Chapter Two
Tempest
I can’t believe this house. It’s insane.
Everything is glass, every room has floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking an incredible view of Malibu. We’re high up so nobody can see in without trespassing first. Everything is the same color, the floors are all a brownish, gray wood that’s glossy and gorgeous. The walls are an off white with cleverly placed art here and there. The furniture is minimal but so comfy looking and classy.
Mad only gave me a brief tour last night as we were both wiped but he told me to make myself at home. I’m not sure I can, not until I’ve spoken to his father and cleared the air. As much as I’d like to make myself scarce immediately I am stuck here until I can make alternative arrangements. He agreed to have me so he will have to deal with it. I was just calling his bluff in the hall yesterday when we arrived, knowing on the spot he wouldn’t have told me to fuck off because Mad would have followed.
It's such a shame that such a handsome man is such an arse.
I stretch on the rug in my bedroom after a second, long, hot shower. It’s been so long since I felt the softness of a shaggy rug. Especially one so expensive and authentic.
My wet hair dampens it as I stare at the ceiling in a pair of Mad’s gray boxer briefs and a white vest that’s a bit too large. All of my things need cleaning. Not that I have many things. This is why I had a shower before bed and one upon waking, I was filthy. Now I feel clean, so squeaky clean. It’s amazing. I never want to feel dirty again.
I unravel the leather strap from around my journal and roll onto my front. The sun is only now rising outside but my mind’s jet lag had it rising two hours ago and in Cambodia we always got up before it broke through the darkness anyway. We had to, to gather water from a mile away and have it filtered and ready to drink.
I write:
“Today is going to be a good day, I can feel it. Today is a day of harmony and happiness and today I’ll try to bond with Sargent. I still can’t believe Mad told Marcy to purposely withhold the fact I’m female, just so I could come here with him. I knew he valued my friendship and company but to the extent that he’d risk the wrath of his father just to keep me around is mind blowing.”
I roll my journal back up and tuck it under my pillow after I stand, stretch again, check my thick braid that hangs over my left shoulder, and then I exit my bedroom.
The polite thing to do would be to wait for Maddox to wake up but I am starving and he put my bag in the utility room with his. I have maybe two meal replacement bars in the front pocket that I forgot to take out before handing it over.
I creep along the hall, keeping to the right as I make my way to the large archway that joins the hallway to the open-plan kitchen and dining room, which also leads to the most amazing outdoor pool I have ever seen. It looks like you can swim straight over the side. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Sure beats the piranha-infested waters we dared to swim in. Maddox even got bitten once, that wasn’t fun. Nasty little gits they can be. He still has the scar to prove it above his right ankle bone.
On bare feet and tiptoes I move silently across the kitchen and through another door, relieved when I see my bag on the side where Mad left it, though it’s empty of clothing and the washing machine is making a racket. He must have chucked our shoes in there with our clothes. Not an uncommon thing to do when backpacking but definitely not the right thing to do in normal civilization.
I laugh quietly and peel open the meal replacement bar. It leaves much to be desired in the flavor department but I’m starving. This is the first thing I have eaten since that awful plane meal that I took one bite of yesterday.
Sargent
“What are you doing?” I bark and she startles, squealing like a little girl as she spins to face me. There’s something hanging from between her lips, something in a silver packet. She grabs it and swallows the piece in her mouth.
“Getting food,” she replies, placing her hand to her heart and my eyes, unfortunately, catch sight of her perky rosebud nipples that are clearly visible through the white tank top she’s donning.
Damn it, she has amazing breasts. I bet they’d be heavy in my hands despite their perkiness and I’m almost certain the shape I see surrounding the pebbled tip of her left nipple is a piercing.
Why do I like that?
She shifts on the spot, uncomfortable by my staring and now I feel like a perverted fool.
I look at her in the eyes and keep my expression flat despite the raging hard-on my pants are hopefully concealing.
“Eating what?” I ask. She’s my son’s girl. I am sick. Or I am normal for appreciating a beautiful female form, which she definitely has. Gentle curves, if not a bit too slender from her travels, perky breasts which I can’t stop looking at, wider hips than most of the women I’m used to fucking in Malibu. I bet she has a great ass.
I have to stop myself from leaning around to check it out.
“It’s a meal replacement thing, like a cereal bar. It’s supposed to be beef dinner flavor but it tastes like shit actually.”
