Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
dexter
Being the size I am and covered in tattoos comes with certain stereotypes. I’ve learned to live with them. People give me a wide berth when they see me in the street or avoid eye contact. Perfect—the last thing I want is to converse with strangers.
I rarely live up to the intimidating character people presume me to be. Only when the situation calls for it.
Today, it does.
Rain pelts the corrugated roof, the smell of freshly cut timber and diesel filling the air. The yard outside is busy, with multiple machines grinding and buzzing. Megan stands beside me, my mirror image, her arms folded, wearing a pissed off expression.
“Tim, I’m not paying it.” I stare down at the stout foreman.
The wood rot issue is resolved, but now we’re being slapped with an invoice charging us 20 percent more than previously agreed.
“Dexter, we can’t give you the timber for free. You get it,” Tim sputters, his nose ruddy from too many years of drinking.
“We don’t get it,” Megan replies, waving the original invoice. “The clause in our contract states quotes will be honored unless we’re liable. Wood rot ain’t our doing.”
Tim rolls his eyes, brushing her off. “This your assistant? The boys said she was nice to look at.”
“Oh, you’re in for it now,” Megan snorts. As a woman in a blue-collar job, she’s learned to deal with sexism. Doesn’t make it okay, though.
Rage burns in my veins. I already knew he was idiotic, but not an idiotic misogynist. I close the distance between us, my grip on his shoulder firm but not painful. This is where I play into the tattooed brute.
“She is called Megan, and she’s got more talent in her pinky than any of your boys.
When I’m not around, Megan is in charge, so you’ll be smart to show her some respect.
” My voice drops to a deadly whisper. “And if you fucking dare utter a word about my assistant or look in her direction, I’ll be on the phone with your boss so fast, you won’t have time to wipe the spit off your chin. ”
Panic laces his reddened face. “It was a joke, buddy.”
“I’m not your buddy.” I release him. “And don’t ever try to swindle me again. There are plenty of reputable lumber yards in the northeast waiting for my business.”
Megan slaps the invoice into his chest, snarling.
By the time we climb into my truck, our work clothes soaked through and heavy from the downpour, the anger simmers to a rolling boil.
“Damn, Dex.” Megan chuckles and unlaces her boots. “I’ve seen you mad before, but never mad-mad.”
“That guy is an imbecile,” I sneer.
“Most of the foremen we have the pleasure of meeting are.” She taps me on the shoulder. “I love your Hulk alter-ego. Go feminism! But something tells me that wasn’t all in my honor.”
My face remains neutral. “No idea what you’re referring to.”
“Ha!” She cackles. “Let’s get back. I’m sure there’s a certain blonde waiting on your call.”
The ride to our motel is short. We grab some snacks from the vending machine and say good night.
Working away has never fazed me, not until recently.
One night under the stars with Florence, and I never want to leave the county again.
She’ll sleep in my bed, in my arms, every night for the foreseeable future.
I begrudgingly left her in Sutton Bay while I sorted out this shit show.
The fact she’s keeping my bed warm was the only solace.
I throw the chips and soda on the bed, take the fastest shower, and change into a pair of basketball shorts. Laid out on the tiny bed, I dial her number.
Video calls are easier, especially after a day of being surrounded by debarkers and chippers. The loud noises play havoc on my tinnitus.
She’s quick to answer. The sight of her sprawled out on my bed, a forest green shirt hanging off her slender shoulder, sends all blood rushing south. “Hey, lumberjack.”
“God, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
A delicious flush stains her cheeks.
“Turns out you can do as you’re told, huh?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Never.” I laugh. “Have the boys behaved for you?”
She isn’t as cunning as she thinks. For weeks, I spied her sneaking the goats into the A-frame. The muddy tracks and piles of hay on her porch were also a dead giveaway.
“We shared a watermelon when I got home, and there were no fainting incidents. They miss you.”
“Just them?” I roll onto my side, the lumpy mattress digging into my ribs.
“Mm-hmm.” She nods coyly, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. “How’s it going?”
I tell her about my day, leaving out Tim’s inappropriate comment. She pouts when I say I’ll likely be gone another two days, a shared sentiment.
“Anything you want me to do tomorrow?” she asks.
“Nothing out of the norm. It’ll be quiet, so feel free to finish early and head to your mom’s.”
Claire is hosting family dinner tomorrow. It’s funny, the first part of the year was spent avoiding those dinners. Now, all I want to do is sit in my usual seat, Florence on my left. Not that anyone can know.
Not yet.
“Mom said she’d send me home with some leftovers for you.” She maneuvers the phone to settle on her back, left arm spread wide. The top three buttons are undone, revealing the soft swell of her breasts. “This bed is so comfortable.”
I palm my erection through my shorts. “Did you do as you’re told? No bra. No panties. Just my shirt.”
She lifts a shoulder. “Maybe. You’ll have to come check for yourself.”
A growl vibrates from my chest. “You’re asking to be punished.”
Her left hand disappears from view, eyes fluttering closed.
“Fuck, Trouble. Are you touching yourself?” My cock pulses. “How wet are you?”
“Soaked,” she purrs.
I groan. For months, I tried to resist her, and now I’ve had another taste, I’m feral for her. “How many fingers?”
She pouts. “No fingers.”
I frown, not understanding, until a glistening, hot pink dildo comes into shot.
Fuck. My. Life.
“Shit, Florence. My dirty girl.” I pull my length out, fisting it, using the pre-cum as lubricant. It’s nothing compared to sliding into her tight heat. “What does it feel like?”
“Big. The biggest.” The smirk on her face is devilish. “Anyway, lumberjack, you’ve got a long day tomorrow. Sleep well.”
She blows a kiss through the phone, and just like I did, she ends the call with a wink. Touché.
Not three minutes later, my orgasm spurts across my stomach, images of Florence using that toy as my muse.
Pulling out my phone, I drop Megan a text, asking if we can get a head start on tomorrow’s jobs.
A certain brat needs an attitude adjustment.