BAKER (Devil's Disciples Book 1)

by Scott Hildreth

  If he was right, and I feared he was, severing my ties with Andy was something I needed to do immediately.

  I hoped hitting me in the head with a skillet wasn’t her reaction.

  FIFTEEN - Andy

  In celebration of my impending move, Holly and I sat at the kitchen table sharing our second bottle of wine while the twins slept. I’d slipped into a pair of my favorite sweats and a loose-fitting tee shirt for the event, and she wore pink plaid pajamas, which wasn’t surprising.

  It seemed she always wore plaid. In my opinion, it was at least part of the reason why Hank left her. Plaid looked good on no one, regardless of how big their boobs were.

  “How big was Hank’s Hankster?” I asked.

  She choked on her wine. After wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she gave me a puzzled look. “What?”

  “His schlong. His dick. Cock. Meat stick. Whatever you want to call it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.” I sipped my wine. “How big was it.”

  “Normal sized, I guess.”

  I scrunched my nose. “What’s normal sized?”

  She took a drink of wine and then looked in the glass. “I don’t know. Like the size of a hot dog.”

  “A hot dog?” I laughed out loud. “Like a normal hot dog? A Ball Park, or whatever?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “A hot dog. Why?”

  I held my laugh and gave her a serious look. “I don’t know how much experience you’ve got, but a hot dog dick isn’t normal.”

  “It’s not?”

  I cleared my throat. “Normal means standard or ordinary. Hot dog dicks are supposed to be between the legs of twelve-year-old boys, not men.”

  “What’s normal, then?”

  “How many guys have you had sex with?”

  Her gaze dropped to the floor.

  I rapped my knuckles against the top of the table. “Roughly. I don’t need an exact number.”

  She continued to stare at the floor. After an awkward moment of waiting, I leaned onto the edge of the table. “Don’t tell me Hank’s it.”

  She looked up. “Yeah.”

  “Yeah? As in, yeah, Hank’s it?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Holy crap,” I gasped.

  “What?”

  “You two started boning in high school.” I looked at her with eyes of disbelief. “He was your first, wasn’t he?”

  She wiped what may have been a tear. “First and last.”

  “Dear God, girl. You need to get some dick. Not a wiener, either.”

  “I do. It’s not that easy, though.” She stared blankly at the rim of her glass for a moment and then looked up. “That guy that comes to your work. With the tattoos. His is bigger than a hot dog?”

  I lifted my arm and looked at my wrist. After twisting it back and forth a few times, I slapped my forearm against the table. It hit the wooden surface with a thud! “It’s about the size of my wrist.”

  She looked at my arm and then at me. Her eyes opened wide. “How does that work?”

  I grinned. “Very well, actually.”

  She tilted her head toward my arm. “It’s seriously that big?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Slowly, her eyes widened. “He really fits something that big in you?”

  “Every inch of it.” I closed my eyes. “Until his balls are against my butt crack.” I opened them. “It makes me come so hard my ears ring.”

  She let out a heavy sigh. “God. What I wouldn’t give to have an orgasm like that.”

  I looked away and shook my head.

  “What?”

  “You’re pretty and you’ve got huge boobs. If you quit wearing plaid every day, you could get almost anyone to fuck you. Get someone to watch the demons and go out for a night. Dress inappropriately, put on some makeup and do your hair, and I guarantee you someone would hit on you.”

  “They’re not demons, they’re my babies.”

  “They’re evil spirits hidden inside children’s bodies. Did you see that movie? The one with that little girl that gets sucked into the TV?”

  “They love you, Andy. I can’t believe you’d--”

  “If they love me, why don’t they act like it? Last night, Helen was running around the house saying, Andy, Andy, your hair’s like cotton candy.”

  “What do you expect?”

  “I expect to be left alone. I was watching a movie.”

  “You died it pink.” Her eyebrows raised. “Kids are perceptive.”

  “It’s strawberry blonde. Maybe she’s colorblind.”

  “She’s not colorblind. It’s kind of pink. She’s gifted, by the way.”

  I coughed out a laugh. She was gifted in the art of being annoying.

  “What?” She gave me a look. “She is.”

  “The other one was out on the porch with a can of hairspray and that spark thingy for the barbeque grill. He was using them as a flamethrower to kill bugs.”

  “That doesn’t make him evil.”

  “Where does an eight-year-old even learn such shit?”

  “His dad used to do it all the time.”

  “The same guy that had a hot dog dick.” I chuckled. “Explains a lot.”

  She took a drink of wine and then finished what was in her glass. As she poured another, she looked at me over the top of the bottle. “How many guys have you had sex with?”

  It was a question I hated being asked. I’d gone through phases in my life, most of which included using sex as a means of lifting my self-esteem high enough that I felt worthy of taking up space on earth.

  My lack of trust in men made sure that I rarely fucked any one man long enough to develop feelings. For someone who enjoyed sex as much as I did, not committing to men had its pitfalls. I’d had sex with more men than I cared to count.

  “Quite a few,” I said sheepishly.

  “How many is that?”

