by Emily Bishop
The next step was at the top of the stairs, tentative. My heart pumping, I stepped toward the cabinets, drawing out two plates. They were fine china, owned by my grandmother, and passed down to Mom. With the precision of a chef, I splayed chips and cookies out on each plate, and then dotted one on either side of the table. Reaching for an old newspaper, I propped it open, gazing into it and sitting at the back end of the dining chair. I pretended to read, forcing my lips to turn downward. Every inch of me just wanted to smile.
Max’s slim frame appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. My eyes flickered toward him, wanting to swallow him whole. He was messy-looking, unkempt, but not dirty. Perhaps he’d even showered while staying at my old place. Stepping toward me, he perched at the edge of the chair across from me, blinking.
I folded the newspaper, playing our game. Gesturing toward the plate, I said, “I made dinner tonight. I thought you’d be hungry.”
In return, Max placed both hands on his stomach, which growled angry. I couldn’t help it, now. I chuckled, then all-out laughed. Max followed suit, his face cracking. It was clear he was grateful I wasn’t angry. It was clear he was grateful not to be alone. And for three minutes, maybe four, we laughed—with relief, with joy, holding eye contact with one another. I’d never laughed with my father like this. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever wanted it.
I splayed my hands on either side of my plate of cookies and chips, and I leaned toward him, waggling my eyebrows. “What do you say we get out of here and get something real to eat?” I asked him.
Max sighed heavily, turning his eyes toward the front door. “Mom is going to be so pissed.”
“She won’t be,” I told him, my voice solemn. I lifted my palm, flat and toward him. “I swear. I will make sure your mother handles this without a single yell. I can’t promise she won’t cry…”
“She always cries,” Max said, grinning.
“It’s because she loves you more than she can freakin’ stand it,” I told him, running my hand across his hair.
I led Max out to my car, glancing toward old Anthony Thames’s house a final time. I placed my hand on Max’s shoulder and said, “Your grandfather was never very good to me. And I know he isn’t good to you, either.”
“Should we burn the place down?” Max asked me, giving me a knowing look.
It was clear he’d heard the story. God, how could you ever escape your past or describe it to your children in a way that made sense?
“I think my burning days are over, man,” I told Max, winking. “I think I’d rather just be a good dad to you, if that’s all right.”
“So—so you’ll stick around?” Max asked me, his voice dropping. He looked at me earnestly, like he was peering into the distance.
I nodded. “Your plan worked, chump. I’m back to get you. But I don’t think we should stick around Randall, kiddo. Seems like a good bit of poison. Better sell the houses and start new.”
“In New Orleans!?” Max cried, popping up and down. I remembered his expression when I’d first described the city to him, days before. It had filled him with longing, imagining a colorful life he’d never been allowed to have.
“In New Orleans. If your mom goes for it,” I said, winking. “Now, get in. Let’s go find Olivia. And get some grub. Okay?”
I couldn’t believe I’d found him. As the car cut down the familiar gravel road toward town, I felt like we were driving on air. Max reached forward, changing the radio station to something upbeat, an old ‘80s track, and he began to bob his head, singing along. His skin was slightly pale, probably from eating only chips and cookies for a few days, but he seemed oddly cheerful, alive. How stupid, how surreal that he’d decided to run away to my childhood home—the very place I’d fled? And how remarkable that I’d found him there, hunkering down. Almost like he was waiting for me.
When we pulled the car up in front of Olivia’s house, she was there. She was stretched out on the grass, her face tilted toward the now-black sky. The moonlight glinted on her cheeks, her nose, and the curve of her breasts, illuminating her. She was the most beautiful woman I’d seen in the world.
“Go on, then. Go run to her,” I told Max, tilting my head. “Go.”
I watched from the car as Max scampered across the grass, calling, “Mom!” Olivia’s eyes popped open, on cue, and she leaped from the green, throwing her arms around him. Immediately, she began to sob, calling his name. “Max! Max, where did you go? What did you do? Max!”
The scene was idyllic, charged with love. As I drew closer, I fell more and more in love with them every second. My tribe of humans. My Olivia and Max, who’d been waiting for me, where my most horrific memories lay, all these years. I should have come back, before. I should have faced it.
When Olivia spotted me, she whipped her arm out to grab my bicep. Tears screamed down her cheeks. “Where—how…?” she whispered, her smile stretching from ear to ear.
But I just leaned down, kissing the softness of her cheek, the side of her eye. I inhaled the way she smelled, lilacs, the grass, the trees, and closed my eyes with feeling. Max still clung to her waist, seemingly not able to let go. And after a final kiss, I tilted my head toward the house, whispering, “I have to go grab your sister. She’s been missing you, too.”
When Maggie popped out of the house, she ran headlong at Max, nearly knocking him to the ground. He hugged her back tightly, showing perky little muscles on his biceps, while Olivia and I hung back. Our eyes were hungry only for one another, now. The past few days had felt like weeks, like another decade. I wanted only to spread her apart, to tick my tongue along the inside of her pussy lips. To feel her moan as she came against me, gyrating with pleasure.
