me again? Would he want me? Would he bite me when he fucked me?

  John yelled out, “Yo, Jenny!” and waved an empty napkin holder at me. The appetizer special tonight were wings and we’d blown through enough napkins to sink a ship. I nodded and headed back to the storage room to grab more.

  I pushed through the crowded back room and passed the back door to the tavern and unlocked the door to the small storage room. I scanned the shelves for napkins when I felt the hands shove me hard. I stumbled into the small storage room with a yell and Carl rushed in behind me. Crowding me in, smashing me to the shelving unit.

  “What’s it like to fuck your father?” he spat. I could tell by his boozy breath that he’d been doing shots. Shots and Carl do not mix. Carl is a beer guy, put hard liquor in him and move out of the way. He’s a mean drunk when it’s hard stuff he’s swigging.

  “Carl, let me get you some coffee,” I said. If I was calm and easy he’d let me out and let me fix him up. In a few hours he’d be his normal nice guy self.

  “Fuck you, cunt,” he said. “I asked you a question.” He took a step toward me and I tried to back up, my shoulder blades pressed to the metal shelf. There was really nowhere for me to go at all.

  “Carl, I don’t know what you think you--”

  He tugged my hair hard and I winced. Carl stared at the blue bits, snorted, dropped it like it disgusted him. “I heard you fucking your father. Gil. I heard you!” He pointed at me, his eyes narrow slits of rage. “I came to get my stuff last night and heard you in there together. You been fucking him the whole time we’ve been here? Did we come here so you could fuck your daddy, you little whore?”

  Spit flew from his mouth and my own rage swooped down on me. My hand flew up before I could think and I smacked his face hard. “Who are you talking to you cocksucker? You fucked Tammy. Tammy fucks everybody.”

  “Tammy’s not my kin,” he spat and slapped me back. The force behind his hand rocked my head back and my skull connected with the shelf with a crack that sounded like a shotgun going off in my brain. “You are fucking your daddy, Jennifer.”

  “He’s not my daddy,” I said. “You know that. You just want it to be worse than it is. And I think we were over a long time ago, Carl. You were just a dick with legs to me. A nice dick with legs, but still…”

  He cocked his arm to hit me again but the door swung open and John filled the doorway. All six foot four of him and every inch of it pissed off. He grabbed Carl’s arm and turned him with an easy twist of his arm. “Now what kind of pussy hits on girls?” he asked almost conversationally and marched Carl out back. I heard one solid punch connect and then John was coming in the backdoor, smiling and gently rubbing his fist.

  “Go punch out and go home. I’m calling Gil to keep an eye on you. You need a ride?”

  I shook my head no because my tongue wouldn’t work to talk. I would walk. Maybe I’d walk off the shakes I had now that the adrenaline was pumping through my system like a tidal wave.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m fine,” I managed. “I want to walk.”

  “Hmm, I’m not too keen on that.”

  “I’ll call as soon as I get home,” I assured him.

  “Promise?”

  I nodded, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. My head ached from hitting it and my stomach was sick with the fear I’d felt. That helpless feeling always left me feeling shaken and messy. “Promise,” I whispered.

  “Alright then. Call me if you need to take tomorrow off.”

  “No. I’ll be fine,” I said. Because I was hell bent that I would be fine. Not being fine was not an option. Too much in my life was crushing me down, making me feel like a victim. I didn’t want to be a victim and I didn’t want to be a babysitter to Carl. I walked at first, then broke out in a run. Running so that my heart pounded with a sickening rush. But it made me feel alive to feel it racing in my chest.

  I was almost home when I saw Gil’s truck round the corner. I didn’t realize I was crying until he pulled up and popped the interior light on. “Get in,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” I said. Why was I being so stubborn when he was just watching out for me? Taking care of me. It was something my mother rarely did, she wanted to be my friend more than my mother. Carl sure as shit never took care of me, and sometimes, because I was stubborn and stupid, I didn’t even take care of myself. Here was Gil reaching out to me and I was acting like the brat I’d been in high school.

  “Get. In. The. Truck. It’s not a question,” he said and leaned over the seat and popped the door.

  I climbed up into the cab and sat back, heart still trip hammering in my chest from running and from fear. “I’m fine,” I said again, though I felt the raw spot on my scalp from Carl yanking my hair.

  “I know what happened. It’s all I have in me not to find that boy and beat him down with a baseball bat,” Carl said lowly. “So I can drop you off and let you be fine on your own but that means I’ll be out looking for your boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said.

  “Or you can stay here with me and let me take you home so that I am satisfied in my heart of nosy hearts that you are indeed safe and sound,” Gil finished.

  I actually laughed. I couldn’t help it. The way he said it made it clear I had no choice but we could pretend I did. “Fine, fine. Take me home, Jeeves. Make me a grilled cheese and a cold cola.”

  “Good girl,” Gil said and patted my leg. When he touched me I hoped there’d be more in the deal than a grilled cheese for me at home.

