Seven
Loretta
The man who has been helping me all day to plant the flowers and clean up my home shifts in front of me as Alan storms across the yard.
Without thinking, I place my hand on his arm.
I cannot fathom why, but I know in my heart that the very large man shielding me wouldn’t allow anything to happen to me.
Alan’s eyes note my position and the hand on his arm, then glare at me with an anger I don’t understand.
Not for the first time, the stranger's scent wraps around me, tugging at a memory I just can’t place.
“Loretta, come here so we can talk privately about this,” Alan demands from his place halfway across the yard.
“She isn’t going anywhere with you,” the man providing protection snaps. “You can say whatever you want to say to her from right there.”
“Vito, stay the fuck out of this. What is going on between me and my woman has nothing to fucking do with you! If you knew what was good for you, then you would just leave and let us handle our business.”
The man in front of me, Vito, goes so still that I don’t even think he is breathing. “You should choose your next words very wisely. You know who I am, which means you know what I can and will do.”
For the first time, I actually fear the large man in front of me.
Shifting away from him slightly, I drop my hand.
He places a hand on my waist, stopping my movements.
Wishing more than anything that I could stop the shaking that is taking over my body, I stand there watching as the two men glare at each other in some sort of silent gunslinger match.
It’s as if we’re stuck in a standoff between two opposing forces waiting to see which will give first. The feeling of a phone vibrating causes me to finally move.
“Alan, I think it’s time you saw yourself off my property.” I lay a hand on the back of the man in front of me. “Thank you for helping me today, but I’m quite tired and ready for a shower and bed.”
He looks at me over his shoulder, his eyes so green that they seem unnatural. “It was my pleasure, Blood Rose. I’ll stand here until you get inside, and the door locked, then I’ll be out of your hair.”
I give him a small smile and a soft pat on the back before turning around and marching across the yard, up the stairs, and across the porch.
When I make it to the door, I stop and look at the men who haven’t moved since I left them.
Whatever that is can’t have anything to do with me.
Pushing into the house, I close the door and make sure to lock it before heading to the kitchen to get a drink of water.
Standing at the counter scrolling through my phone, I nearly scream when it rings.
Seeing Lotty’s name pop up, I smile as I answer the call.
“Hey, Lotty.”
“Hey, baby girl! I have a question for you.” My heart warms at her words of endearment.
“What is it? Is everything okay?” I ask quickly.
“Oh lord, child, yes. Everything is just fine. Lauren has called out again.” She sighs. “Would you be able to cover for her tonight?”
“When would I need to be there? I’ve been working in the yard all day and need to shower and get ready,” I tell her quickly, disappointed as I was looking forward to a long hot shower after working in the yard all day.
“Oh, Lauren wasn’t due here for another couple of hours. You have time to get ready and just come whenever you’re ready to,” Lotty chips.
“Okay, I’ll get ready and head that way as soon as I can.” I exhale, sagging against the counter.
“You’re the best! We’ll see you then,” Lotty laughs as she hangs up.
Setting my phone down on the counter, I make my way over to the window and look out at the front yard.
I relax when I see that both men have indeed gone.
I make my way across the living room to the bathroom to start the shower.
I turn the water on, letting it warm as I brush my teeth and strip down.
Once steam is pouring out the top, I step into the stall, hissing as the hot water beats down on my back and shoulders.
Leaning my head back, I close my eyes, and images of my helper—that I now know is named Vito—pop into my head.
The way his arms flexed every time he did anything.
The image of his shorts stretched across his thick, toned thighs.
As more and more images of him pop into my thoughts, my body heats with need.
My nipples turn to tight peaks at the memory of his hand running up my calf.
Wow, how long has it been since I was touched by a man that his running a hand up my calf makes me horny as hell?
I run my right hand up my side to cup my breast as I run my left moves down to my pussy.
Running my fingers over my lips, I find my clit already swollen and begging for attention.
Slowly, I circle my fingers around the bundle as my mind brings up more and more images of the man who always seems to live in the shadows around me.
My imagination brings his green eyes to the forefront.
This time, there is the fire of need and want blazing in their depths.
Closing my eyes, I let the dream play out:
Large, rough hands run up my sides, one cupping and pinching my nipple, the other continuing its mission up to wrap around my throat, squeezing slightly before running up into my hair and fisting it.
Using his hold on my hair, he runs his lips down my neck, across my collarbone, taking the nipple begging for attention into his mouth, nipping and sucking.
I run my hands up into his hair, holding him close to my body as it begs him for more.
He lets my nipple pop free of his mouth, shifting his eyes up to mine. “Needy little Blood Rose. I wonder if I can make you cum just from playing with these pretty little tits. What do you say?”
I’m so lost in the mix of pleasure and pain that all I can do is nod in agreement while rubbing my legs together to find some kind of relief.
A slow, sensual smile makes its way across his lips before he places a kiss between my breasts and then takes my nipple back into his mouth, tugging with his teeth at the same time he runs his tongue over it.
His hand never letting up its ministrations on my other one.
I’m so close to release that I want to cry.
He lets go of my hair, running his hand back down my body to my pussy. Sliding a single long thick finger into my pussy while simultaneously his thumb presses onto my clit. That’s all it takes, and I’m coming so hard that my head swims.
