Man of the House

by Abigail Graham

  “What was it? What happened?”

  “Some other time, okay? Can we have fun now? Like we were before. You don’t need to be all serious.”

  She scoots around the table to sit by me while we eat.

  I just like sitting next to her. I like how she smells, like lilacs. My hand rises naturally to toy with her hair. She takes care of it, but her idea of putting it up is just to tie it back behind her head so it forms a curly puffy ponytail. It’s so soft, like her.

  “I thought you were really arrogant when we first met,” she says, softly. “I didn’t thank you enough for rushing out onto the field to help Carrie. It meant a lot to me.”

  “It’s nothing. Anyone would have done the same.”

  “Everyone else just stood there, so no they wouldn’t.”

  The waitress brings the check, and Phoebe reaches for it before I bat her hand away.

  “What did I tell you?”

  She smirks at my tone.

  “You really think you can boss me around, don’t you?”

  “I think you’d like someone else to be the boss for a while. I’m not asking you to wear a collar and follow me to a parade in San Francisco.”

  She laughs. “Good. It would ruin my butch image.”

  “Now, I can’t stop thinking about you wearing a collar.”

  “Oh,” she says, grinning. “Maybe I should wear little kitty cat ears.”

  “You’re better at this than you realize.”

  She looks so embarrassed, I can’t help myself. I kiss her lightly on the lips, and when I pull back, she follows me and kisses me in return, her arms sliding around my waist.

  Phoebe jerks back when the waitress returns with the receipt, and sits straight as an arrow in her seat.

  “Want to sit for a while? They won’t throw us out.”

  She shakes her head. “Why don’t we get some air. I know a place.”

  “Oh?” I drop the keys in her hand.

  “Oh.”

  Outside, I half expect us to be mobbed, but no one approaches the door as we leave. I walk close behind her, hovering over her shoulder. She may be wiry and fast, but something about her makes me want to protect her, shelter her.

  Phoebe drives.

  “Grace can spend the night if she needs to,” she says idly as she starts up the truck.

  “You look really badass driving this thing in your cute little floral dress.”

  “Don’t call me cute.”

  “I will if I want,” I say, stroking her arm. “I know you like it no matter how much you bitch me out over it. You’re adorable. Precious.”

  “Stop it.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “I’ll arrest you.”

  “You left the cuffs at home, gorgeous.”

  “I didn’t want you trying to use them on me.”

  “Maybe, or maybe you wanted to work that into the conversation to give me the idea. Would that make you hot, being chained down and helpless while I do whatever I want to your naked, sweaty, quivering body?”

  Her lips tremble and finally she grins. “No, that’s not hot at all. You’d have to chase me down and make me.”

  “Oh, really, because I think you’d come begging. Then you’d be begging to come.”

  “You’re not taking the hint. Maybe I want you to chase me down and throw me over your shoulder and carry me back to your cave.”

  “For a nice rough fucking?”

  She turns so red, I can hardly believe it.

  “You haven’t flirted with anyone in a long time.”

  “I think this goes beyond flirting.”

  We’re leaving town, I realize. “Uh, ankle bracelet.”

  “We’re still in the town limits,” she says. “We’re in the game lands. There’s no hunting now so no one comes up here.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well. People do.”

  I raise my eyebrow. “They do.”

  “To park.”

  “Park. Is that a code for sex?”

  “Maybe.”

  “So we’re driving into the woods to fuck.”

  “I thought you wanted this to be romantic.”

  “I am a romantic at heart. I want to thrust my throbbing man rod into your slick love channel.”

  “Shut up,” she giggles. “Stop that.”

  “You ever read those books?”

  “No,” she says, plainly lying.

  “I bet you do. You know what I want? I want to watch you playing with yourself. All sweaty and curled up getting yourself off.”

  “You do?”

  “Then I want to show you what a real fuck is like. Fantasies will never satisfy you again.”