She just swore, my cock, which is already fucking killing me, gives a happy little twitch. I don’t typically speak to women with a potty mouth, I think I might like that too. Piercings and curse words… what an odd thing to enjoy.
“Why are you eating shit in my laundry room?” I frown, crossing my arms over my chest. A strike of manly satisfaction courses through me when she looks at my own assets. For an older man I’ve still got it, as I should, I work hard for this body and eat right.
“I’m hungry,” she replies as though I’m stupid as she pushes a hand through her hair, showing me a black and gray, surprisingly beautiful tattoo on her arm. It’s a swirling pattern with roses and hidden faces that has been so artistically done. I pull my eyes away because staring at her isn’t helping my arousal.
I fucking love tasteful tattoos on women and this one, which spans from her shoulder to her elbow, is gorgeous.
“There is a refrigerator full of food.”
Her lips twitch when I say refrigerator. Is she mocking me in her mind? Like she can mock anyone with her common-sounding British accent that is probably fake anyway.
“I’m not the type to make myself at home when my host is less than pleased to see me,” she admits, straight to the point of the issue, I like that. I might just respect her a little more for it.
“I apologize for my less than adequate greeting yesterday, allow me to redeem myself in the form of eggs benedict and toast.”
She smiles happily, stretching her dark pink lips which I think are their natural color. What a lucky, stunning young woman. My son certainly has good taste. She is a beauty.
I allow myself one more act of perversion and move to the side so she has to walk past me and I get to see her delectable derriere as she goes. It’s even better than I imagined. And now, I must put all of that out of my head and treat her like the son-stealing harlot that she is.
“Have you ever had eggs benedict?” I ask, moving to the refrigerator and pulling it open.
“Nope,” she replies, pulling herself up onto the counter.
I’m torn between ogling her bare thighs or following the pretty glow of her tan to her feet and back up to her cunt. I wonder if, when she slides down, the boxers will hug her lips like a glove and show me just a glimpse of her young pussy.
How old is she anyway? If she’s my son’s age she’s far too young for my perverted mind. Even though she looks all woman. Her body is that of an athlete in her mid-twenties at the latest and I can’t stop obsessing.
“There are stools,” I snap, my anger misplaced.
“Sorry, Sarge.” She hops down. I grit my teeth at the sound of that name. “It’s a habit. You just sort of sit wherever you can when you’re backpacking.”
I light the stove and get to work making breakfast, turning on the radio to fill the silence and to stop me from having to speak with her for any longer.
Tempest
He places a full plate in front of me and my stomach growls its approval. I hope he doesn’t hear it over the music.
“Thank you.” I politely bow my head and bring my hand up to touch my hair.
“Something you learned in Cambodia?”
I nod and reply, “A custom in a village I was in a while ago, a habit you learned quickly or you quickly felt a cane strike your bare thighs.” He shifts on the spot and I wonder if I’ve made him uncomfortable. “It’s a habit you don’t forget once you feel the pain of that thin piece of polished wood when it hits you.”
His dark eyes stare at me for the longest moment and then he takes his plate and leaves the kitchen without another word, vanishing into the hall.
Was it something I said?
Moments later Maddox sleepily enters. “Dad’s been cooking?”
I nod, smiling at his nest of messy hair. Yanking the amber beads that dangle around his neck I admonish, “You shouldn’t sleep in those. It’s dangerous.”
He hits my hand away and rolls his eyes. “Sorry, Mom.”
I finish my breakfast as he helps himself to what’s left in the pan.
“What did my dad say to you?”
“He just offered me breakfast.” And he ogled my body in a way that was so obvious and degrading I wanted to kick him in his nuts. Not that I don’t appreciate the attention of a good-looking man, but not one that so obviously disrespects me based on the fact I have a vagina. Which, by the straining in his trousers, he wants to plunder with his cock.
He’s Maddox’s dad. It’s just wrong on so many levels. I mean, Maddox is twenty-one, so he has to be at least forty, that’s if he was a young father. He doesn’t look old, but he does look handsomely mature. Why do handsome men age so well? I deduct he can’t be older than forty-three.
“Good.” He takes a bite of his eggs and moans. “I’ve missed being home.”
“I’m not surprised, look at this place.” I grin, swinging my arms out. “It’s amazing. What does your dad do and can I do it too?”
