Page 116 of Felonies are Forever

The first sight of the girl that’s filled my fantasies day and night for a year is almost rapturous. I swear I hear fucking angels singing. Goddamn church bells. I may have found religion.

The light from a window frames her perfection. She’s in torn jeans, cut off at her ankles. Black boots. A low-cut black thermal shirt. You’d think she was wearing some fantasy stripper lingerie from my reaction, but she could wear a flour sack and make me hard. Her fucking body is a vision. Strong, compact, but with adoll-like quality that makes me want to hoist her into my arms and carry her through life. Her fucking evergreen eyes are like heaven itself.

Two large dogs curl around her legs in figure eights while several others in a variety of shapes and colors walk behind. She snaps her fingers and they all sit in unison as she looks down with a smile.

“Good boys. And girls.” She turns those magical green eyes to me, the moment frozen in time. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen bar none. I’m fucking lost.

Two of the biggest dogs stare me down, lips twitching as if to say, who’s this motherfucker in our house?

“Mother!” Walter breaks the moment calling out over his shoulder. He keeps his eyes on me, but I barely hear anything over the raging river of blood rushing through my ears. The pounding in my temples like a drumbeat calling to some primal part of me she’s awakened.

Daphne’s more beautiful than any fantasy I’d conjured of her, impossible as that seems. From that first letter, she did something to me through the loops and swoops of the ink on the page. I felt her somehow.

Knew her somehow.

Now, fuck. I want to know everything. Especially how it would feel thrusting inside her, making her mine once and for all.

Her dark hair catches the light streaming through the living room window. I can’t speak. I can’t even move. Tendrils that remind me of her handwriting fall around her oval face, the comma of a dimple showing on her right cheek as she dries her hands on a green towel before shooing the dogs off behind her.

And fuck, I want to be that towel.

“Dutch.” Walter addresses me, dropping my hand, draping his arm around a woman that looks like an older version ofDaphne, with silver streaks in her hair but the same brilliant green eyes and pale, ivory skin. “This is my wife, Joan. And this…” He leans over as Daphne comes to stand next to her mother. “…is my daughter. Daphne. My family.” His voice hardens and I see that don’t fuck this up look again in his eyes.

I tip my head to them both but my eyes are locked on Daphne.

Her body was built for fucking. She’s small, with a tight little frame that makes her look younger than her age, only with womanly curves and teasing cleavage. The best of everything.

My thoughts turn filthy. Depraved. And fast.

A vision of her eyes, wide, her feminine lips soft and wet as I stuff every inch of my thick cock into her tight pink cunt while I squeeze her throat, slap her ass and tell her she’s my fuck toy from now until ever more. My heart nearly seizes as every drop of blood pumps into my erection.

Shit. I look down to make sure the tails of my shirt cover the effect she’s having on me because everyone getting an eyeful of my hard-on as a first impression isn’t what I’d planned.

The sound of a ringing phone snaps me from my delirium as James pulls out his cell and looks at the screen.

“Gotta take this. It’s the shop.” He puts a finger up and nods at Walter before answering and stepping into the hallway, then behind a door.

Walter sniffs as Joan sighs. It smells nice in here; like someone bakes cookies every fucking day and dusts with that lemony smelling spray. But mixed in there somewhere, I can smell her, too. Perfume or lotion. Soft and sexy, and it makes my mouth water. Because I want her. Here. Now. Forever.

James got the gift of gab from his mother. Joan is chattering away to me while Walter stands silently to her side, but I’m only partway listening. Because I can’t take my eyes off of Daphne. And I can’t stop thinking about her pussy.

Is she bare or does she have one of those little fluffy landing strip shaves? Or, is she full on muff, soft and retro?

I don’t care, I just want to know.

And see.

And taste.

“You said you would take the afternoon off,” Joan scolds James when he comes back from the call, making his apologies that he’s got to go back to the shop soon. “I knew it was too good to be true. Next thing I know you’re going to have the shop open on Sunday. We always said Sunday was family day. Family dinner…I suppose it’s only a matter of time…”

“Don’t start, baby.” Walter leans over and kisses the top of his wife’s head. “We gotta do what we gotta do. Make hay while the sun shines, right?” He gives her a devious wink as Joan swats his chest.

“Don’t start with that,” Joan says, chiding him. “You’ll give Dutch the wrong impression.”

Walter looks at me with a nod. “You getting the wrong impression, son?”

The only impression I’m getting is an image of Daphne’s knees pressing into the mattress as I fuck her from behind, spreading her ass cheeks and telling her where my dick is going next as I spit on her back entrance and listen to her moan out my name.

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