“Optimistic, my ass,” I murmur as I straddle him, lining his thick cock up with my center and I sink down, arms braced on the chair on either side of his head. He watches intently as he drags his cock through my folds, pressing it against my entrance. He slips himself inside of me as I lower myself down, slowly, giving my body time to adjust to his length.
This, my body cried out. Him, my pulse thrummed.
“Good fucking Christ,” he hisses out once I’m finally full of his cock, “this pussy. So tight.” He thrusts up and my head drops back as I roll my hips.
“Oh my god, Dean.”
“Do that again,” he demands, and I roll my hips again. His hands grip my hips, fingers biting into my skin. “Ride me.”
Obliging, I start riding his cock. I’m frenzied, chasing my release. Up and down, in and out, tits bouncing in his face. He drags his hands over my hardened peaks, plucking at my nipples. His breath is just as labored as mine, every muscle in his body tense as I work myself faster and harder. Dean abruptly stands, taking me with him and I yelp as he drops me back down on the desk. I loop my arms around his neck as he slams in and out of me, his hand finding my clit and giving me exactly what I need. I cry out his name as my orgasm tears through me, his not far behind.
“Fuuuuckkk,” he groans out as his release hits, hips stilling, completely filling me. We stay like that for a minute before he presses a kiss to my temple and slips out of me to dispose of the condom. What the hell just happened, I ask myself, trying to wrap my head around the situation. Reminding myself that this is Dean, the boy who left me broken and alone. This man who seems to want to make things right, but how do I know he won’t run scared the first time we have a disagreement?
He settles himself between my legs again, linking my fingers with his and pressing a kiss to my hand.
“I can see the wheels turning inside of your head, but please. Just give me a chance to prove that this can be good.” He seals his lips over mine, sliding his fingers into my hair, “that we can be good.”
I’m not sure we can ever overcome the heartache that we went through, the years that we’ve lost. But I’m willing to try, which is why when he asks me to come home with him, I find myself whispering yes.
***
The drive to Dean’s house has been quiet, the silence in his truck cab heavy. I take the opportunity to really look at him for the first time since he’s been home.
I take in all his features, like his inky black hair, long and shaggy, skimming his neckline. His thick dark beard that is neatly trimmed and looks very well kept. His bulging bicep muscles. He glances at me, his emerald green eyes meeting my gray ones, and a grin finds its way across his lips, that dimple in his cheek popping out. He still looks so much like that boy I fell in love with all those years ago.
“What?” He asks, turning his attention back to the road.
“Nothin’, it's just… surreal to be sittin’ next to you.” His hand squeezes my knee.
“Agree. Never thought I’d convince you to get in my truck, much less convince you to fuck me.” He grins again and I roll my eyes, glancing back out the windshield. He starts to slow the truck and pulls into a drive that is well hidden off the main road, barely noticeable unless you are looking for it. Trees line both sides of the driveway, making the house unseeable from the road. We drive for about half a mile and the trees start to thin out, making way to a modest farmhouse with a porch swing and wraparound porch. There’s a light shining above the swing and flowers in the beds out front.
“Dean, this is incredible.” I breathe out as he puts the truck in park out front.
He clears his throat. “Uh, thanks. It’s just... We… I always wanted a farmhouse. Something close enough to town where it’s not too much of a drive, but far enough in the country,” he says but I cut him off.
“That you can still see the stars at night,” my breath hitches and my eyes fill with tears. It’s something I always said to him when we were younger. I hated not being able to see the stars at night in town, so every night we’d drive outta past the city limits and park, just lying in his truck bed staring up at the stars for hours.
I’m so blown away that I don’t even realize Dean’s out of the truck and at my door until it’s opened and he’s helping me out of it. He tugs me along behind him and up the white painted steps. He punches a number in on the electronic keypad and opens the door, motioning for me to go ahead of him.
