Page 9 of Bounty
I waved her over. As she walked into view, I clenched my jaw to keep my mouth from falling to the fucking ground. She wore a short red bandage dress. The material revealed glimpses of smooth skin. Toned arms and legs brought dirty images flaring to life and the mounds of her tits watered my mouth.
Sweet Effie, huh?
Indeed.
She stopped inches from me. My eyes were still glued to her perky breasts. Instead of reprimanding my blatant ogling, the little minx spun with dramatic flair and offered me a view of her round ass. She faced me again and smirked.
“You like the fit?” she asked innocently, as if she didn’t know that my cock was rock hard.
“I love it,” I responded. It crossed my mind to ditch dinner and drag her back to my hotel room. The one her mother and father paid for.
Fuck, that was low. Even for me.
Daria’s words echoed through my head, forcing me to show some restraint. If Effie really was a virgin, she at least deserved wining and dining before an old dirty bastard like me tainted her. Giving her a semblance of a proper date was the least I could do.
I cleared my throat, adjusting to conceal my boner, and gave her another once over. “But, I’m not sure if it’s bike-appropriate, babe. The wind can be a bitch. Not to mention my pipe…pipes…exhaust pipes…”
Her face lit up. My bumbling words didn’t register. They seemed to go in one ear and out the other. “You’re taking me on your motorcycle? That’s, like, so cool.”
She giggled, unguarded and carefree. I couldn’t help but chuckle. Then, realization struck me and my laughter died. Because, fuck, what if Daria was right? Then again, did it even matter if she was? Effie was grown, and ifshewanted a walk on the wild side, who was I to refuse her? Now was not the time for a moral dilemma, not when a laundry list of other sins had long ago tainted my soul.
“I am, sweetheart, and I want you to enjoy the ride,” I said, mincing my words so I didn’t offend her. “So why don’t you go change into jeans real quick? I don’t mind waiting.”
“We don’t have to leave the premises,” she coaxed.
Oh, yes the fuck we did. With that sultry look and sexy voice, if wedidn’tleave, we wouldn’t eat a thing but each other.
“I dressed for you,” she admitted.
It took everything in me to bring on my full asshole. “Didn’t ask you to, Effie. Now, run upstairs and change.”
Immediately, her face fell. I winced, opening my mouth to backtrack and explain my suggestion. Before I could, she huffed out, “Fine,” turned on her heels, and stomped back to the elevator.
What a lovely start to my evening.
When Slice sent me back to the room to change, I blamed my mom, spawning an unwanted analysis of our relationship as I shed the dress I’d been so excited to wear. She had an image of me that couldn’t be further from the truth. Cassie was so much of a dumpster fire, that I must look like an angel in comparison, an opinion Mom was keen to share with anyone who’d listen. Iwas the ‘good’ kid, even though many of my friends laughed at the suggestion.
Mom started writing seven years ago during my soccer practice. Day after day, she sat in the bleachers, blocked out the world, and penned her story in longhand. Our family wasn’t fabulously wealthy, but we were comfortable enough to where Mom took care of home and hearth, while Dad earned the money and then deposited every cent into my mother’s bank account.
Although she set Dad up as the quintessential hero, I think she dreamed up men who stood up to her much more than Dad ever could. Daria Monroe steamrolled whoever allowed it.
Dad admired Mom’s strength. Mom loved how Dad deferred to her for everything. My mother was an amazingly strong-willed woman with a fantastic imagination and incredible charm when she chose to use it.
Once Mom’s books took off, she and my dad remained wrapped up in each other. They rarely noticed anything about me other than my accomplishments. The year I turned fifteen, I not only broke the glass ceiling, I stomped that motherfucker.
Mom and Dad refused to allow me to go to the skating rink for my best friend’s birthday party. One, I hadn’t posted any teasers that week for her new book. Worse, I left the soccer team and tried out for cheerleading.
For me, their refusal heralded the last straw. I studied their habits and clocked their activities. After two months, I concluded they turned in at ten on the dot without fail. Normally, when they turned off the TV in the den, I’d stand, too, and head to my room. The first two or three times I didn’t, Dad gave me a little pushback. Then, they dropped it.
My next determination established they didn’t leave their bedroom until six the next morning. Without fail. Ensuite bathrooms were handy little suckers.
Once I confirmed their patterns, I began sneaking out every weekend at 11 PM. Six years in, I had yet to get caught.
Next year, I’d graduate college. Mom and Dad begged me not to move out until then. Dad telling me empty nest syndrome would hinder Mom’s creativity killed my intentions to ignore the demand and move out on my own. Heath lived hundreds of miles away; Cassie was miserable and irresponsible. The Mary Sue archetype fell on my shoulders.
Mom and Dad refused rent from me, so I bought groceries with the money I earned from freelance photography. Out of respect for Mom’s creativity, I passed on an internship in NYC at Keegan Enterprises. Ryan Keegan headed their marketing division. I’d read an article about her billionaire husband, known as the Savage Suit, and their romance.
My brother greenlit the idea and offered me the spare bedroom in his apartment. Mom scoffed. She wanted me in Corpus,at home, because she needed my help.
