Cry Little Sister (19 page)

“Double duty,” he’d grinned. “Security and fixer upper.”

“This is not an average farmhouse,” Jordan gasped when they parked in the dooryard.

“Nope.”

“This thing is huge.”

“Yep,” Gareth said, putting the car into gear.

“It’s like a big house and a medium house had sex—“

“And fused together,” he said, laughing.

Together they climbed the wide wooden steps that had been whitewashed to brightness. Gareth took her hand and instinctively, Jordan glanced around to see who was looking. Then it dawned on her that no one was looking.

“Stop,” he said, not even looking at her, just knowing.

“Sorry. Habit.”

“No nosy neighbors here. No buttinsky Mrs. Phelps. No one who even knew that I’m Gareth Davis and your Jordan Davis.”

“You know, I was thinking maybe not to fuck over everyone’s head, I become Jordan Sweet.”

He shrugged, pushing the doormat back and rescuing the key that Tom had told them would be there.

“You could. Or we could have a great how we met story. We can sit up late tonight, drink some wine and make it up as we go along.”

“How would that be a great story?” she snorted. The door swung in and Jordan took in the high ceiling, the big staircase, a very old small stained glass light fixture that reminded her of an inverted half open umbrella.

“Punch line: and we both had the last name Davis. So that makes it easy. If we ever get mar—”

Jordan turned, pushing her finger to his lips. Just him starting that sentence scared her to death. She shook her head. “Don’t say it.”

He cocked an eyebrow and kicked the door shut behind them. It echoed loudly in the mostly empty space.

Gareth looked hurt for a moment and she felt her heart crimp.

“You don’t love me?”

“I love you more than I can comprehend. But I’m just…it’s never worked out for anyone we know, has it?” She laughed nervously.

Gareth pressed his lips together and shook his head. They walked through the foyer and studied the high ceiling and then into a side room that she assumed to be the sitting room or the family room. A battered but useable chair rail. Another pretty stained glass light fixture. A few cracks in the ceiling and some small gaps in the wide planked wooden floor, but not too bad.

A spot went spongy under her foot and when her ankle started to turn, Gareth grabbed her wrist. “Careful. Some of the spots are soft. Most are fine. Shouldn’t be too hard to pull out some of the rotten ones. The trick is to blend it in.”

“You can do it,” she said.

“See you believe in me and yet you won’t even hear me say the word marriage.”

He nudged her through into a large dining room. The window was broken and sheeted in plastic. The room was colder than the others. There was a newel post to the back part of a staircase, but no staircase. Jordan touched it and laughed.

“Clearly at some point they walled that off and separated the room,” Gareth said.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t think of…it’s just…I’m still adjusting,” she sighed.

“I know. But you broke my heart, Jojo.”

She glared at him. “I did not!”

“You calling me a liar?”

“No, of course not. I’m just…” She shook her head again.

When she turned to study a mostly empty built-in bookshelf she heard a sound. But he eye was drawn to some old cookbooks that looked circa 1950. There was a copy of War of the Worlds, Lolita and The Hobbit too. “Well read,” she started to say but Gareth pushed against her back and trapped her hands to the newel post to nowhere. With is free hand he looped his belt through a rung and brought it up and around, then around again. Then forming a loose X he buckled the belt and grinned.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked, but her pussy, accustomed to his doled out punishments now, let loose a warm rush of arousal.

“Just helping you get your head on straight, darling.”

He reached around her, unbuttoned her jeans and yanked them down. Her maroon boy shorts came down with them and she was bare-ass naked from her waist to her knees. Gareth dropped to his knees, planting his warm lips firmly to her now chilled skin.

“You hurt my feelings,“ he said, but she felt him grin.

Gareth kissed each ass cheek, nibbling one so hard she jumped and banged her hipbone to the wooden post. Then he licked a hot line from up the crack of her ass, dropping a final kiss on her lower back so she shivered.

When the first blow sounded, like a branch breaking in the quiet room, she jumped again but bit her tongue. If she was silent, he’d lose interest and then she knew what he’d do. He’d lose his patience and his intent and he’d fuck her. And Jordan very much wanted that right about now. Now that he’d gotten her going.

But he didn’t lose interest, he landed a blow on her other cheek so that the blood rose hotly under her flesh. Gareth alternated loud palm-whacks along her bottom and then he stopped.

Jordan tried to turn and see but couldn’t manage. She felt his finger trail down her butt crack and it made her pussy flex. “Gareth.”

“Hush.”

He dipped a finger into her pussy and Jordan felt her head fall forward, the air rush out of her lungs. She moaned—almost against her will—and sighed when he added another.

“You’re so wet from hurting my feelings,” he chuckled, still on his knees on the dusty wooden floor.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

He pulled his fingers free of her—they must be dripping, because she was. His hand came down, heavy and stinging, four more times. Left, right…left right…so she bit her lip and tried to keep her breathing steady.

She failed and finally cried out—a sound that was half pleasure and half pain. Then she jumped when Gareth slowly pushed his wet fingers—slick with her pussy juices—against the tight ring of her anus.

“Gareth,” she breathed. Her voice warning and fear and need all at once.

His finger worked the tight ring of muscle harder and finally it relented, letting him pass, gripping around him tight. She moaned and so did he, his teeth pressed hard against the flare of her ass. When he drew back, Gareth soothed the bitten skin with his tongue.

“Tell me something I don’t know. Spare my feelings.”

“Gar—” she broke off when his other finger—palpably wet—pushed into her. “God,” she sighed.

“Tell me.”

