Chapter 5
Jordan
Guests mill about my living room, paying their respects at Harold’s wake.
I’m surprised at how many people have shown up, but then again, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised because my son was always sociable and friendly, and it was easy to feel comfortable around him.
My heart contracts painfully. The pain of his death chokes me and makes it difficult to breathe.
I wish my son were here still, warm and smiling, instead of cold and lifeless in the coffin.
Then again, Harry must have lived a full-life because there’s a definite queer component at the wake.
There are young men wearing make-up, wobbling around in skirts and high heels.
There are young women with cropped haircuts and not a speck of make-up on, their button downs tucked into somber black pants.
But these children, too, are grieving, and it’s obvious that they cherished my son.
As I watch, an androgynous young person leans over Harry’s casket, their eyes bright and dry as they place flowers on the closed coffin.
Yes, Harry’s body was horrifically mangled in the accident, and the coroner warned me before the viewing.
It was grisly, and I almost threw up before collapsing in the morgue. It was that bad.
But my son is gone now, and I have to deal with it. I’m the one left carrying the torch for the Lewis family, and it comes with responsibilities. Currently, our hopes and dreams lie with a certain beautiful young woman standing across the room, her cheeks pale as she stares at Harry’s coffin.
“Can I get you a drink?” I ask in a low tone as I approach Juliette.
I see the heirloom engagement ring on her hand, and a surge of possession runs through my veins.
That’s my family’s ring, and she’s been claimed by me.
Never mind that the ring was originally given to her by my son because I’m here now, and Juliette will find solace in my arms.
Meanwhile, the young woman turns to look at me, her eyes hot and dry. At first, her grief is so profound that she doesn’t seem to recognize me. But then her pupils come into focus, and she shakes her head.
“No, I’m good,” she says in a hoarse tone, before looking back at the casket. “Thanks.”
We both stare at the dark wood of the coffin for a while longer.
“He’ll be missed,” I say.
“Yes, very much,” Juliette whispers, blinking hard as if holding back tears.
Suddenly, I’m struck with shame and guilt.
This is a woman who’s genuinely mourning my son’s passing, and yet all I can think about is the continuation of my line.
All I want is to take her in my arms and to kiss the life out of her before filling her pussy with my sperm.
Then, I want to see her belly swell as my baby grows beneath her heart, bringing us joy and contentment as we watch the child develop.
You’re such a fucking asshole, the voice in my head hisses. Juliette probably cried herself to sleep every night this week over your son’s death, and all you want is to fill her cunt with your spunk. What a motherfucker.
My subconscious is a hundred percent right, and yet I can’t control my thoughts.
Hell, a man shouldn’t go to jail for what he thinks so long as he never acts upon those depraved ideas, right?
After all, thought crimes aren’t the same as real crimes.
But the problem is that I’m not a wallflower who waits for life to happen; I make life happen.
As a result, I turn to Juliette with a smile.
“So are you ready?” I ask in a casual tone.
She’s still staring at the coffin, her gaze fixed.
“Ready for what?” she asks in a low voice.
“Do I really have to spell it out?”
The young woman swivels to look at me then, pink spots on her cheeks.
“Are you really going to ask me about that at your son’s funeral?”
I shrug, as if unconcerned.
“Yes. Time is of the essence, sweetheart,” I say, pinning her with a look. “Don’t you know? Sixty days until D-Day. Tick tock, tick tock.”
Juliette grows angry then, literally shaking a bit as the spots on her cheeks deepen to crimson.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” she hisses under her breath. “Harry was nothing like you. Besides, I thought you were going to help me get an OPT assignment so I have two years.”
I shrug.
“I was, but there’s been a slight modification.
I don’t give shit away for free, sweetheart, so I want you pregnant in two months while you’re still on your student visa.
Then, I’ll get you OPT, and the child can be born here, so he’s American.
I’ll even help you naturalize if you give me a baby. See? It all works out.”
Juliette stares at me.
“Two months?” she rage-whispers beneath her breath. “That’s all? It’s not enough time!”
I shrug nonchalantly.
“That’s what’s on the table, sweetheart. Blame the government, not me.”
Two spots of color appear on Juliette’s cheeks as her hands grip into fists.
“Harry was nothing like you,” she spits. “You’re a beast.”
I take the epithet in a stride.
“Harry was nothing like me,” I acknowledge in a smooth tone. “But my son’s gone, and I’m here in his place. So what’s your answer going to be?”
The beautiful French girl jerks back to the coffin, seething so vehemently that I can see her big bosom rise and fall beneath her black dress.
Damn, she’s gorgeous with her chestnut curls tied back and fastened with a velvet bow.
Her dress is modest, but nothing can hide the ample weight of her breasts, that narrow waist, and those wide hips which are definitely childbearing.
Fuck yeah, my guess is that I could get this girl pregnant in a month.
Maybe even in one session because she’s so fucking fertile. My cock jerks as I speak again.
“So what’s it going to be?” I query silkily. “I’m waiting.”
This time, Juliette turns to me in slow motion, her hands gripping into fists at her sides. She’s obviously trying not to blow up in front of the crowd at the wake.
“If you must know, I hate you,” she manages through clenched teeth. “But the answer is yes.”
My blue eyes gleam as a smile creeps onto my handsome features.
“That’s what I thought,” I say. “And it’s okay to hate me because soon you’ll be clinging to my shoulders while screaming my name with joy. You’re about to be bred, sweetheart, and you’re going to love it.”
She pauses, stunned.
“I’m going to hate it,” she snarls under her breath. “Every single minute. Every second, in fact.”
I smirk, loving the fight in this sassy wildcat.
“No, you’re going to love it,” I correct gently. “In fact, by the end you’ll be begging me for more. You’ll scream, ‘Mr. Lewis, put it in my ass next! Please, please, please, I need it, unnnh yeah, fuck I love anal sex!’”
My words are so foul, not to mention taboo, that Juliette literally has no reply.
She merely stares at me, her red lips opening and closing with shock.
Goddamn, what I’d give to see her pursing that plush pout on my shaft, licking up and down while leaving streaks of crimson lipstick on my balls.
But what am I waiting for? There’s no need to delay.
“We can use an upstairs bedroom,” I say, already beginning to turn to the hallway to the right. “Let’s go, sweetheart. It’s time.”
“What?” she gasps, turning sheet white. “We’re at your son’s wake, for crying out loud! You want to do it now?”
I wink, beckoning to her subtly.
“Now is as good of a time as any. Like I said, tick tock, tick tock.”
Again, Juliette’s struck speechless. She literally stares at my departing form, her jaw on the ground as I make my way to the darkened hallway.
I pause before turning on my heels, waiting in the shadows to see what the beautiful girl will do.
To my relief, Juliette begins to follow.
Her patent Mary Janes tap behind me as I make my way up the staircase, and even that sound turns me into a fucking horndog because the curvy girl’s about to be defiled .
.. and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.