“He runs a transportations company. He handles imports and exports for some pretty major businesses all around the world.”
I nod slowly, impressed. “He runs it?”
“With my godfather, yep. They started when they were in their teens and worked hard to build something together.”
“That’s inspirational.”
He shrugs and smiles sheepishly. “He missed out on a lot though, building his empire. It’s why he’s so lax with me. He wants me to experience life before I tie myself to his company.”
“That’s actually really nice. I wish I had parents like that.”
His hand squeezes my knee when I tilt my head and spy a fancy-looking camera inside a kitchen cupboard, through a glass panel.
“One of yours?”
“No.” He puffs out his cheeks. “That’s my dad’s. He keeps it there for the memories because he doesn’t get the urge anymore. When he was younger he wanted to be a photographer. He’s the one who taught me all about lighting and angles.”
“Is he good?”
“He’s incredible. He has an eye for images. He never took random shots, even as I was growing up. Every shot was perfect.” He looks to be awed by his own opinions. He really respects and loves his dad. And then he ruins it by smirking while saying, “But I surpassed him quickly enough.”
“Humble,” I giggle, yanking on his necklace again. “Do you think he’ll let me draw him naked?”
Maddox chokes on a laugh and pretends to vomit. “You’re not… digging him, are you?”
“Ew, I mean, no, he’s nice to look at and I’ve got literally every other body shape drawn. Your dad is like, all muscle.”
He shudders. “I’m staying out of this one, I can guarantee it’ll be a definite no.”
I try to hide my disappointment but it sucks because it’s all for the art.
“Besides, I’m all muscle!” Maddox declares, flexing his biceps.
“Yeah, but I already drew you and he’s twice your muscle size.” Well, he’s bigger but not twice as big. “It’s good you follow his workout regime and a shame you don’t pay attention to his good sense of hair styling.”
Feigning offense, he shoves me so hard I stumble off the stool and fall onto my side. We both laugh until I kick his stool out from under him and he joins me on the floor. I screech and scramble on the wooden surface to get away when he grabs my braid and digs his fingers into my sides.
“No!” I laugh so hard I can’t breathe, he’s relentless. He doesn’t stop, pinning me by straddling my chest. “UNCLE!”
He finally stops, climbs off me and offers me a hand as I pant and gasp for breath. I take it and let him pull me to standing. I slap his chest for good measure.
“Morning.” Sargent enters the room with his empty plate. “Sorry for being rude, I had to make a call, are you hungry, Maddox?”
“No,” Mad replies, still beaming. He rubs his hip, the one that he landed on when I kicked the stool out from under him. “I’m okay. The leftovers were epic.”
“Good.”
“When do you want me to start work?” he asks. “The sooner I have a steady income the better.”
As Sargent replies I take our plates to the sink and figure out the weird tap with a shower head that you can move around, I’m assuming it’s to rinse the plates off. I like it.
“We have a dishwasher,” Sargent snaps, no longer talking about getting his son on his own team. “That really isn’t necessary.”
“It’s three plates and a pan,” I reply, looking at the dishwasher door and yanking it open. As expected it’s empty.
“Dad.” Maddox clicks his fingers to get his father’s glowering eyes off me. “Work?”
Sargent
“You can start Thursday,” I reply. “But don’t think we’ll go easy on you because you’re my son.” I look at our guest. Her presence alone infuriates me. “Will you be getting a job?”
“I actually already have one,” she responds, smiling sheepishly and my son looks at her with such adoration.
“Really?” I am intrigued. “Doing what?”
“I’ll be starting at that diner near the freeway on Saturday.”
“Bill’s Space?” I ask and I look at my son who still has that look in his eye. Boy does he have it bad.
“She’s also an incredible painter and even better at drawing.” Maddox twirls a lock of her hair around his finger. I’m not sure he realizes he’s doing it.
“But please don’t worry, I won’t use any paints or anything in your house,” she blurts, looking sideways at my son.
“We’ll find a space for you,” Maddox offers, turning away from me completely. “Maybe in the yard. Right, Dad?”
I don’t reply. As much as I appreciate art, finding her a space will just entice her to stay.
My phone ringing saves me from replying. I walk away, trying not to think about the visual she planted in my mind, of a cane hitting her tanned skin.