  She wheels the truck off the dirt path and under some trees, then shuts it off.

  “You know,” she sighs. “Being short sucks. I’ve gotten shit about it my entire life.”

  “Yeah? I wouldn’t know.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. It also has its advantages. Like this.”

  She hops the console and plops in my lap.

  Oh God, the moment her tight ass rubs against me, my cock strains to full hardness. I know she feels it from the look on her face, her soft lips begging for my kisses. I taste her mouth as my hand slides up her leg.

  She’s not wearing underwear.

  “You naughty girl,” I murmur.

  “If I’m bad, will you spank me?”

  I snort. “Careful now, I might start thinking you’re submissive.”

  “I’m not. I just like having my butt smacked.”

  “Really. Why do you think that is?”

  “I don’t, um…” she trips over her own words. “I mean, I never tried it.”

  I do the only thing I really can do in that situation. I hook my arm around her waist and pull her around so I can swing my open hand and crack her right on the butt.

  She has a smackable ass. She yelps when my hand hits her and goes rigid, her whole body shuddering. I give the other cheek a hard slap for good measure. Phoebe twists in my lap.

  The look on her face is so hungry. She squirms around in my grip and straddles me, kissing me hard. When I caress her entrance with my finger, she bucks and rolls her hips, trying to pull it inside her.

  “I thought you wanted cock,” I growl in her ear.

  She pulls back from me and grins, staring into my eyes with her pretty blue ones, a big grin on her face. When she smiles like that, she’s so gorgeous it makes my chest ache.

  Phoebe is undoing my fly. She draws me out, and runs her fingers over my balls. God, I could thrust in her and explode in one pump, then keep going until my heart bursts.

  She tries to mount me, take me inside her. I stop her and pull her hard against my chest, trapping her arms at her sides.

  “Remember when I made you beg for my cock,” I purr in her ear.

  Her whole body tenses, her muscles undulating under my grip as desire clenches inside her.

  “Yes. You said…”

  “I didn’t say when. If you want it, you need to worship it first.”

  “What?”

  I grip the back of her head and hold her still, and snarl my command in her ear.

  “I want you to get on your knees for me. I want you to suck my cock for me. I want you to swallow everything for me. Then I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll forget your own name.”

  When I let go of her, she drops into the footwell between my legs, and looks up at me hesitantly. This can’t be her first time.

  It must be. She’s been through a dry spell. She knows what she’s doing. She wraps both hands around my shaft and brings her lips to the tip, and when her soft warm mouth brushes my cock, it feels so good, I could die. I relax into the seat and stroke her head as she starts working up to it, spreading her mouth open a little more with each kiss, wetting my cockhead.

  God, she makes me hungry for her. Just the sight of her lips parting and wrapping around my cock as the pleasure ripples through my body fills me with an almost angry lust.
I want to grab her, pull her up here, lick her mouth clean, and shove her on my dick. All the way down. Watch her eyes go wide as she takes me. Listen to her cry of pleasure.

  I feel the tension in her. As she sucks me, something in her opens. I see it in her eyes, the lust, the desire, the shivers of pleasure as I stroke her head for sucking me like a good girl. She rises a bit and holds my cock so she can rub her cheek against my stomach as she sucks me off.

  God, I’m not going to last long. She knows it, too, the little minx. She caresses my balls and my hips jerk in a short, involuntary thrust as the need to come becomes painful, a tension in my legs and balls that must be released.

  Phoebe looks up at me as I burst in her mouth, and raw pleasure rips through my body as I go limp, suddenly in her power. It feels like she’s drawing out my soul as she swallows and holds me in her mouth, taking every drop.

  She finally pulls back, still lightly stroking me.

  “You’re still hard.”

  “Because I’m going to fuck you,” I growl. I pull her up on top of me and kiss her hard, locking my arms around her. She wriggles and squirms in my grip, trying to wrap her legs around me.

  “Backseat,” she gasps, “Get in the back and fuck me.”

