Chapter 6
Ifucking hate swing shift. Either give me uninterrupted daylight or let me get a full night’s sleep. Swing shift is great for some people, they sleep after they get off until morning, be with their family, and go back in the afternoon.
That’s all fine and good, but my assigned locations are often an hour or two away from Swiftwater. So, I have to leave midday and don’t get home until the early hours of the morning. It fucks with my internal clock.
Plus, I don’t want to scare the shit out of Delilah by knocking on the apartment door at fucking three in the morning because I gave her my only house key.
Instead, I drive home and sleep in my truck for a couple of hours.
My job wrecks my back and sleeping in my truck after a long shift doesn't help.
I wake to car doors slamming and engines starting as normal people begin their day. Jesus, is it morning already? I’m fucking wiped.
I check the time on my phone; Delilah should be awake by now. The red notification on my messages sends a jolt of energy through me, waking me up.
Only a handful of people text me. My boss, my sister, a couple friends, and Delilah. And 90 percent of the time, it’s Delilah.
I’m like Pavlov’s fucking dog. When I get a text notification, I salivate for a treat—attention from my girl.
But I’m disappointed when I open my texts to one from my number two best friend, CJ. I’ve known the guy since birth, but he got bumped from the top spot the second I met Delilah. He’s the best fuckin’ guy and I’m lucky as hell he puts up with my bullshit.
He’s got that dark hair-skin-eyes combo that makes anyone melt. He’s never had an issue making friends, charming teachers and employers, or getting laid.
The best thing about him though, is he’s gay as fuck. I say that with the utmost respect, both because he’s one of the best humans I know, but also because I didn’t have to cut him out of my life for coveting Delilah—like all my other friends did over the years.
Call me a possessive asshole, but the second anyone showed interest in Delilah, they were dead to me. No way in hell was I going to let another guy come between me and my doll.
She’s been mine since I was eight years old, and she’ll be mine long after we’re dead in the ground.
That’s one of the reason’s I’m so grateful CJ’s my right-hand man. He and Delilah get along famously, but he finds her glorious tits repulsive, and that suits me just fine.
He came out to me and his parents in fifth grade. We weren’t surprised or affected whatsoever. CJ’s always been unapologetically CJ, and the fact he liked boys went over like he was announcing he passed his math test.
When we were in middle school, he didn’t just come out of the closet. He decorated it, put on a show, and made it a VIP lounge for anyone who wanted to join. He loved without apologies, wore his heart on his sleeve, and made sure everyone around him was safe to do the same.
He’s why Swiftwater High has a thriving LGBTQ+ club and why the whole town comes out for the local Pride festival each June.
You wouldn’t necessarily think a middle-of-nowhere ranching town would be so open minded, but I’m proud as fuck to live in the town that accepted CJ and paved the path of safety for everyone else to live their truth.
All I want to do is get my girl in my arms, but he’ll come to my fucking apartment if I don’t text him back within his acceptable timeframe, and checking the timestamp, I’m cutting it close.
CJ: Hey Loverboy, how was moving day?
CJ: I’d already know if you hadn’t blown me off for your fucking job. Rude.
CJ: Don’t be a bitch. The buildup is killing me. I need to know EVERYTHING!
CJ: Okay, I gave you time to come to your senses and spill. If I don’t get a text before 8:00 a.m., I’m protesting outside your apartment. I’ll make a sign that says CONNOR AND DELILAH SITTING IN A TREE, F-U-C-K-I-N-G.
Goddamn it, this is why he always gets his way. Because he’s relentless and has impeccable follow-through.
Me: Dude, you’ve gotta chill. Some of us don’t work from our phones and can’t respond instantaneously.
CJ: Excuses. Now spill or I’m coming over and outing your ass.
Me: I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.
CJ: Mmhmm. Same lie, different day.
CJ: I’m waiting…
Me: What do you want?
CJ: I want to know if your bride was delivered to your homestead.
CJ: Did you carry her over the threshold?
CJ: Oh my gawd, that would be so romantic.