Whispering into her ear, as the kids raced around the yard, I said, “Baby, home is wherever we make it, together.”
“Let me follow you,” she told me. “I want to build something new. With you.”
We both knew it was right.
Epilogue
Olivia
One Year Later
The house was just a mile from the French Quarter. On hot and sticky summer nights, you could hear the honking of downtown cars, the hollering of New Orleans partiers, and the drums. The sticks seemed to ping across the drum sets, making the noise echo from house to house, until it found us—Eric and me, me and Eric—cuddled close on the porch, nearly every night of the week.
We’d lived in the house for a year, since I’d loaded up my car and followed him all the way to New Orleans, sure not to look back at the hazy shadow of Randall. En route to New Orleans, Max had sat in the passenger seat of Eric’s car for most of the drive, leaving me with little, adorable Maggie. Between sing-alongs and giggles, we began to fall in love with one another. I’d known, at the time, that I wasn’t her mother quite yet. But we would get there, inch by inch. Someday, she’d lean on me for things like her first bra, her first period. I imagined going to her sporting events—even cheerleading—and calling her name until my eyes squeezed out little tears. I imagined the amount of pride that would grow in me, for everything she was. And already, I felt woozy with love.
When we’d moved, it was just a few weeks till the beginning of school, leaving Max tittering, anxious. But Eric explained to him that it was a smaller, more artistic school than the one back in Randall, leaving Max plenty of time to figure out the kid he wanted to be in our new home. “You want to be an artist? A musician? A writer?” Eric had asked him, his eyes already filled with excitement for this mini-Eric. “They’ve got everything there for you. You can try it all out. Hunt for it. You don’t have to be afraid that some football asshole is going to make fun of you—”
“All right, all right,” I’d sighed, interrupting, unable to tear the smile from my cheeks. “Let’s not curse in front of our kid, baby. Okay?”
Max and Maggie played upstairs on a particularly muggy night, leaving Eric and I huddled close on the porch swing. I was reminded of my mother out on hers in Randall. Since I broke ties with my father,
my mother and I had communicated in letters. She’d described to me her sadness, over the years, about how my father had treated Max. “But a woman’s place is with her husband. When you do marry Eric, I know you’ll see that, too.”
I still prayed that one day, I would make peace with her. Maybe with both of them. But for now, Eric and I had to make up for lost time. To dive into romantic life, and parent life, together, without pause. We couldn’t let the events of Randall hold us back.
In the past six months, I’d found my strength of self, as well: trying on the part of taking charge of my own life. I’d enrolled in college classes downtown and had begun painting in the study—just portraits, little ones of Maggie, Eric, and Max, as well as one of Rachel and her son, Raffi, who’d already come down to visit twice since we’d moved. Since Rachel had no reason to remain in Randall, she’d begun toying with a move. “Maybe you’re not the only one here who can start over,” she’d sighed.
Now, it was a typical Thursday, and Eric and I had the world at our feet. Our neighborhood felt foggy, lazy with heat. We flirted with the idea of walking into town. But Eric seemed to have other plans.
Eric slipped his hand around my shoulder, flicking his fingers across the top of my bra. Turning my nose into his cheek, I inhaled the musk of him. Already, my pussy stirred with desire, growing wet, making me dizzy.
“Now?” I asked.
“Always,” he murmured back.
My legs parted slightly, and his fingers swept down my torso, finding refuge between my thighs. His tongue flicked from between his lips, wet and hot against my tongue. I closed my eyes and latched our mouths together. Our tongues skated and swirled while his fingers strummed closer to my damp underwear. He ripped it from my thighs with a flash, making me giggle with the sincere immediacy of it all. But he was serious, charged. Beneath his black jeans, his cock sprang up—hard, thick, its veins throbbing. My tits felt heavy in my bra, making the nipples pop out from the top and into the humid air. Right there on the porch, for anyone walking past to see, Eric leaned down and brought his lips and tongue across my nipple, tasting me. I dropped my head back, unable to care. If the world, if the sky, if the earth could see us fucking, I wouldn’t have cared at all.
“I always feel like a teenager when you touch me,” I whispered into his ear.
“You drive me fucking wild,” he returned.
With that, he reached around my torso and lifted me into him, carrying me into the house. He spread me out on the cozy couch in the corner, making sure that the kids were still tucked away upstairs, playing. “And you left my underwear out on the porch,” I snickered, rubbing at my eyes and arching my back, spreading my legs out wider. God, I needed him to bury his face in my pussy. Lick me till I came.
In response, Eric leaned forward, dropping a kiss on my stomach. “I don’t give a fuck where your underwear is,” he told me. “I want you naked all the time. I want to be inside you all the time.”
My hands found my tits, tracing them, as Eric’s tongue found the hard dot of my clit. Two of his fingers traced the line from my clit to the dark opening of my pussy, pushing into it and stretching out to my G-spot. I cooed, beginning to gyrate my hips against his flicking tongue. His eyes were hungry, animal-like as he watched me. I gave into him, crying his name just loud enough—knowing that I couldn’t go louder. I couldn’t alert the kids.
