After the Climb (River Rain 0.50)

“I’ll do that.”

“And I’ll see what I can rustle up for lunch for two fancy broads,” he replied, angling off me and onto his feet, which caused a scattering of dogs.

He pulled me up to mine.

“I’m still that small-town Illinois girl, Bowie,” I told him.

“Yeah, your publicists can feed that line to the drones who’ll suck up anything, but marble and chandeliers and a Cayenne and an assistant that brings you your cat, you don’t fool me, Genny. The thing it’s important for you to get is, I’m proud as fuck you made the you that you are right now. I know it took work. And it probably took balls. And from what I’ve heard about that cesspool of an industry, you likely ate a lot of shit. But you came out on top, Gen. And that’s fucking extraordinary.”

One could say, unless his mouth was on mine, I felt timid about my body’s reaction to his and definitely where that would lead, now that I wasn’t twenty-four anymore.

But what he just said, I couldn’t control it.

I jumped him.

We were back down on the couch, Duncan sitting, me straddling his lap, devouring his mouth, when he squeezed my ass with both hands, pulled his head back and said, “Babe, I’m hard again and honest to Christ, I’m fallin’ in love with your kid, but even if I wasn’t, I do not need to face her with a raging erection.”

And there it was.

Another giggle.

“Climb off and fix your hair, because it’s totally dry-humping hair. You do that, I’ll get a shot to take a breath and try not to think of what I intend to do to you on this couch, in my bed, in my shower, in my bathtub, at The Queen…”

“Okay, Bowie.”

I climbed off.

He stretched his arms out to either side of him on the back of the couch and I did my best (and failed) not to look at his crotch.

If luck had turned on me with falling in love with a man whose father’s abuse and whose best friend’s perfidy drove him from me, I was not unaware that that I’d lucked out very significantly in a variety of other ways.

To put a fine point on it, both the men who were important to me in my life were beautifully endowed.

Tom’s cock was long and hefty and pretty.

Duncan’s was all about girth and formation and it was gorgeous.

And I was going to get it back.

“Jesus, Genny, don’t make me need to change jeans. You know better than me, Chloe will notice.”

I tore my eyes from his crotch.

And it was my turn to have a smug smile.

I went to the bathroom.

By the time I came out, with an escort of Rocco and Shasta (Killer was sticking close to Daddy in the kitchen), Duncan called, “Check texts, beautiful. I’m thinking things are not all well in Chloe’s world.”

I went right to my phone that was lying on my bag on the island where I’d left it during the first part of the tour.

I checked texts.

There was an explosion of confetti effect, which did not share things were not well.

But I got it when I read the text.

Welcome to the first-ever Imoway family text string. Huzzah!

Now Bowie, you better have a martini ready for me or I’m going to kill somebody.

“Who would she want to kill?” I asked.

“No clue,” Duncan, pulling plates out that we were going to use to consume what appeared to be a cornucopia of deli delights. “Far’s I know, she went out to buy boots so she can ride. Has something like that ever led to homicidal tendencies before?”

“There was a limited edition Fendi clutch she decided to pass on, then changed her mind, and went back to get it, but it was gone and there wasn’t another one available anywhere. Things were troubled for a while after that, and I know your acquaintance has been short, but my sense is, you understand that ‘troubled’ for Chloe is akin to ‘apocalyptic’ for everyone else. But she didn’t threaten to kill anybody.”

He was chuckling at the same time saying, “We’ll find out soon enough.”

We would.

He moved to and then came out of the pantry with four different bags of chips.

“I take it we’re having sandwiches and chips,” I noted.

“I can heat up some soup,” he offered.

“This looks delicious, darling.”

He jerked up his chin and went to the fridge for condiments.

“What can I do?” I asked.

“Give Kills a snuggle, she’s dyin’ and I got my hands full,” he answered.

I went to get his dog and was seated at the island, giving her snuggles while she panted and watched her Daddy arrange slices of meat on a plate when I heard the garage door go up.

“Should I not be puttin’ out meat and instead have been battening down the hatches?” Duncan asked.