  “I don’t know. Quite a few.”

  “Like, six?”

  I almost choked to death laughing. I’d screwed six different men before I fell in love. “No. More than that. What’s it matter?”

  “I guess it doesn’t.” She took a sip of wine and then nodded toward my hand. “They didn’t all have dicks that big, did they?”

  I shook my head. “No. Baker’s dick is special.”

  “Special in size? Or something else?”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond. It could have been the size alone that satisfied me so much. Or, how he used it. I wondered if who it was attached to had anything to do with it.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “I’ll try and figure it out the next time we go at it.”

  “There’s going to be a next time?”

  “I hope so.”

  “So, you like him?”

  It was the most ridiculous thing she’d said all night. “I like his dick. That’s it.”

  She seemed confused. “I thought you said he was hot.”

  “He is. But he’s a man. Eventually men do what men do. As long as he stops in and fucks me from time to time, I’m getting all I need.”

  “It’s nice to have a man to come home to,” she said. “Not all men are like Jacob.”

  Hearing his name made me cringe. I arched an argumentative eyebrow. “Says the woman whose husband ran off with the big-tittied chicken wing waitress.”

  She huffed out a breath. “Point taken.”

  I reached for the bottle of wine. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring up his name again.”

  “He lives three thousand miles from here, and you guys have been split up for, what, five years? It’s not like you have anything to worry about. Not anymore.”

  She was wrong. Thoughts of what he’d done lingered in my mind every hour of every day. The only way of making certain I never had to relive the experience was to never get attached to another man.

  And that was what I planned to do.

  SIXTEEN - BAKER

  Good pussy had the ability to change a man comple
tely. History had proven that it caused men to go bankrupt, cheat on their wives, commit murder, and even declare war. Denying the effect a tight pussy had on a man’s ability to retain his wits would be foolish.

  I wasn’t a foolish man.

  I pushed the door to Andy’s office open. Sitting sat her desk with a stack of paperwork in front of her, she was wearing a form-fitting gray blouse that accentuated her every curve. Her blond hair was down and had a slight wave.

  As my cock began to rise against my jeans, she looked up and smiled.

  I tore my eyes away from her tits and looked her in the face. “Do you make your hair like that, or is it natural?”

  She reached for her hair. “Like what?”

  “Curly. Like it is now.”

  She lifted a few strands of hair off her shoulder with her index finger. “This isn’t curly. This is what it looks like if I straighten it and then curl it a little. If I leave it alone, it’s a disaster.”

  “Disaster in what sense?”

  She raised both eyebrows. “It’s a curly mess.”

  My throat tightened. I swallowed heavily and then raised my index finger. “Is that the natural color?”

  “This?” She shook her head lightly, sending her hair into slow-motioned orbit. “No. It’s naturally brown. Brown and curly.”

  A person’s nationality made no difference to me. I truly believed we were equal in the eyes of our maker, and, therefore, should be in mine. I ranked people based on idiocy, and quickly cast the idiots from my life. Sensible people were kept as associates and companions. Color, religion or nationality never came into play.

  I did wonder about Andy having the Brazilian temper, and how it might come into play when I broke off our sexual relationship. The odds of Cash being right about her nationality were a million to one. Her pale skin tone told a story that her hair and eyes couldn’t deny.

  I sat down. “Kinky and brown? Is that a genetic thing?”

  “I suppose. My mother’s Brazilian. I’ve got her hair.” She blinked a few times. “And her eyes. Sucks that blue eyes are recessive. I wish I had them, instead.”

  What little rigidity my cock had when I sat down promptly vanished. I swallowed a mouthful of complications and coughed into my clenched fist. “Brazilian, huh?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “You’re pretty pale for a Brazilian,” I said, as if I could argue her claim.

  She rubbed her forearm. “I use sunscreen and try to stay out of the sun as much as possible. If not, I’d be pretty dark.”

  I stroked my beard, and then forced a smile. “Interesting.”

  Fuck.

  The last thing I needed was to be on the shit list of a Brazilian woman with an explosive temper. The problems she could bring into my life were huge. Then, there was Cash. If she simply came to my office to call me a cocksucker and he recognized her, it would be disastrous for her – and me.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Based solely on my fear that she’d react in a manner comparable to how Natalia acted with Cash, I decided not to end our relationship. I needed more time to think. There had to be a way I could leave her and save the repercussions. I simply needed to figure out what it was.

  I needed to remain in her good graces – at least for the time being. Feeling oddly relieved with my decision not to end our mid-day sex sessions, I exhaled a breath of relief and crossed my ankles. “The other day, the regional manager said you had bad news. I forgot to ask what it was.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Regional manager?”

  “The old man that drives the truck.”

  “Oh, Mort.” She leaned onto the edge of her desk and wrung her hands together. “I was excited to tell you, but we started boning and I forgot.”

  “So, what’s the news?”

  “3-A.” She faked a pout. “It’s no longer available.”

  I had no interest in moving into the apartment, but she certainly didn’t know it. I clapped my hands together. “That’s great!”