“Alexa, turn the foyer lights on.” He calls out, hanging his truck keys up on the wall and locking the door behind him. The lights flicker on and I gasp. Dark hardwood floors run the length of the foyer. Gray shiplap on the walls. There’s a sliding barn door tucked under the stairs and a living room at the end of the hallway. I turn around to tell him how incredible the place is, but he’s no longer behind me.
“Dean?” I call out, moving farther into the house. My ears are met with the skittering of nails on the tile floor and a ‘woof’.
“Ranger!” Dean hollers but it’s too late. The dog comes tearing around the corner and his face lights up when he sees me, paws trying to gain purpose on the hardwood floor. He’s a German Shepherd puppy, so he’s still small. I drop down on my haunches as he catapults his wiggling body into my arms.
“Oh, aren’t you just precious,” I coo, scratching him behind the ears and running my hand over his silky fur. Dean comes into view and he whistles for the dog, who finally stops licking my face and sits, one ear up and one ear down, with his head cocked and his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
“Sorry,” he says, sheepishly. “Doggy obedience isn’t going so well. Ranger, come.” The dog trots off after Dean, who lets him out the sliding back door.
I follow them both into the kitchen. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”
“Ah yeah,” he says, opening the fridge and pulling out a pitcher, “got him at a shelter in Colorado before I came back to Alabama. He was the last of the litter, the runt.” He shrugs his shoulder as he pours us both a glass of sweet tea. “I couldn’t leave him there.”
“That’s adorable,” I take a drink from the glass he handed me and sit it on the counter. He lets Ranger back in and goes about feeding him before making his way back over towards me. He presses in against me at the counter, wrapping his arm around my waist.
“Waited a long time for you, Whit.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to my mouth and I am instantly swept up in this moment, this man. I’m kissing him back but he’s leading and it’s soft and romantic. He pulls back. “Thought about you every day I was gone.”
“I thought about you, too. I missed you so much. I lost Everly and then I lost you. Some days, I couldn’t even get out of bed, it hurt so bad. Seein’ her crib sitting in the corner of my room.” I wipe the tears from my face. “But momma was right there, tellin’ me that I needed to push through. To keep fighting’. Make Everly proud. It still hurts, not sure it ever won’t. But I knew she wouldn’t want me to live my life that way.” I inhale a shaky breath as Dean tucks me to his front, his chin resting on the top of my head.
“I wanted to ask you to come with me, to get away. I came to your house the night before I left,” he says. “Your daddy was on the porch, wouldn’t let me in the house to see you. Told me to leave it be, let you move on with your life. Told me to come back when I wasn’t a boy anymore, once I had my shit together.” A sob escapes me because that sounds like something my daddy would do. He knew I was hurting. Saw my pain. Felt it. Dean hadn’t called or texted in a week and I was heartbroken. I choke out a laugh.
“Sounds just like somethin’ he would have said.” He was always so protective of me. Destroyed me when he died two summers ago.
Dean cradles my face in his hands and tips my chin up with his fingers.
“Could we maybe try to start over? I really think I’d like to be your boyfriend, Whitley Jean.”
I shoot him a watery smile, remembering when he said those same words to me under the bleachers at that football game so many years ago. I wr
ap my arms around his neck. Back then we were just two stupid kids, in love and impulsive. I know if we crash and burn this time, I may not survive it but somehow, I still find myself agreeing.
“I’d really like that.”
Whitley
Stepping out of Dean’s shower, I wrap myself up in the plush towel that’s hanging on the back of the door. We are still getting into a groove in our relationship, but things are okay.
Relationship. It seems so weird to say that. I never thought that’s something that would blossom between the two of us, but it’s been pretty incredible. I’m trying to forgive him for running off like he did after Everly was born and he’s trying to forgive himself for not being here when I needed him the most. If we want our relationship to work, we both have to move on.
He’s spent all of his free time re-learning my body and what makes it tick, and I must say, the man has improved with age. The orgasms he’s giving me are outta this world. And I’m enjoying getting to know adult Dean and not teenage Dean, the boy who was always horny and in a hurry to get off. This Dean is very thorough and makes sure I’m satisfied, multiple times, before he even worries about himself.