He turned her just a little bit so he could keep his fingers where they were, buried deep in her ass, but he could reach the front of her with his mouth. Just the drift of his hot breath over the tops of her bare thighs had her feeling crazy and lusty. He kissed the top of each thigh, dragging his tongue along that fragile flesh. His lips puckered gently on her mound and he gave it a resounding peck. His breath washed over her clitoris, her nether lips, but he never touched it with his mouth.

Jordan heard herself moan loudly and she flinched to realized it had risen up out of her completely inadvertently.

“When I was little, I was in love with you,” she said.

At her new angle, when she looked down she could see him looking up at her with those startling eyes. His finger flexed inside her anus and she gasped.

“How little.”

She shrugged, feeling the bite of his leather belt on her wrists. “Always, really. I had a crush. But when I was about fourteen…fifteen..you know when we first get—” She groaned not wanting to say.

He flexed the fingers in her ass again and kissed her pout a bit closer to her clit, but never actually touching it. Torturing her.

“Get sexual,” he said softly. He pressed his face to the V where her pussy met her thighs and inhaled her.

Jordan’s knees went weak. “Yes,” she breathed.

“That’s when you what?”

“I used to daydream about marrying you,” she blurted. She said it fast and loud and then stood there panting as he stared up at her.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I loved you and I thought one day I could marry you. But I knew I couldn’t. I knew it was wrong so I kept telling myself I was nuts. And I…” She shook her head.

“Good girl,” he said. He smiled and then pushed his face to her pussy. His tongue traced her outer lips, tasting her, nudging her, working her wetly until she had to sag against the newel post. He sucked her clitoris into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it and shoving his fingers deeper into her ass. Pressing her G-spot from a new position than if they were fucking.

He flicked her clit hard and then sucked it to soothe it until Jordan’s fingers and hands warred with each other to give her something to focus on, because she didn’t want to come just yet. Not yet.

It didn’t work. When he nibbled her clit with his sharp white teeth and then sucked it hard before soothing it with his warm flattened tongue, she lost it. Jordan came—hard—stifling her own cries by pressing her lips together hard.

She felt the spasms and the tightness of her cunt press her flesh against his probing fingers and for a moment, he left them there in her bottom, flexing them to  milk out each flicker of her orgasm.

When he finally stood, shoving his jeans down roughly to expose the hard jut of his flushed cock, Jordan was practically vibrating with need. She presented her ass, wrists still bound to the wooden post, and parted her legs so he could get into her. Fast.

“Jesus, little sister,’ he said and gave her cunt opening one perfunctory swipe with the head of his cock before driving in hard and deep.

It was a matter of strokes. He thrust into her a half dozen times before burying his face against the back of her neck and coming. His teeth pressed her skin, his fingers clutched her waist and Jordan felt herself come again—a small baby orgasm, but there it was. Another release.

“You’ll marry me one day, Jojo,” he assured her.

Jordan believed him.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Tom was in the detached garage looking at the section Gareth had sectioned off as a work room. Gareth was in the attic laying flooring over the insulation. The floor had never been anything but some planks laid across exposed beams.

Jordan heard the crunch and pop of gravel from an approaching vehicle. Once upon a time it would have caused anxiety, but now that the small town had become here hometown in her heart—a brand new life for her and Gareth—it only fostered curiosity.

She headed toward the front door, wiping her hands on a towel. The whole house smelled of gingerbread. She’d made a double batch, both for the small party they were having with recently made friends and for the small work party at her new job. She was the official counter girl for a small Mom and Pop convenience store in town.

A small, simple job that made her happy in a new, simple life that made her happy.

“You’re like a freaking Christmas card,” she snorted. When she pulled the front door open, a vintage red Chevy pickup regarded her in the yard.

“Oh, hello,” said a well groomed older blonde. She climbed free of the truck and said, “I was looking for Tom Sweet? Did he finally up and sell the place?”

“No!” Jordan said. “I’m his…I mean, we’re just…” She shook her head. Tom had told her a million times he wanted her to introduce herself as his daughter, but Jordan still felt like she was spilling his secrets and it wasn’t her place.

She heard boot falls and turned to see her father, grinning wildly. “Hey, pretty lady. This is my daughter, Jordan. Jordan this is Linda Joy.”

Jordan nodded, smiled. It had not escaped her notice that her father was grinning and flushed and kept fidgeting. Ah…Linda was the woman he’d told her about. She stifled a laugh.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Daughter!” Linda took the wide wooden steps and kissed Tom’s cheek. He hugged her briefly but let her go fast, like a man fighting his attraction. It made Jordan grin again.

“I was just discovered. My mother left before Tom knew and…well, surprise! It’s a girl.” She smiled.

Linda patted her father’s chest. “That is the neatest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said. And it seemed genuine. The woman opened her arms to Jordan and said, “May I?”

Jordan stepped into the embrace. She hugged Linda and smelled her perfume. Something with spice and honeysuckle. She smelled nice and a woman embracing her was enough to nearly bring tears to her eyes.

It had been a roller coaster. Weeks of them finding a normal kind of niche in the farm house. Then the normalcy had come along. Gareth working the property and earning a paycheck—truly earning it with all the construction—from Tom. And her working shifts at Cartwell’s corner store. And now a woman hugging her, her father watching.

The screen door squeaked and the wind picked up. They were out on the porch. Why? It was freezing. Christmas was coming and winter in Virginia could be bitter.

“Who’s this?” Gareth asked. He smiled but Jordan could see the smile showed too many teeth and under the smile was a wary anger.

“This is Tom’s friend, Linda.”

Tom blushed and Gareth caught the look smirking.