I start fooling around in the kitchen preparing dinner.
I end up making spaghetti and garlic bread. Easy and simple yet filling. It’s weird how I know the steps to make dinner and yet I can’t remember anything about my life.
“This is good,” Charlie compliments with a noodle caught on his beard.
I hold a napkin to my mouth to hide my laughter that is trying to bubble out of my mouth.
“You got a little something.” I motion to his beard.
He shrugs and wipes it away.
“Are you going to let me have my way and shave you?”
“You going to tell me this fantasy you have?”
“Yes,” I whisper breathlessly imagining the scene I dreamt up earlier.
“Then let’s get this shit over with.”
“We have to clean up dinner first. If we don't do it now...it won’t get done later. And there is nothing worse than waking up to a nasty kitchen.”
“You’re killing me,” he grumbles but rakes the leftover food on his plate into the trash.
“Don’t go dying before I can tell you my secret desires…who will I get to act them out if you’re not here?” I smile at him and that funny sound ticks in the back of his throat. “I’ll wash, and you can rinse.”
He looks like he is about to protest but I narrow my eyes on him and lick my lips and he concedes.
Chapter Sixteen
—Boogeyman—
Dammit to hell, this woman has me all twisted up inside. Making me fucking wash dishes and shit. All because I want to know her fantasy. I really am a Goddamn sadist.
Fuck me. She is still only wearing my t-shirt, stretching to put something in the cabinet. The t-shirt that's riding up her hips, hips that I want grab hold of as I slam into her from behind, revealing her bare ass to me, reminding me of how damn sexy it looked with my hand prints on it.
Turning around, Shelly catches me staring at her. A sweet smile spreads over her lips. “So where are we doing this? Do you have clippers?”
“Have my shave kit in my bag,” I tell her gruffly, wondering if there is any other way to get this secret desire out of her. Could take her over my knee and spank it out of her but she seems to really want this and part of me wants to give it to her.
I wonder if this is what normal people do? Give and take. Push and pull.
“In here is fine.” I shrug, and she pulls a chair out from the kitchen table.
“Have a seat. Is your kit in
the bag you have in the bedroom?”
“Yeah,” I grunt, feeling that damn tickle in the back of my throat.
“Okay,” she singsongs and heads toward the bedroom. Part of me has wondered if this memory loss of hers is all an act, but she seems too friendly...too comfortable with me for that to be the case. I’m not letting my guard down though.
I can’t afford to be stupid all for some pussy. Even as I think it though, I know she is more than pussy. If pussy were all I wanted from her I would have taken it by now and done away with her.
A few minutes later she returns minus her cock flip-flops. An image of her barefoot and pregnant shoots to the front of my mind, reminding me of that old saying: Keep her barefoot in the winter and pregnant in the summer. That is exactly what I would like to do with her, but I know that won’t happen. It’s a fucking fantasy. A dream that won’t come true. Never been much for wishing on stars or any of that shit. I don't pray to God either. He forgot about me a long time ago, if he ever thought of me at all.
I’m not meant to have a happy ending. Nor am I fit to be a father. No way in hell am I passing my fucked up genes onto a poor unsuspecting child. I won’t fuck a kid up like my old man did me.
“Take your shirt off.”