  I smack her ass, hard, and she yelps.

  “I give the orders around here. Now get in the backseat so I can fuck you.”

  She giggles and slips off my lap, throwing open the door in the process. She yanks open the back door and climbs inside, or tries to.

  I grab her hips, pull her back, and throw up her skirt. Her back arches and I see her eyes go wide in the reflection on the far window as I thrust inside her.

  I take her slowly, holding her steady and swinging my hips to ride into her, shuddering as her tight, slippery, wet pussy wraps around my shaft. When I’m pushed into the root, I draw back and savor the feeling of her gripping me, the way her fingers tighten on the seat.

  “Fuck, you’re huge,” she moans, “oh my God, oh shit.”

  I drag her closer to me and pump faster. Her body pulses, grips me, and then headlights flash across the car, lighting us up like it’s fucking noon.

  Phoebe arches up and I am so close to coming again I could scream, my balls aching.

  “Get in!” she yells.

  “I am in!”

  “In the car!”

  She pulls away and I follow her inside, my dick still wet from fucking her. I can’t stop, I need her.

  I pull the door shut and watch her panting, staring, her skirt still flipped up over her ass, her pussy so wet that her thighs are slick. Just the sight of it so red and plump for me drives me insane.

  I grab her and pull her back down on me. Her back arches as she takes me, and she flops back against my chest and spreads her legs, straddling mine.

  “Wuh-wuh-we should stop,” she groans, but she pushes down on me hard, her body swallowing my shaft with hot need.

  The car creaks from rocking as I thrust up into her and she bounces wildly in my lap, grunting each time I bottom out and push her back up.

  “Harder, come on harder, please!”

  She grabs the little handle over the door and rides, bouncing on me. I can’t stand it anymore. My ass rises off the seat and my whole body is clenched, trying to hold myself back. Phoebe is slick with sweat soaking through her blouse, weighing down her hair.

  I lock my arms around her and thrust deeply when I come, burying myself inside her and filling her. She quivers and jerks in my lap, her ass pressed into my stomach, her head lolled back over my shoulder as she climaxes, her body gripping me hard, squeezing out every drop.

  It feels so fucking good. She feels so fucking good.

  “Oh my God,” she breathes, when she finally is able to. “Oh my God. Oh my God, we’re in the back.”

  “What?”

  “Oh my God we’re in the back? Did you close the door?”

  She slips off me and wriggles around. Her legs shake like leaves and she can barely hold herself up to tug on the door handle.

  “What?”

  “It locks from the outside,” she yelps, “We’re stuck in here.”

  “What?”

  “Why did you close the door?”

  “You said get in, I got in. You never said anything about the door.”

  “Haven’t you ever been in the back of a cop car before?”

  “Uh, no?”

  “Crap!” She yells, “Shit, shit, shit. Tell me at least you have a phone.”

  “Yeah, why--”

  “Mine’s in my purse. In the front seat.”

  She shoves her skirt down and plops next to me.

  Phoebe is covered in sweat, her hair is all over the place, her clothes are stuck to her sweaty body, and she has never looked more fuckable than she does right now.

  She snatches my phone from my hand and dials a number.

  Twice.

  Finally they pick up.

  “Jim! Jim, it’s me. I’m locked in the back of my Tahoe. No, I’m not joking. We’re at the game lands. Yes, we. Just help me. Please. I can’t let anybody find us like this.”

  She hangs up and passes the phone back to me.

  “So we’re stuck in here,” I say.

  “Yeah.”

  I pull her onto my lap and kiss her.

  Chapter Eight

  Phoebe

  As my mother would say, well this is a hot mess.

  Where are you, Jim?

  I’m sweaty, I’m exhausted, and if Alexander doesn’t take his hands off me, I’m going to get sweatier and more exhausted. I feel like a cat in heat, or a school girl on her first date. I can’t peel myself out of his lap or keep my hands off his body. At this very moment, my head is pillowed on his chest and I’m running my hands up and down his sides, gently moving with his slow, even breathing as he strokes his hand down my back, squeezes my ass, and repeats.

