Page 50 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

“Aye, Da. I’m here to look at that intermittent fault you’re experiencing with the CCTV. I can’t see anything wrong at my end, so I thought I’d best come and take a look at it from yours.”

I make my way into the most used of the family rooms. It’s a comfy space, all neutral colors, with a massive TV hanging from the wall and two large black leather sectionals to lounge on. It’s where me, my da, and my brothers hang out when we’re at home to play poker or watch sports.

Not a minute later, he appears. He’s dressed down from church now in a pair of grey slacks, a cream button-down, and with his glasses perched on the end of his nose. All of this topped off with a pair of tan sheepskin slippers. New York’s biggest serial killer is wearing fluffy mules.

He looks like any typical almost seventy-year-old. He’s not. His death toll will be three figures minimum, and he won’t regret a single one. He commits his atrocities and then thinks that by confessing his sins and taking his penance on the chin that he’ll still get a heavenly pass. He won’t. No one with an ounce of sense would ever tell him that, mind you. Definitely not me. I keep my opinions to myself. I quite like my head attached to my body.

“Dylan.”

My attention switches to my ma, Roisin O’Connell, who’s come to join us. I’m sure she gets smaller every time I see her. At sixty-six, she’s now barely five feet. She’s a redhead like our Cill, but only the most stubborn streaks can now be seen through the several shades of grey. She’s a beautiful woman. Always has been. Elegant is probably the best way to describe her—all twinsets and pearls on the outside. On the inside, it’s a different matter. I try not to dwell on the things I’ve heard she’s taken part in. Of the horrific endings she’s inflicted on some of our enemies—the females in the main.

To me, she’s just my ma.

They stand side by side in their matching slippers—a perfect show of solidarity, just staring at me. Why? Then it dawns on me. My heart sinks.

I look from face to face. “There’s no issue with the CCTV, is there.” It’s a statement rather than a question. My throat suddenly feels dry, and my heart is thudding in my chest.

No. No. No.

Ma shakes her head. I know her voice is about to go that soothing way of hers. It’s when she pretends to have a conscience for some godforsaken sin or act of betrayal, she’s either committed or is about to commit.

This time, it's one that involves me.

“No, Dyl. The CCTV is working fine, son. Me and your da…” She links her arm through his for moral support, and in return, he pats her hand reassuringly. “Well, we wanted to do this away from the office. We know you hate being the center of attention and there’s someone we’d like you to meet.”

Ma leaves the room, and I stare at my da. Please, God, tell me this isn’t happening. Not now. Not when I thought I was off the hook.

I watch as my ma brings in the girl. She’s pretty enough with her shoulder-length straight blonde hair and large green eyes framed by glasses of a style similar to mine. Beautiful, some might say, in a geeky sort of way. She’s dressed sensibly in black pants and a cream blouse, and even though she’s wearing flat shoes, she’s still tall. Does she not like to be the center of attention either? Is that another reason we’re being introduced here, away from the others?

“Dylan, this is Grace. Grace, this is our Dyl.” Ma introduces us.

She walks forward and holds out her hand, and I shake it. We take each other in. She doesn’t speak. I don’t either. Why bother? The handshake signified precisely what this is. A business arrangement.

“Dyl.”

I look at my da.

“We’d like you to court young Grace here.”

Jessie’s Apartment, Hudson Yards, New York

“I’ve missed your cock.” I’ve only just walked into her apartment, and her lips are already caressing mine. She tastes like coffee. She drinks way too much of that stuff. It’ll be the reason she’s always so hyperactive. Then again, that’s just Jessie. The proverbial blue-arsed fly.

I wouldn’t change anything about her for the world.

I growl against her lips as her hand drops down to rub my hardening dick through my suit pants. Moving her mouth to my neck, she bites down, causing me to curse, as she pushes me back against the wall before sinking to her knees.

“Fuck, Jessie.”

I watch as she unzips my pants and they drop to my ankles, then she yanks down my shorts to join them on the floor. I kick both aside.

I wrap her hair around my hand as she wraps those cupid’s bow lips of hers around my cock before licking the entire length and then sucking hard on the nerve-endings right under the tip. My legs almost buckle as my orgasm immediately grips my balls.

I look down at her kneeling on the floor in a white tank top and the tiniest of Daisy Dukes, her little pink tongue lapping up my pre-cum. Closing my eyes, I rest the back of my head against the wall as I give in to the sinful delights of that hot, wet vacuum of a mouth of hers.

I grunt as she sucks on both my balls at once, looking back down to take in the perfect visual. Fisting my shaft with one hand and with the other still gripping her hair, I rub the blunt head of my leaking dick across her lips.

“I want to come in your mouth, Jessie.”

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