  I borrowed Gil’s cell to call John and assure him I was safe. “Let me know about tomorrow,” he said. “The offer still stands.”

  “I will, I will,” I said.

  In the house Gil looked me over and I rolled my eyes. “You’re making me feel like a dog being checked for ticks,” I said. “I’m fine.” I might have a bruise on my arm from him holding me. I might have one on my shoulder blades from backing up into the shelves. I might have one on my scalp because he pulled my hair but Mary Warden pulled my hair in the third grade and I survived. I tried to laugh it off but he ran his fingers over my arm and then spun me around and raised my shirt to check my back.

  When he clucked and I winced I knew there was a bit of bruising on my back. Gil’s warm lips fell on that tender spot and I held my breath as he kissed it for me. “Fucker. What a fucker, fucker, fucker,” he said softly.

  “Yes, he is a fucker, fucker, fucker,” I said and hung my head, le
tting myself relax as he kissed a line from one shoulder blade to the other.

  Gil’s lips traveled to the side and I lifted my arm. He raised my shirt, kissed under my arm, across my side and then captured my nipple in his mouth and sucked. I sighed and kept my head down, watching the back of his dark head. Spying the sterling silver strands of hair shot through his dark hair. Gil sucked the other nipple in and his hands--big and hot and strong--found my waist. His fingers flexed against my flesh and then he raised his head, blue eyes flashing, to study my forehead. “Only a tiny speck of blood. Barely visible through this blue stuff,” he said and tickled my nose with the blue strand.

  “Har, har,” I said but my voice was weak with want.

  “Now food,” Gil said and kissed my nose. He let me go and started to butter two thick slices of bread.

  “Food?” I squeaked. “Food?”

  “Yes, food,” he mimicked me.

  “But. . .but--”

  “After food,” he said. “I’ll make you feel all better, Jen, after food.”

  “But why do I need food?” I balked.

  “When was the last time you ate, Jennifer?” he asked. The phone rang and we both ignored it. The only person I wanted to talk to was right here. I could only hope Gil felt the same. “I rest my case,” he said.

  I looked around at the boxes in the kitchen while he cooked. “You really leaving?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Why not? This isn’t my house. It’s your mother’s, even if she is off on a boat with Marty McMurtry. There’s no reason for me to stay here in a home that isn’t mine where I’m reminded of a woman who didn’t love me.”

  That made my throat go tight a little. Once upon a time this home had been full of laughter and love. My mother had always been a little distant, a little odd, but Gil and I more than made up for it with humor and fun and pulling her into the circle of activity. For a while it had worked. It was my turn to shrug. “I understand. It just makes me sad is all. I hate to think of my home being gone.”

  “You’re home is right here,” he laughed. “I’m no lawyer but it might even be yours when I leave.”

  “My house is here,” I corrected him. “My home is in here and it’s falling apart.” I touched my chest and shook my head, determined not to cry.

  Gil smiled wryly and handed me a grilled sharp cheddar and bacon and I grabbed some chips for my plate. “Well, if I’m part of that--what’s in there--I’m not leaving you. Just this house. This building.”

  I nodded. We ate in silence at the table and I sighed when I was done. “goddamn you make the best grilled cheeses,” I said. “Always have. All we were missing was some cream of tomato soup.”

  “We were out,” he laughed.

  “Oh, the humanity!” I laughed but then grimaced. My shoulder’s really hurt.

  “That fucker. I can’t believe he slammed you up against--”

  “He didn’t so much slam me. Not on purpose, I don’t think. It’s just a small room and he was drunk and…”

  “Don’t.” Gil got up and took my plate.

  “Don’t what?” I went in the powder room off the dining room and turned the light on. Under the shoots of blue hair was a tiny bit of red blood and some irritated skin.

  “Don’t make excuses for him,” Gil said, sticking his head in the tiny bathroom. “You always make excuses for people treating you like shit,” he said and frowned.

  “I. . .um. . .oh,” I said. I didn’t know what to say to that. It made me feel like crying that he thought I did that. What really made me want to cry was that if he thought I did it, I probably did.

  “Don’t excuse people for treating you poorly.” He reached over me and opened the small medicine cabinet. He drowned a bit of cotton fluff in peroxide and frowned at me in the mirror. “Turn.”

  I spun, my hips against the sink, my body humming with mixed emotions. “I didn’t know I was prone to doing that,” I admitted.

  Gil tilted my chin up and squinted at the raw patch on my scalp. “You do. And it pisses me off. You keep choosing slacker douche bags who eventually treat you like a inflatable sex doll or their property.”

  “Slacker douche bags?” I wheezed, nervous laughter taking me over.

  “Yes. Slacker douche bags,” he said again, but grinned. Gil dabbed the sore spot on my brow and I hissed.

  “Damn that stuff burns. Good thing I like a bit of pain,” I said.

  The air in the room changed. I had meant it to be a joke, but it hung there in the tiny room like something solid. He cocked his head and I had to fight the urge to lean in and bite him on the edge of his jaw. And then to kiss him and run my hand along his fly to see if I’d made him hard.

