And the other hand in my mouth so I can suck on his fingers and not feel even a lick of pain.
Who’s grunting with every thrust and every time I squeeze my ass over his length.
And who tells me, “You’re so fucking beautiful, Fae. So fucking gorgeous. You’re a wonder.”
Popping his thumb out, I cradle his face, his tight jaw. “You are too.”
Before his mouth descends on me and I inch up slightly to help him put his lips on mine.
And as soon as he does, I crash and burn and come.
My pussy contracts and my ass flutters, forcing him to come as well, to come together. As one.
Making him fill my ass with his cream and conquer that last hole of mine.
Making him even more entrenched in my heart. A heart that says, I love you, Roman.
And somehow a heart that hears, I love you, Fae.
“Gregory Jackson.”
The name echoes in the house, clashes with the soft blue walls.
But I know that I’m only imagining it because his voice is in my ears, coming through the phone.
Him being Reed’s dad.
I got his number from Tempest, who also warned me against calling their dad. She told me that Reed would flip the fuck out, her exact words.
But I told her what I told my girls at St. Mary’s.
That I’m not going to stand by any longer and let him suffer.
So yeah, after getting back from the woods and having dinner, I decided to send Reed on a grocery store run for that ice cream I like so I could call his dad.
I’m sitting down for this.
And good thing because I’m quaking, quaking, on the inside.
But I grab the edge of the cozy couch and say in a calm and determined voice, “Mr. Jackson, hi. You probably don’t remember me but I’m a friend of your daughter.” I cringe; great introduction. “And also Reed. My name is Callie Thorne and I was hoping that I could talk —”
“Calliope.”
I cringe again. Because no one has called me that in like forever.
But it’s not exactly the fact that he’s called me by my full name. It’s how he’s done it.
With so much interest. And I’m not going to lie, that creeps me out a little bit.
That intense interest.
Even so, I’m glad he knows who I am. It might save me from telling him the whole sordid tale from two years ago.
“Yes, I —”
He speaks over me. “How nice of you to call. I’ve been meaning to have a conversation with you.”
Mr. Jackson’s voice is smooth and deep, like his son’s, but there’s a quality in it that I find… slimy. Halo finds it slimy too I think because she kicks in my belly angrily and I have to rub the spot to make her go back to sleep.
Not now, honey.
Before I can respond to that, he continues, “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“You know?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
I didn’t think he knew.
Reed has been so adamant about not letting me go anywhere near his dad or getting him involved in my pregnancy in any way that it comes as a surprise.
As a shock actually.
Unpleasant and vexing.
Something that gets my heart rate up.
“Of course,” he says in that slimy, deep voice of his. “Of course I know. I’ve only recently found out, actually. My son did the best he could to hide it from me. I wonder why, however. I wonder why he wouldn’t share such happy news with his own father. It hurt me, to be honest with you. But anyway, I’m glad I found out. Please accept my greatest congratulations.”
There’s nothing wrong with what he’s saying.
In fact, it’s all polite and polished and pleasant.
But something is off.
Something is very much off and it’s not just the fact that he told me that he’s only recently found out despite Reed’s efforts not to tell him.
Again, it’s okay.
It doesn’t matter. That’s not why I’m calling anyway.
I rub my belly again to calm Halo down so I can focus. “Uh, thank you.”
“So,” he asks magnanimously. “What can I do for you?”
Okay, this is it.
I sit up straighter on the couch and say, “I actually wanted to apologize.”
“Apologize. For what?”
“For what I did two years ago. I never got a chance to apologize to you before and I want you to know that I regret it. I’m not…” I pause to gather myself. “I wasn’t myself that night and if I were, I never would’ve done it. But that’s not an excuse and I know that. I’m not exactly hoping that you forgive me but I’d like to say that I’m sorry.”
“Forgive you?” He laughs, and this time I’m definitely, definitely creeped out.
His laugh is somehow both booming and screeching, like nails dragging across a chalkboard and you get the feeling that whatever is making him happy is coming at the expense of someone else.