14. Vince
14
VINCE
I stroke my dick, and then roll face down on my bed and groan.
“What kind of sound is that?” Fred asks with a chuckle.
“It probably falls under the frustration category,” I say with a sigh. “I miss you, and I can’t stop thinking about what I did to you and what may be happening inside you. Every thought I have is interrupted by God , is she pregnant? I fucking hope so. I think I’m going to cry. Or laugh. Or run screaming through the streets, shaking every person I know until they understand how fucking excited I am.
“I keep thinking, If Fred’s pregnant… next time I pick her up and cuddle her, I’ll be holding two beautiful souls. How soon will Fred’s belly grow round? What will it feel like in my hands. Will our baby have pretty blue eyes like her mama? Will the girls have a new brother? What will they think of that? And how frickin’ cute are they all going to look in the fucking minivan I just bought? ”
A loud clang in the background sounds like she dropped a pan. “You bought a minivan ?” she asks.
“Well, yeah. We can’t keep cramming babies into that bicycle trailer of yours. And how will we all go on road trips, so they can meet their Nan and Pops and all their cousins?” I scratch my head. “We’ll probably need two minivans by the time I’m done breeding you,” I rumble.
She inhales sharply, and then makes a humming sound that sends another a rush of blood to my dick.
“What was that, Angel?” I whisper.
“You . Being delicious .” She makes a few more banging sounds. “If you were here, we could be working out this frustration in a more productive manner. I have to say, I never thought I’d be the kind of girl who’d find having a minivan hot, but you’re selling it, babe.”
“ God , I wish I had you in my arms. I want to love on you so bad right now.”
“I want that too,” she says softly. “It’s hard, not being able to see you.”
“And the days feel so long, Angel.”
“Probably because we keep having these entertaining conversations so early in the morning,” she says with a smile in her voice.
I smile too. “You’re probably right.”
I’ve been telling her everything that comes to mind, except for the mystery I’m actually trying to solve. She doesn’t need to think about that — especially when we’ve been using these baking-time chats to plan our future and all the things we want to do together. These talks end with phone sex every time.
“Thanks for calling my random thoughts and stories entertaining .” I glance at the pile of information about her parents on my desk, and then turn the other way.
Fred chuckles. “Thank you for listening to me moan about Mom’s current fixation with uprooting us again. She’s too scared to give you a real chance, but my feet are firmly planted. She’ll come around in time,” she says. “And thank you for making my bakery chores go so fast,” she adds with another clang of her baking pans. “Just finished the last of the dishes.”
I lie back on my bed, feeling useless and far away. “I wish I were there to help.”
“I wish you were here to cuddle me, and then fuck me in the break room as a reward for my hard work,” she counters.
“So do I,” I say with a moan, as my cock astutely detects what time it is. “Do you have your pumps with you?” I ask, stroking myself.
“Mm-hm. Getting them ready as we speak. I’m so full, Vince. I can barely wrap my hands halfway around my breasts; they’re so big.”
“ God , I love speakerphone.” My cock strains in my hand, and I sit up to better arrange my pillows. “Do you need to milk yourself a little first, to get the pumps suctioned on right?”
She utters a soft gasp and mumbles a strained yes .
“ Mmm… They’re tight. Aren’t they, Angel? I’d suckle nice and gentle, until you started to flow. That’s when it starts to feel good, isn’t it, baby girl? You turned to putty in my hands and relaxed that pretty cunt enough for me to stretch it right open. I love when your sweet milk pours into my mouth. I want to suck you so hard, I can hardly control my thirst.”
She whimpers on the other end of the line, and I grip the head of my cock tightly, the way her pussy would. “Are you getting wet, Angel? Check for me.”
A soft yes hits my ears, but I want more. “Let me hear it, beautiful. Fuck those fingers hard and fast.”
The rhythmical sounds coming through the phone get louder and wetter, and my balls are already throbbing with the urge to rut and come. “You need some more stretching. You were so tight. I’ll have to push hard, to get inside you again. You’re going to be sore again after.”
“I’m still sore.”
I press my head back into the pillows, arching my back with the surge of excitement that sends my cock into a wild jerk. “It’s been days, beautiful. You can still feel where I’ve been?”
“ Mm-hmm . And it’s exactly where I want to feel you when you get back.”
“ Fuck .” I smear a streak of pre-cum over my tip. “What are you going to do about it?”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
A thrill runs up my spine, to prickle my scalp. We’ve been teetering back and forth over this line of dominance these last few days, and it’s like fucking dynamite to my libido. Fred seems more than happy to take charge when she’s confident in her feelings, which I love, but her lack of experience in pleasuring herself means she sometimes appreciates me in a more commanding role — which I also fucking love. It’s been a wildly intriguing game of tag, and right now, I think I’m it .
I grip my cock harder and rumble, “Tell me what you need, Angel.”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Are you lost, little lady? Need a big, strong man to tell you what to do?”