  “But wait,” she said. “It gets better.”

  I widened my eyes in more false excitement. “Really?”

  She pushed herself away from the desk and crossed her arms. “Guess who’s moving in?”

  “I’d hate to try.”

  “Seriously. Guess.”

  “Ben Harper?”

  She laughed. “The musician?”

  “What do you know about Ben Harper?”

  “I know that Diamonds on the Inside is what most would describe as his best album, but I disagree. I think The Will to Live is much better. Not everyone likes live albums, though.”

  I stared at her in sheer disbelief. Ben Harper was one of my all-time favorite musicians. For her to have heard of a lesser known musician such as him, and to like him, was a shock.

  “So, it’s not Ben Harper?” I asked jokingly.

  “Back up,” she said. “How do you even know who he is?”

  I crossed my arms and gave her a look. “How do you know who he is?”

  “I listen to his music, that’s how.”

  I looked her over. Her hair was a little lighter than normal, and I liked the new shade. I cocked my head to the side. “Who else do you listen to?”

  “Everyone from The Delfonics to James Blunt, why?”

  Both were artists that I had listened to, and enjoyed. I was surprised that our taste in music was so similar.

  “Just wondering.” I glanced around her office, and wondered why she hadn’t given it a woman’s touch. When she came back into my line of sight, I grinned. “What makes you angry?”

  “What do you mean?

  “What irritates you in life?” I asked. “Day to day life. Give me the top ten.”

  She counted on her fingers as she responded. “Tailgaters. Lines at the grocery store. Oranges that I can’t get the peel off. People who don’t use their turn signal. Call centers who call me and try to sell me something. Stubbing my toe. Upside down toilet paper. Having the cashier hand me change on top of a receipt. People who park crooked, and burnt toast.”

  Her response was without hesitation, which I thought was impressive. I agreed with everything she mentioned except for one thing.

  “What’s upside down toilet paper?” I asked.

  She twirled her finger in a circle. “When it’s upside down.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “When it comes off the back instead of the top.” She exhaled a breath through her clenched teeth as she shook her head. “If I’m at someone’s house, and their toilet paper is like that, I’ll fix it. It drives me insane.”

  “I’m the same way.”

  “Why’d you ask me what irritated me? Nobody’s ever done that.”

  “If your favorite car color is red, and mine is blue, we’re not going to argue about who’s right. We’ll just accept it. But, if you hate it when people park crooked, and every time we went somewhere I parked crooked, it’d drive you nuts. A person’s dislikes reveal far more about their compatibility than anything.”

  She leaned away and looked down her nose at me. “Why are you worried if we’re compatible?”

  She had a good point. I really had no idea why I asked her the question. It was time to change subjects.

  I looked away. “I’m not.”

  After a short period of silence, she cleared her throat. “We got off track. You were guessing who was moving in upstairs.”

  I wasn’t in the mood any longer. “I’ve got to make my rounds.” I stood and brushed the wrinkles from my jeans. “Just tell me.”

  “Me,” she said with a smile. “We’re going to be neighbors!”

  Just like that, my biggest fear was one wrong move away from becoming a reality.

  SEVENTEEN - Andy

  Holly glanced around the apartment. “It seems empty.”

  A contemporary red leather couch and a modern oversized blue fabric chair sat across from one another in the otherwise lonely space. Everything else I once owned had been sold to pay ren
t. Frustrated at what I’d lost, but more grateful for what remained, I waved toward the two pieces of furniture. “It is empty. It’s bigger than your entire house, and it’s got nothing but a couch and a chair in it.”

  “You need to go shopping.”

  “I’ve got bills to pay first,” I said, more to remind myself than to make her aware of it. “Maybe in a few months.”

  She gave the spacious room another quick look. “It’s just you, so I guess it’ll be okay.”

  I shrugged. “It’s going to have to be.”

  “An upside is that you get to park your bike in the basement. It’ll keep people from messing with you on the nights you have to…” She did the air quote thingy. “Work late.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “When you and that guy with the arm-sized dick have sex in your office.”

  I chuckled. “We do it during the day, not at night.”

  “Never late in the day?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you think it’s weird?”

  “That we don’t bone at five o’clock?”

  “That you only do it during the day.”

  Him leaving his shirt on was weird. But, I never viewed the time of day we fucked as weird. I guessed he was busy being an eccentric entrepreneur in the evenings. It wasn’t anything I needed to justify to Holly, that was for sure. “We bone when he’s got time. He’s got businesses to run.”

  She tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows. “He has sex during the day and runs his business at night?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Listen to what you’re saying.”

  Now that she’d mentioned it, it seemed slightly odd. Maybe a little more than slightly. I wasn’t going to admit it, though. He didn’t wear a wedding ring and there weren’t any of the telltale signs that he’d taken one off, either. As long as I wasn’t having an affair with a man who was in a committed relationship, I really didn’t care why he chose to fuck me during the day.

  “He comes by when his schedule lets him,” I said. “Stop worrying about it.”

  “Has he been up here yet? To see your new place?”