Gasping, I come back to myself. The high of my release leaves me with the reminder I am all alone and the only action I’m ever going to get is from myself.
Just like that, I’m back to being annoyed at what went down today and the fact that either of those men thinks I’m just going to let them trample into my life without question.
The sound of banging on my front door scares me so bad that I knock the shampoo bottle off the shelf and onto the top of my foot.
Cursing to the high heavens, I hurriedly finish my shower as the knocking continues.
I pray that if I ignore it long enough, they will go the hell away.
When I finally get the conditioner out of my hair, I step out of the shower, annoyed that the knocking has continued for a good ten minutes.
I don’t think. I just throw my hair up in a towel, throw on my robe, and storm across the house, pulling the door open without looking.
That was a monumental fuck-up because standing in front of me is non-other than my parole officer. I stare at the man like a deer in headlights because this man could be a very big problem for me.
“Officer Jackson, I wasn’t expecting you,” I barely squeak out around the lump in my throat.
His eyes travel over my body, leaving be feeling dirty and as if I need to bathe in medical grade antiseptic. “Does that mean you answer the door like this often?”
I decide not to answer his question. “Why don’t you come in and take a seat? I’ll get changed and then we can go over what has brought you by for a visit.”
All he does is give me a stiff nod before stepping through the front door before I can move, causing us to come chest to chest. I hiss, stepping back quickly so we’re no longer touching.
Office Jackson’s smarmy grin makes me want to be the evil killer they all think I am.
Turning away, I leave him standing there in the open door and rush to my room to put on some clothes and try to regain control of my emotions.
After several deep breaths, I finish drying off so I can pull on a sports bra, tee shirt, panties, and a pair of leggings.
I pile my hair up on top of my head in a messy bun.
Checking myself over in the mirror, I make sure I am not in anything that would invite unwanted attention.
I silently slip back down the hallway into the living room where I find Officer Jackson standing next to the tall bookshelf to the left of the TV holding one of the few pictures I have of my mother and me.
He runs a finger over the glass, with a look of pure sadness written on his face.
I must have made a noise because he speaks without even looking away from the picture.
“She truly was beautiful and one of a fucking kind,” he says softly.
“Yeah, she was,” is all I can say. This man has never been anything but an asshole to me, but the way he talks about my mother makes me wonder things.
“But like all beautiful women, they choose the dogs, trash, and scum of the earth over men that would do anything for them.” Jackson growls as he slams the picture back down onto the shelf and turns back to me.
“Now that you have clothes on and are appropriate, some concerns have been brought to my office about the people you are keeping company with.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you are speaking of,” I tell him, being honest.
“Do not play dumb with me, Miss Wagner.” He flips open the iPad in his hand and taps away on it before speaking again.
“As a condition of your parole, you are not to be in touch with or associate with anyone that is also on parole, a felon, or doing illegal things. Do you recall our speaking about this?”
“I haven’t forgotten anything we spoke about for my parole,” I answer him, twisting my fingers together in front of me. “I still do not understand what this is about. As far as I know, I haven’t been in contact with anyone like you’ve described.”
Officer Jackson turns the iPad around so that I can see what is on the screen. “Do you know the man in this picture?”
I take a step forward to look at the picture on the screen.
Staring back at me is the man from this afternoon and the diner, only unlike every time I’ve seen him before, in this picture he looks beyond anything I could have imagined.
The man is just as big as I remembered him being, wearing a three-piece navy suit, a navy shirt that is opened at the collar, and a pair of polarized sunglasses hiding his green eyes.
“Again, Miss Wagner, do you know the man in this picture?” Officer Jackson demands.
“I’ve met him a few times. To say I know him or spend time with him would be a gross overreach of the situation,” I snap back at him, not okay with the way he is speaking with me. The scared, meek girl is taking a backseat for the woman ready for a fucking fight!
“Again,” he states, his eyes burrowing into mine.
“Miss Wagner, this is not a game. I can put you back in prison if you’re associating with someone like him.
He is the worst of the worst. Don’t be a stupid girl like your mother was.
Stay with men who are actually decent. Do you understand what I am telling you? ”
His words are like daggers to my soul. I never want to go back to prison in any way, shape, or form. Straightening my spine, I level my glare at the man giving me whiplash from his back-and-forth bullshit.
“I do not know what you’re insinuating here today. What I do know is that someone who looks like that man came by today and helped me in my yard. If that is a problem and against my parole, I will be sure not to allow this to happen again,” I state flatly.
“Be sure that you don’t,” he says, turning on his heels and marching out the door, slamming it so hard behind himself that the picture of my mother and me falls over on the shelf.
As soon as the door is closed, I drop onto the couch, all the fight leaving my body.
Laying my head back on the back of it, I let a few stray tears fall as I try to figure out what the fuck I did in a previous life that would warrant all the bullshit I’ve been dealt.
When the answer doesn’t reach out and slap me, I clinch my teeth and pull myself to my feet.
There is no time to sit around and wallow in self-pity.
I’ve got a job to do and people to fucking avoid.
I should know better by now than to think the universe gives a fuck about what I want. The bitch has never cared before now, and by the week's end it would appear she still doesn’t.