  “How long are we going to be stuck here?”

  “He shouldn’t be long. I don’t know who else to call. He’ll have to get the spares first. Grace has a set of my keys.”

  He rests his chin on top of my head. “If we stay out here too long, the monster might get us.”

  “I have a gun.”

  “You do?”

  “In my purse,” I sigh.

  “Wow.”

  “Off duty cop, Alex.”

  He nods. “Is that why you carry?”

  It isn’t, but I’m not ready to tell him the real reason, the truth about why I was so hesitant to go out with him even after I started to change my mind about his behavior.

  “I never did guns,” he says.

  “Me either, until I got this job. I’d think you’d need one before me.”

  “Me? Why?”

  I shrug. “Living in the city and all that. Muggers and carjackers and stuff. Nothing like that here. Everybody knows everybody. It’s peaceful. The worst thing we’ve had to deal with this year was a few drug busts and a raccoon breaking into the old folk’s home to steal macaroons.”

  “What’s a macaroon?”

  “It’s like a cookie.”

  “Oh. Never had one.”

  “Really? My mom used to bake them.”

  He tenses. Laying on top of him, I feel the way his breath hitches.

  “I would bake them if I had time. I like to cook, I really do. I’m just too tired.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” he rumbles.

  The way he touches me changes. His roaming hands come to rest, his arms weigh down my back. I go still with my arms around him, listening to the thumping of his big heart under my ear.

  “Something bad happened to you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Call it cop instincts.”

  He sighs. “Yeah. I was twelve.”

  “What was it?”

  He’s quiet for a while.

  “It’s not an interrogation. You don’t have to tell me.”

  “My dad was a drinker,” he begins, his voice low. “He drank a lot.
Hit my mom when he was drunk. Drove when he was drunk. Got pulled over a few times, until he went up for six months. Then he hit rehab.”

  “He didn’t stop,” I whisper.

  “No. He was clean for a while, then they fired him from the grocery store and he hit the bottle again while my mom worked. One night he took them out for a drive.”

  I tense. “Drunk?”

  He nods slowly. “He made them get in the car, dragged my mom out by her hair. Her and my sister. Left me behind.”

  “Then what?”

  Alexander’s voice tightens, like a rope being pulled on both ends.

  “He hit a tree. My sister was sixteen. Katherine. Kat. Broke her neck in the crash. Mom went through the windshield. She was killed instantly. Kat lasted a week.”

  “What happened to your dad?”

  “Broken nose and some superficial wounds.”

  “Jesus.”

  “He was sent up for manslaughter. Ten to twenty. He’s still in. He’ll be out in four or five years.”

  I shift in his lap and rub my cheek against his chest.

  “You ever think about what you’ll do?”

  “I could tear his spine out and fuck him with it.”

  The anger in his voice shakes me. “You wouldn’t,” I say, clutching him. “That won’t bring them back.”

  “No, but twenty years of his life isn’t enough. It’s never going to be enough. I…”

  “Would go to prison, too, if you hurt him. Nobody wants that.”

  “What does it matter? All I am to anybody is a cash cow. No one actually gives a shit about me. Lou only cares how much money he can make off me. The team only cares if I play well.”

  I sit up. “What about me?”

  “You care?”

  “Maybe. Do you? Care about me?”

  His big hand rests on my shoulder. Everything about him is gigantic. I run my hand down the length of his arm, feeling his massive muscles, and shudder.

  “You’re not like anybody else I’ve ever known.”

  I smile. Then the door opens, and there stands Jim in his bathrobe, dangling the keys.

  “Last thing I expected tonight was to drive out to the woods and find you two in flagrante delicto. Seriously, Phoebe?”

  A quick flash of anger flares in my chest like a spark from a lighter.