Unexpected Gift(66)



“That is disgusting.”

“Have you ever tried it?”

“No. I don’t need to. You weirdo.”

I spin around, straddling his waist, and lean in, whispering, “I am not weird. Call me that one more time and I won’t have sex with you.”

“Please, I’ll have you begging for me in less than two minutes.” He wraps his arms around me, pressing his hardening cock against my stomach.

“Two minutes? Wow. You can’t do better than that?” I tsk, trailing my finger down, down, down, until I cup his heavy sack.

This time, he spins around, placing my back against the tub. My legs are out of the water, and they naturally wrap around his waist. He rubs his lips across mine, not giving me a kiss, but teasing me, pulling away, and coming back in like that, driving me insane—just like he knew it would. One hand holds my ass while the other holds the back of my neck. “How are you feeling, sunshine?”

“A little sore, but not so bad that I can’t handle you again.” I wrap my fingers around his cock, lifting my brows when I find him long and hard.

“Is that right?” He places a soft kiss against my lips.

I spread my legs wider, giving him an open invitation. “Yes,” I hiss. I squeeze his shaft making him groan. “I want to feel you again. I want to feel your come inside me one more time.”

His eyes roll to the back of his head, and he takes a deep breath. “That tongue.”

“What about it?”

He slides his cock all the way inside me, and I gasp from the pleasure. I expected pain, like before, but it was far from it. “It’s wicked. And after I fuck this tight, pussy. I’m going to fuck your mouth, and maybe it will teach you a lesson.”

I moan when he hits a certain spot inside me. “It’s only going to teach me to be more wicked.”

“Sounds fun.” He growls, pulling his cock out and slamming the hard steel back inside me.





Chapter Twenty-Nine





Caden





It’s been a few weeks since Molly and I first had sex, and ever since then, we haven’t been able to take our hands off each other. And we learned from last time. We don’t ever have sex without a condom. Secretly though, I don’t want to wear one. But that's not what we decided on, so I'll obviously respect our decision. Even though we have known each other for a long time, being intimate is completely different, and I don’t ever want to rush her.

But I can’t help the urge. It’s there, pulsing under my skin.

There is one thing that is holding me back, though. I need permission from Brandon, and since I can’t actually talk to him, a visit is in order.

I follow the narrow road of the cemetery, passing hundreds of graves as I make my way toward Brandon’s tombstone. I glance at the scotch sitting in the passenger seat. I always thought that the only times I would ever drink this expensive shit would be with Brandon. I never thought I’d be bringing a bottle to his grave, though. Not quite what I pictured

I pull over on the side of the road to make sure I’m not blocking anyone else from seeing their loved ones. I keep my fingers on the keys dangling from the ignition, and as I turn the car off, I slam my head against the headrest, letting out a sigh in the process. My phone buzzes again, and I roll my head as I stare at the reminder on my damn phone about that stupid voicemail Brandon left me the night he died. I scoff, shoving the phone in my pocket. I grab the scotch by the neck as I climb out of the car door, stepping onto the pavement damp from the light rain.

“Hi,” I nod to a sobbing woman who is being held by her husband. He returns my greeting with a sad smile. “I hate cemeteries,” I mumble after they are a safe distance away, turning toward the old oak tree that Brandon and Amelia are buried under. “Here we go,” I say as I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. I don’t know why I’m nervous. Brandon is dead. It isn’t like he can punch me in the face or anything, but he can decide to haunt me. If I believed in that kind of stuff, which I don't think I do, but I don’t know how the world works, so I can’t be too surprised if he gives me nightmares for the rest of my life.

The breeze mixes with the rain, blowing it onto my face, cooling my nerves, and heating my skin. The bottoms of my pants get wet from the blades of grass brushing against them, and my shoes sink into the soft earth, taking me toward their tombstone. I shrug off my jacket and set it on the ground against the tree roots as I sit down. The canopy of the branches blocks the rain, the leaves acting as a net.

Unscrewing the bottle of expensive scotch, I read the words engraved in the stone staring back at me.

Brandon Erick Lowell

January 15, 1985 ? June 13, 2018

A father, a husband, a brother, and a friend.

Rest in love.





My fingers dig into the knot of my tie and loosen it, my gaze going to the stone next to his, which is Amelia’s. It says nearly the same thing. I sigh, leaning my head back against the body of the oak. I watch the leaves sway in the wind, water dripping off every few seconds and trickling down my cheek.

I pour a little bit of the scotch onto Brandon’s grave, and I go to do the same on Amelia’s grave but then I stop. “Maybe I shouldn’t. Last I can remember, you hate scotch. I don’t want you to roll around in your grave or anything.” I wince from how harsh that sounds. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I just didn’t bring any of the bitch beers—your words—that you like so much. I’m sorry. A lot has been going on. It’s kind of why I’m here.”

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