We were always rushing around like this, playing a game. It was almost like we were teenagers again, hiding our “friendship” from our parents. I supposed we would always be up to something. It was just in our nature.
“Shh. Shh,” Eric said, grinning from between my legs. “Can’t you control yourself?” he joked. “Don’t you know we have kids up there?”
“Then stop making it so damn good!” I hissed back, kicking at his shoulders with a light foot.
“I’ll show you how to be silent,” Eric said, his eyes sizzling. He flipped me onto my stomach, wrapping his hand around my torso and finding my clit. With a firm thrust, he filled me from behind, lifting me onto my hands and knees and fucking me doggy-style. With each thrust, he kissed at my ear, my cheek, and pressed at my clit, making me cry out again, and then again. But then, he brought his other hand over my mouth, pressing it down, firm. I cried out into it, loving that my voice couldn’t carry. Not when he had me latched down. I had to give in to his strength, know that I was bendable to his every whim.
“I like to fuck you like this,” he whispered into my ear. “I know you can’t get away from me.”
I reached out, biting at his palm. He cried out, both playful and not, and hammered into me from behind again, again. My eyes fluttered, my tits bouncing. He caught my nipple with his free hand, squeezing at my right one and causing me to yell out, gasp.
Upstairs, the kids heard us. I knew it, because they’d stopped giggling. Max’s shadow cast down the long staircase, and we heard his words—tentative.
“Mom? Dad?” he said.
“What is it, son?” Eric called back.
“Are you—are you hurting each other?” he asked.
“No, son. We’re just messing around,” Eric said, making me fall flat on my face, laughing. Eric remained hard, inside me, his cock pulsing. I lifted my fingers, feeling where his skin separated from mine. His heat joined with mine. We were one, linked.
“Okay!” Max called again, before leaping back into the fray with Maggie. Maggie cackled with glee as the two of them fell into video games, banter. “No, it’s MY turn, Max!” Maggie cried, knowing that Max would ultimately give in to her. Already, Max had grown into a spectacular older brother, teaching Maggie how to ride a bicycle, how to write her name. He was the picture-perfect older brother. Someone who would watch out for her all the days of her life.
“Jesus, we’re lucky,” Eric whispered into my ear, his voice harsh. He began to ramp up again, thrusting powerfully and flicking at my clit. I moaned, placing my hand on the other side of the couch to steady myself. “Jesus, I’m so lucky to have you…”
He brought the length of his cock outside of me, then, allowing both of our juices to dribble between us. I drew forward, flipping around toward him and pushing at his chest with my hand. He fell to the other side of the couch, his six pack abs gleaming in the soft light of the living room. “You’re taking control, now, aren’t you?” he said.
I nodded, a cat-like smile forming between my cheeks. I craned forward, drawing my lips around the tip of his cock. My tongue flicked out of my mouth, tasting the droplets of cum as they dripped from the tip. Closing my eyes, I tasted him: the heat of him, the way he tasted like me. This man. My soldier. The man who’d come back for me. He was my everything.
I stepped forward, bringing my dripping wet pussy over the girth of his cock. My eyes connected with his, taking in his every emotion. His lips parted, revealing his flicking tongue. As I slid over him, taking his cock into me, I began to pulse up and down, allowing my tits to bounce. His cock filled me, putting pressure against my clit and causing me to moan, my heart racing.
“You fuck me so good, baby,” he moaned, tossing his head back.
The orgasm rolled in, starting in my pussy, moving up and through me. I trembled, gasped. Couldn’t take it. I rocked forward and gripped his shoulders like he was my life raft and I was lost at sea. God, I was.
I knew we would come together. That neither of us would leave the other one behind. My nipples traced an outline against his thick, muscular chest. And as we gave in to our bodies, we collapsed against one another, huffing, gasping, our sweat mixing. Love spread over us like a blanket, smothering us. As usual, when we fucked, I was unable to remember if this was past, present, or future.
We were forever.
Thank you for reading Ruthless Daddy. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing Eric and Olivia’s story!
The fun isn’t over. This romance collection includes Taming Cupid and Bad Duke starting right after this page, along with a couple of sneak peeks of my newer
releases. If you love bay boys with big hearts then keep reading.
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It’s exhilarating, until I realize she’s my newest employee.
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Chapter One
Sasha
“This is it.”
I gaze around with wonder at my shiny new office, right next to the big corner one. I can’t believe I made it here, that I’m finally going to try my hand at big city life. When I look back at Lucy, my smile nearly reaches my ears.
“It’s wonderful,” I breathe. I grasp my friend’s hands. None of this would have been possible without her. Just outside my office, the firm is sleek and modern, with minimal furniture—all glass and metal. I brush back an invisible strand of bright red hair and run my hand down the length of my pressed white blouse and black pencil skirt.
