that made Bill wonder how he’d make it through the
day without cutting the pathetic bastard’s throat.
On the other hand, Bill was sure somewhere in that poor
excuse for a mind, Rick had the answer. They were gonna find it.
“Tell me who her friends are,” Bill suggested in his warmest
voice.
“She don’t have no damn friends,”
said Rick. “She’s shy. A homebody. You know that.”
Bill took a breath. “There’s someone,” he assured Rick Bard.
“A church in Nordhup she goes to every year to mark the day her daddy died.
Someone at the coffee shop she’s gotten friendly with. Fuck a duck, Rick, let’s
take this one step at a time. Tell me what she does all week.”
“She cooks. She cleans.” He looked at his garage a minute.
“You don’t think it was one of them, do you? We’ve all just been assuming it
was Jane.”
“One of the boys?” Bill took a
moment to consider that. If it was one of them, the man was the best actor in
the world with balls of steel besides. “They’re all still here and your wife
ain’t.”
“Okay.” Rick folded his arms across his chest. He nodded to
himself. Finally ready to come clean. “She goes to Nordhup sometimes. Volunteering.”
“Does she?” Bill said, knowing right away they’d all but
found the bitch. “Well there you go, Rick,” he said, patting him hard on the
back.
Rick squeezed himself tighter, looking mournfully toward the
house. Bill could almost see the wispy sentiment for his gone wife. Once he got
the money back, he was going to have to put this man down for his own good.
Sloppy feelings like that were enough to take the good right out of good old
boy.
Chapter
Six
As promised, she’d awoken with a T-shirt full of spattered
cum. Jane had to peel the cotton from her lower back, and when she finally got
it off, she missed it. Almost enough to slip it back on again. Disgusting,
probably, but she’d always been the sentimental type.
Although never before about dried cum.
Jane stared at her reflection in the closet mirror. Did she
look different or was that just a trick of her imagination? There was
definitely something going on. A day ago she would have sworn she couldn’t care
less about sex, but now that it had happened she was happy—puffed up like she’d
just accomplished something.
Before her wedding Jane had imagined sex would be a sort of
sleepy, love-soaked rapture. Not the right dreams to prepare her for her
husband’s lovemaking techniques. Rick had calloused hands, which he used to
randomly tinker with her sex parts—grab the tits, finger the pussy, insert
cock, and presto. Yuck. Jane screwed her face up like she meant to spit the
memory out. She’d tried to get into the spirit of it. And she’d failed.
But last night, it had come close to the dreamy rapture
thing. A little cruder maybe, but the crude part had been really good. Heat
crawled up Jane’s neck at the memory of her spread legs, her thrusting hips.
The blush wasn’t embarrassment. In fact she felt a little proud. Proud to have been nasty. With a man. At last.
The way his hands felt, the way his breath felt, the way his
mouth felt on her breasts. That part had been so good. And
his voice, low and soft in her ear. “Pull
this off so I can lick you.” If she were alone, she’d let the memories
flicker through her in an all-day zone out. But she wasn’t alone. And who knew
what the day would bring?
She walked out of the bathroom, one hand still buttoning her
jeans.
And there he was.
First she noticed he’d made coffee. There was a full pot
waiting for her in the kitchen for the first time in a decade. He poured a cup
for her while she took in his naked body: all those lovely, dark hues shading
his hard angles and his rippling curves. Then she saw that he was mixing
something in a bowl. And there was something else…
“Your eye.” Jane took a step toward
him for a closer look. The puffy, angry swelling had gone down almost
completely. The shadowy
day without cutting the pathetic bastard’s throat.
On the other hand, Bill was sure somewhere in that poor
excuse for a mind, Rick had the answer. They were gonna find it.
“Tell me who her friends are,” Bill suggested in his warmest
voice.
“She don’t have no damn friends,”
said Rick. “She’s shy. A homebody. You know that.”
Bill took a breath. “There’s someone,” he assured Rick Bard.
“A church in Nordhup she goes to every year to mark the day her daddy died.
Someone at the coffee shop she’s gotten friendly with. Fuck a duck, Rick, let’s
take this one step at a time. Tell me what she does all week.”
“She cooks. She cleans.” He looked at his garage a minute.
“You don’t think it was one of them, do you? We’ve all just been assuming it
was Jane.”
“One of the boys?” Bill took a
moment to consider that. If it was one of them, the man was the best actor in
the world with balls of steel besides. “They’re all still here and your wife
ain’t.”
“Okay.” Rick folded his arms across his chest. He nodded to
himself. Finally ready to come clean. “She goes to Nordhup sometimes. Volunteering.”
“Does she?” Bill said, knowing right away they’d all but
found the bitch. “Well there you go, Rick,” he said, patting him hard on the
back.
Rick squeezed himself tighter, looking mournfully toward the
house. Bill could almost see the wispy sentiment for his gone wife. Once he got
the money back, he was going to have to put this man down for his own good.
Sloppy feelings like that were enough to take the good right out of good old
boy.
Chapter
Six
As promised, she’d awoken with a T-shirt full of spattered
cum. Jane had to peel the cotton from her lower back, and when she finally got
it off, she missed it. Almost enough to slip it back on again. Disgusting,
probably, but she’d always been the sentimental type.
Although never before about dried cum.
Jane stared at her reflection in the closet mirror. Did she
look different or was that just a trick of her imagination? There was
definitely something going on. A day ago she would have sworn she couldn’t care
less about sex, but now that it had happened she was happy—puffed up like she’d
just accomplished something.
Before her wedding Jane had imagined sex would be a sort of
sleepy, love-soaked rapture. Not the right dreams to prepare her for her
husband’s lovemaking techniques. Rick had calloused hands, which he used to
randomly tinker with her sex parts—grab the tits, finger the pussy, insert
cock, and presto. Yuck. Jane screwed her face up like she meant to spit the
memory out. She’d tried to get into the spirit of it. And she’d failed.
But last night, it had come close to the dreamy rapture
thing. A little cruder maybe, but the crude part had been really good. Heat
crawled up Jane’s neck at the memory of her spread legs, her thrusting hips.
The blush wasn’t embarrassment. In fact she felt a little proud. Proud to have been nasty. With a man. At last.
The way his hands felt, the way his breath felt, the way his
mouth felt on her breasts. That part had been so good. And
his voice, low and soft in her ear. “Pull
this off so I can lick you.” If she were alone, she’d let the memories
flicker through her in an all-day zone out. But she wasn’t alone. And who knew
what the day would bring?
She walked out of the bathroom, one hand still buttoning her
jeans.
And there he was.
First she noticed he’d made coffee. There was a full pot
waiting for her in the kitchen for the first time in a decade. He poured a cup
for her while she took in his naked body: all those lovely, dark hues shading
his hard angles and his rippling curves. Then she saw that he was mixing
something in a bowl. And there was something else…
“Your eye.” Jane took a step toward
him for a closer look. The puffy, angry swelling had gone down almost
completely. The shadowy
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