Me: Why do I tell you things?
CJ: Because you love me. Stop avoiding the question.
Me: I got all her shit out of the trailer, and she unpacked while I was on shift.
CJ: How bad did it kill you knowing she changed her clothes in your apartment, and you weren’t there to see it?
Me: Fuck you dude.
CJ: Come ON. You can’t tell me you didn’t picture it. *gag*
Me: Don’t know what you’re talking about.
CJ: Stop being a pussy and make a move. You finally have your shot.
Me: I’m ignoring you now.
CJ: Toodle-oo *waggles fingers* say hi to the wifey for me.
I wouldn’t be surprised if I damage my phone with how violently I jam it into my cup holder. He’s right. I’m a fucking pussy. I can’t even admit to CJ I’m in love with Delilah.
I accepted my unrequited feelings years ago and I’m fine rotting away in my pain without anyone else’s unhelpful opinions.
But I can’t lie, hearing him call her my wife does something to me.
Getting down on one knee. Sliding my ring onto her delicate finger. Pulling her into my arms and claiming her mouth. Delilah walking down the aisle in a white dress.
Fuck. I’m so fucked.
The only reason I’ve kept my shit in check all these years is because I had physical time away from Delilah.
Any time I got too close to vomiting my feelings or popped a boner, I could escape to my apartment.
Our apartment. She slept in my bed. Our bed. A shiver runs along my spine making me jerk in my seat.
Stop.
This can’t happen. She’s my best friend. She doesn’t see me that way.
I lock the poison deep inside and steel myself to face her. One of these days, the poison is going to eat me alive.
I knock on the door and Delilah opens it immediately, like she was waiting for me. Like she’s as desperate for me as I am for her.
“You’re back!” she squeals, throwing herself into my arms. I’m fucking filthy, but she never cares, she always hugs me anyway.
“Doll, did you even check the peep hole before you let me in? What if I’d been an intruder? Promise me you’ll check next time.”
“I promise. But you’re here!” She’s hopping in my arms. Fucking hell. Her tits are bouncing against my chest, arousal blooms in my veins with every drag of her supple breasts up and down my front.
I escape her grasp and squeeze past her into the apartment. My dick’s hard and I need to get into the shower stat, so it doesn’t make a surprise appearance.
Surprise, Delilah! My dick’s happy to see you too!
I holler over my shoulder, “I’m gonna take a quick shower and then I’m taking you to breakfast.”
I don’t wait for her response. Instead, I lock myself in the bathroom and turn on the shower. I strip as the water warms and as soon as it’s tolerable, I step beneath the spray and fist my cock.
Everyone thinks I’m so chill, that I’m a laid-back, easy-going guy. Truth is, I jack off several times a day, so I don’t explode from my pent-up attraction to Delilah.
The days I see her—nearly every day—I blow my load right before we hang out and as soon as I get home afterwards.
If she’s particularly affectionate or wearing something irresistible, I have to find a bathroom to abuse myself with my right hand to survive the day. I’m surprised my right arm isn’t noticeably bigger than my left from the hours it spends yanking on my dick.
This morning’s no exception. In fact, it’s imperative I get off because my bathroom’s filled with her signature vanilla and jasmine, clouding my brain with lust. I must be a masochist because I use some of the offending body wash and slowly work myself.
I’m usually forced to be quick, but this morning, I take my time. She’ll expect me to take a long shower after my shift, so my extended absence won’t be suspicious.
My plan for a leisurely orgasm is thwarted by the image of her naked body dripping beneath the shower spray as she runs her soft hands all over her luscious form, and I come in long spurts onto the shower floor.
Holy shit. The wall supports me so I don’t collapse from my premature release. I finish my shower efficiently with no reason to linger.
Getting dressed, I can’t explain the possessive pride that puffs my chest having all Delilah’s belongings blend with mine so seamlessly.
Like she’s meant to live here. Like she’s meant to be mine.
Calmer, after my shower-fun-time, I snag my girl for breakfast.
“Let’s go get you fed, doll.”