  “Do you? Do you really?”

  I thought of lying. I thought of bowing out of the room and blowing it off. Instead I gave a small, quick nod. “Yeah. A bit. Sometimes. Not a ton and not extreme. And it has to be someone who knows my limits and respects them and can…” I trailed off feeling the flush of heat that had rushed to my cheeks.

  “Can what?”

  “Read me. Someone who can tell when no means yes and when ow means it feels good.” I shook my head, my face so hot I could feel the warmth when I touched my skin with my fingertips.

  “I would never want to hurt you,” he said. His voice had shifted, going lower and gruffer. My body recognized the sound of his arousal and my pussy went moist for him.

  “Oh,” I said again because it was all I could think to say.

  “Not in a way that would make you unhappy. But I’d like to…” He leaned in and kissed me then. One hand wrapping in the short hair on my uninjured side. He tugged my hair a tiny bit, just enough to make me gasp against his lips. Gil pushed his cock to my jeans and I felt him hard for me. Ready and excited at our unexpected conversation on pain studded pleasure.

  “Like to what?” I asked, touching his chest with my hands, snaking one finger between the buttons of his work shirt to feel his heart jumping against his skin.

  “I’d like to hurt you just enough to make you come for me. I’d like to read you. Or learn.”

  All I could manage was a nod.

  Chapter 14

  “What do you like, little girl?” Gil asked, working the button on my jeans. “I know that when I had to give you that spanking, you liked it. You were bad and you deserved it.”

  My belly thrilled at his words and the sensation of him touching me. I moved against his hands, trying so hard to capture his lips with my mouth. To get him to kiss me. He dodged me every time. “Gil, I--”

  “What do you like, my little Jen? Tell me.” He tugged my tee out of my jeans and pushed my open pants down. Gil cupped my ass, his palms covering the pale yellow cotton of my panties, trapping my boring underpants to my skin, a cheap barrier between the heat of his hands and my skin. “Tell me,” he ordered.

  I breathed the words out against his neck. “I liked the spanking.”

  “I know.”

  “I like some… biting,” I said softly.

  Gil yanked my tee over my head and bent to nip my shoulder, hard enough that my skin pebbled and my nipples steepled and I yelped. “I see,” he said and ran his thumbs over the hard tips. I hummed and when he pushed a finger into me and tsked, got so wet my knees felt a bit watery.

  “What else? Tell daddy,” he said. He pressed his lips to my shoulder and all of me was on red alert. That desperate perfect place that made me gush. Not knowing if the mouth resting on me would kiss or bite, my pussy rippled with the precursor to orgasm. I shut my eyes, feeling the room twirl and shimmer.

  “I. . .” I shook my head, my face so hot now I felt feverish.

  “Shh, you can tell me. I promise you,” he said, his teeth skating along my upper arm but not biting. No pain, just the potential for pain which had me damn near coming in my panties as he pressed his cock to my clit.

  “I like anal,” I said in a big rush of air. “I like it up the ass,” I said and pushed my eyes against his shoulder so I wo
uldn’t have to look at his face. Would he love it or hate it? Would I have somehow disappointed him?

  Gil groaned deep in his chest and dropped to his knees, he tugged my little panties down and pressed his stubbly face to the V between my legs. His tongue found the hard knot of my clit and he nibbled and sucked so that my knees shook like I was going to faint. I gripped the cool marble sink and watched his dark head between my legs, watched him lap at me, sucking that small nub of flesh so that my vision faded in and out like a bad TV.

  “Come for me. I want you so wet, so turned on, so, so ready for me when I fuck you up the ass, little girl. A small amount of pain is expected, but I want you to like it. I want you to beg me for it. I want you to come when I take your ass.”

  I was shaking when I came. Holding his shoulders as he sucked me so that I came in a sweet rush and then when he bit the fragile inside of my thigh, right up by the fold of my leg, I came again. A sweet little burst of unexpected pleasure.

  “Turn around,” he growled and reached over me again. In the medicine cabinet was a bottle of coconut oil and it was like warm sunshine when he drizzled it down my ass crack.

  I pushed my bottom out, bowed under him. His hands danced along my lower back, touching me lightly until he parted my cheeks and pressed the slick tip of a finger to the bud of my anus. His finger slipped in effortlessly and I shivered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “More.”

  He pushed a second finger in, slow and slippery it pressed inside of me. He fucked me with his fingers--little bursts and sizzles of pain filling me until I pressed my head to the perfect, blissfully cool marble. “Good?”

  “Good,” I echoed.

  “Breathe out, Jen,” he said and I felt him tip the head of his cock against the star of my ass. He circled the silken head around my tight opening and I blew out a huge breath of air and then he was pressing. Pressing insistently, steadily, evenly until I gripped the silver faucet, seeing my own face reflected back like I was looking in a funhouse mirror. I looked feline and foreign in the metal.