I’m running the brush through my hair when the bathroom door opens, and he walks in carrying two coffee mugs. He sits one on the counter for me and presses a kiss to my temple.
“What’s on the agenda for today?” He asks, sipping his coffee, his eyes roaming over my towel-clad body.
“Well, I don’t know what’s on your agenda, but I promised my momma that I’d come see her. I’ve been puttin’ her off for weeks and she knows somethin’ is up. She demanded that I show up today or she’s disownin’ me.” Dean laughs. He knows my momma from before and knows that’s totally something she would say.
“Will your dad be there?” He asks, and it’s like a punch in the stomach. I freeze with the brush midway through my hair, struggling to breathe. Remembering that pain like it was yesterday, momma came to the bar to tell me she’d found daddy dead in the living room when she came back from grabbing groceries. His heart stopped, nothing anyone could have done to save him.
I clear my throat and resume brushing my hair, “uh, no. Daddy actually died about two years ago.” I can see Dean flinch out of the corner of my eye. He drops his head back to look up at the ceiling, sitting his coffee cup on the counter and running his hand down his face.
“Shit. I’m sorry honey, I had no idea.”
“Of course not, because you weren’t here.” He flinches again. I sigh, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me.”
“I shoulda known Whit. Truly. I’m sorry. Your daddy was a good man,” he tugs the brush out of my hand and pulls me flush against his body, smoothing his hand down my back. We stand like that for a long while before I pull away and finish getting ready.
****
I swing my Nissan into the driveway that sits in front of my parents’ house and that same sense of peace settles over me the way it does each time I come over. They bought this house when I was a baby, so it’s where they spent their twenty-six years of marriage until my daddy died. Momma’s talked about selling but deep down, I know she won’t. At least not yet. She isn’t ready to move on from those memories she’s still holding close to her heart.
I take the porch steps one at a time, stopping long enough to give her cat, Oreo, a quick rub down and a scratch behind the ears. He relishes in it before dismissing me with a saunter and swish of his tail, leaping off the porch to go chase a bird. I knock twice before swinging the heavy oak door open and letting myself in.
Not much has changed since I moved out. There are still all our family pictures hanging on the wall in the foyer. Multiple art projects from my younger years line the sofa table that sits off to the left, showing how terrible I truly was at the subject. Trinkets ranging from clay ashtrays to a ceramic bunny litter the table-top, same as they always have. Momma thinks everything has sentimental value. She has every piece of schoolwork I ever brought home arranged by year in totes up in the attic. Daddy always picked on her, telling her eventually she’d have to let go of some of it and she’d just roll her eyes and tell him to worry about himself.
I shut the door, following the noises coming from the kitchen. There’s momma, putting together lunch at the stove. She glances over her shoulder and shoots a smile my way.
“Baby, it’s good to see you. Where have you been hidin’?”
I make my way over and drop a kiss on her cheek before stealing a grape from the tray she’s arranging.
“Just been workin’ a lot. Bar hours don’t leave a lot of time to do much during the day.” I say, planting myself at the bar top. She huffs.
“You mean, workin’ and beddin’ that man child doesn’t leave time to do much during the day,” she snarks and I frown.
“Now momma, that’s not fair. You need to get to know this Dean. Not the Dean that left me all those years ago.” Her shoulders sag and she sighs.
“I know, baby. I’m sorry. It was just so hard to watch you go through what you did and at such a young age. He should have been here.”
“And I agree, momma. But I’m tryin’ to be fair and give this Dean a chance. Can you do the same?” I ask, knowing the answer. She’s going to say yes. Momma is nothing if not a giver, and I know she’s gonna give Dean a chance to prove himself.
“I suppose, child. But I’m only doin’ it because it’s what your daddy and Jesus would want me to do.” That earns an eye roll from me while she’s got her back turned. “Now, help me set all this up on the back porch. It’s a beautiful day and we are going to enjoy it while we catch up.” She gathers the tray she’s working on and a pitcher of sweet tea from the refrigerator and I follow behind with some glasses, plates, and the container of chicken salad.
