Page 52 of Red Flag Bull

JASON

After expressing nineteen years of pent-up emotions in the last twenty-four hours, I’ve worn Mandi out.

She didn’t even wake up when I took my first feed for the day. Her tits were so swollen and ready to burst, she soaked me with her milk a few seconds after I started to suckle. Once it started flowing, it wouldn’t stop, and since I could only drink from one breast at a time, the other one doused me until my beard was dripping.

There was something crazy hot about her hosing me down, and something even hotter about spreading her legs and jacking myself at her pretty cunt while she slept. She was beautifully creamed already, but spreading her swollen pussy, sliding my shining slit in line with her juicy fuck-hole, and easing forward until the head of my cock was snug while I shot my load inside her, before she’s even awake? Perfection.

Watching it drip from her glistening pink flesh when I’m done? Icing on the cake.

I’m keeping her basted until we get a positive pregnancy test.

Who am I kidding? After, too. She’ll be lucky if I don’t keep her bound and bred for the rest of her life.

I smile down at her, sleeping with her legs wide and a pillow wedged under her ass, to keep my seed inside her. The view is sublime. I set her breakfast tray aside and check the locked cuffs on her ankles, to make sure they’re not chafing her skin. I’ll let her up after breakfast. Once she’s had some more time percolating.

The doorbell rings, and I check my watch. Vince is early.

I look back at Mandi and lean in to press a kiss to her forehead. “You’ll call my name if you need me,” I whisper at her ear.

Her lips twitch with a vague smile, but she doesn’t rouse. I watch her chest rise and fall a while. Slowly and steadily. She remains peaceful and sound asleep. Her nipples are erect, but I can’t tell if it’s from her dreams, the temperature, or what I just did. Loathe to cover her, I adjust the thermostat, to keep her warm, before I head downstairs.

Vince is facing out to the lake when I open the door, and he turns to me with a huge grin. “The old summer-hangout spot.”

“For you guys,” I say with a snort, as I hug him and clap his back. “That shitty fucking trailer in the woods became my full-time gig after my fucking medical bills cost us the farm. It was easy to lose my way here without you guys around, and I spent too much time pining for escape, until I got myself kicked into gear.”

“Yeah, but there are worse places to live while you’re head-fucked,” Vince says with a shrug — ever the hunter of silver linings. “And you’ve got the nicest place on the lake now, so everything came up roses in the end.”

I look out over the lake and the tree-covered mountains and nod. “True enough. You coming in? Coffee’s fresh.”

“Yeah. Course.” He bends to unlace his giant boots, and glances at the lake again. “Remember that time we borrowed old-man Peters’ boat? When Daryl was clowning around, like he does, and we lost him overboard in the middle of the lake?”

“Sank like a fucking stone.” I shake my head. “Thought he was gone.”

He chuckles and respectfully sets his boots on the shoe rack by the door. “Yeah, but you got him back.”

“And I spent the rest of the summer barking at him in the shallows, until he could swim to my satisfaction.” I rub my head and gesture toward the kitchen. “He fucking hated me for it.”

“He knew it was because you loved him,” Vince says, lumbering ahead of me and making my hallway look small. “So…? Coffee first? Or you want to get right to business?”

I set an oversized mug on the counter for my oversized friend and push the jug of cream toward him, before I reach for the coffeepot. “Both.”

“You sounded pretty serious on the phone.”

“There’s a reason.” I fill his cup with coffee and slide a list of names in front of him. “I need tabs on these people, Mr. Private Investigator. I want to know locations, known associates, what they eat, where they shit, and what they failed to digest. Everything.”

He slides the list closer and reads it before meeting my gaze again. “Any particular reason?”

“I need to visit them.” I give a wry smile. “To… chat.”

Vince’s expression is deadpan. “Uh-huh.” He taps a big finger on the paper. “You need any help when you chat to these people?”

“That wouldn’t be wise.” I push the sugar bowl toward him and cover it with my hand when he goes back for a third teaspoon.

He rolls his eyes at me. “I’m a grown-ass man, Jase.”

“You are. A grown ass man with a sweet tooth and a predisposition for diabetes,” I counter. “Make better choices.”

He mutters something under his breath and stirs his coffee. “Why the hit list?”

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