Once outside we set our lunch up on the well-loved picnic table that daddy built many years ago and we both dig in. She is the best cook, and her chicken salad is to die for. I’ve tried to replicate it many times but never come close. We eat and we chat and laugh, catching up. She also gives me all the gossip from her book club, which is really just an excuse for her to have all her friends over so they can drink wine and gossip about the townsfolk. Apparently, Janine saw some strange woman going into her neighbors’ house while the wife was out of town, and she didn’t leave for a solid twenty-four hours. I laugh as she fills me in and make a silent note to come over more often, to soak up these moments with her, regardless of how hectic my life is.
“Afternoon, ladies,” is rumbled from across the fence to the neighbors’ yard. I turn around to say hello and I’m left almost speechless. A very handsome man is leaning on mama’s fence and he’s grinning at the two of us. His hair has lots of salt and pepper running through it and it’s longer on top but close cropped on the sides, his cut off shirt putting his defined muscles on full display. I would guess him to be in his late fifties. I glance at mama’s whose cheeks are super red.
You must be Whitley,” he says, opening the gate in the fence and meandering over. He walks up to me and extends his hand and I reach out to shake it.
“Yes’sir, and you are?” I ask, intrigued by this man standing in my mama’s yard like he’s been here a million times before.
“Wesley. Wesley Cray,” he drops my hands and makes his way to mama’s side of the table, dropping a kiss on her cheek and snagging half of her sandwich. My mouth is completely agape at the interaction.
‘I’m so sorry’ mama mouths at me and I narrow my eyes.
“So, Mr. Cray,” I begin but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.
“Nope, Wesley will do just fine.”
“Okay, Wesley. How long have you been sleepin’ with my mama?”
“Whitley Jean Cantu, where are your manners?!” Mama screeches and Wesley laughs, shaking his head. She narrows her gaze at him, “I’m not so sure what you’re laughin’ at, Wes. I told you to keep your butt next door until later this afternoon.” He chuckles again.
“And I told y
ou Shannon, that I won’t be your dirty secret.” Mama’s face softens. I rest my elbow on the table and prop my chin up, my eyes bouncing back and forth between the two of them as they talk.
“You’re not my dirty secret, sweetheart. I just wanted time to tell Whitley about you,” she leans over and kisses him on the cheek.
“You’ve had months, darlin’. You’ve been puttin’ it on the back burner. Me, coming over here, was my way of speeding it along.” He boops her on the nose and turns his attention back to me.
“I like him,” I proclaim, and mama looks at me.
“Are you okay with this?” I roll my eyes and Wesley laughs.
“Mama, I am fine with it. Daddy’s been gone for years and you deserve all the happiness in the world.”
“Thank you, baby,” she reaches out and pats my hand and I give hers a squeeze.
“Now, can I call you step-daddy?” He throws back his head, laughing, and I shoot mama a wink.
Dean
Closing my motel room door, I pocket my key card and head out to my old pickup that has seen better days, making the drive into town. I’ve somehow landed in BFE Colorado this time. Some would say I’ve been running from the sorrow I felt all those years ago when we lost the baby, and I would have to agree. Jumping from job to job, city to city, chasing something even though I don’t really know what. This seedy motel is just one of many I’ve stayed in over all these years, though this one is probably better than most. The sheets are clean, and it has hot water, which earns it no less than four stars from me.
My most recent job was working for J & K Ready-Mix in Nebraska. Just a small mom and pop concrete company. I was on a crew of about four guys and I learned a lot. It was probably one of the longest stints I’ve done at a job since I left Alabama. I stayed for ten months. One morning I just woke up and knew. Knew I needed to get my girl back, knew that I was ready to be the man Whitley deserved. I stopped in Colorado knowing this would be my last state, my last city before I headed home.
Come Back for You: Boys of Alabama Page 4