“Yes. I want to come like I did when you were inside me.”
“I want that too. You squirt so nice. How many fingers have you got in that sweet cunt of yours?”
“Three.”
“ Three pretty little fingers? That’s not going to be enough, Angel. Don’t you remember how big my cock is? Get on the table, push your whole fucking fist in there, and ride that thing while you pump those gorgeous tits.”
She gasps, and what sounds like a chair clatters to the floor.
“Good girl. Get nice and close to the phone, Angel. I want to hear you fucking that juicy hole like I would. Faster .” I squirt a bit of lube on my hand and rub my cock in time with the sound of her fapping, before I have to pull up hard at the edge of orgasm. I clench every muscle I have to stop myself from coming.
Her mumbles and mewlings are exquisite, and the image in my head is to die for. My beautiful girl, sprawled on the table, with her arm buried between her legs to the wrist.
“I can hear how fucking wet you are, baby girl. Makes me want to come inside you right now.” I grit my teeth and clamp back the massive pressure of my impending release. “Are you getting close?”
“ Mmm… ”
“Good. Stop everything.”
“ What? ”
I smile at the confusion and irritation in her voice. “I said stop .”
“But… Why? ” Her whine sounds like the one in my head, begging me to release my dick and come.
“Position change.” I grab the lube from my nightstand and squirt half the bottle along my pillow, before wrapping it over my straining, engorged cock. I pump my hips a few times, testing it out. The slick is cold, but it’ll warm up, and the pillow is a softer cushion than her ass would be, but it helps me imagine better.
“Wh— How do you want me?”
“Angel, I want you every which way I’ll fit, but right now, I want you on your knees — head down, ass in the air. You do what feels good there, baby girl. Rock into it. Milk those tits and give your clit something to rub along. Your arm, I hope. Slick that pretty arm until it drips to the elbow, but don’t fucking come until I say.”
“I… But …” She moans softly, and then whines again. “ Vince .”
“You sound ready for it, Angel.”
“I am . Why can’t I?—”
“Because I’m going to tell you what I want, and we’re going to come together. Are you ready?”
“ Yes .”
“I’m going to breed that precious little cunt from behind,” I growl, thrusting into my pillow until the friction makes it as hot as her pussy. “I’m going to shove myself inside you and watch your tight little hole turn pale around my cock with the stretch. I’m going to fuck you good and hard, until your asshole squints with how tight you’re getting, and then I’ll fill you with so much cum, it’ll drip down the backs of your thighs.”
Her panted gasps signal her cresting, and the pressure building inside approaches the point of hot, blinding-white light. I start to shake, and fuck my pillow-Angel harder, as I drive Freddie over the edge with me. “I’ll smear my cum all over your clit, and push back inside to baste that pretty, seeded gash, until your belly swells.”
She cries out, and grunting, I send my surging pleasure into my pillow until I’m light-headed and ready to collapse.
“ Oh my God ,” she murmurs when her words become more intelligible. “Please do that to me when you get home.”
Home?
The fucking bliss continues.
“I’ll make sure I do, Angel. I’ll wrap up my last case tomorrow, and I’ll come home to you as soon as I can.”
I stare at the information in front of me.
The multiple hospital records for Gail Beckett-Wallace.
The police reports of domestic abuse and protection orders made out to prevent Adam Wallace from approaching Gail and Frederica.
Fred’s hospital records, which are sparser than feared — thank goodness — but the one admission for a broken arm when she was nine months old is beyond concerning, considering the type of twist-fracture seen in the X-ray doesn’t match the bullshit mechanism-of-injury story written in the notes about her falling on it directly.
And the names irk me. Adam Wheeler is written as her father.
Same as it’s written on her birth certificate, but different from the Adam Wallace on Gail’s marriage certificate. Different age, different social, different everything.
Two different Adams. Two different timelines.
But both of them hurt the women in my new family.
And neither seem to exist anymore, though I only have proof one of them is dead.
Wheeler allegedly died falling in front of a moving train while drunk, and the report has Gail with him at the time. The words also intoxicated and inconsolable suggest she didn’t push him, but I have my suspicions, after seeing her defensive behavior when I got too close to her girl.
I text my guy at Homeland, to hurry him up on his search for Adam Wallace being registered on any overseas travel documentation, and then roll my chair back to the map and timelines I have for the places I have proof Gail and Fred resided at. The addresses cross half the country, spanning all twenty-four years of Fred’s life, and they lead away from Gail’s hometown — like she left home and never looked back. Ironic, considering one of her yearbooks has her sweet young face pinned as homecoming queen.
Adam Wheeler was a few years older, and his yearbooks have him pegged as a mid-level jock .
Adam Wallace was written up as an A-level student. Captain of the debate team, despite a speech impediment. Can’t have been too good at it, considering he later resorted to winning arguments with his fists. Did she overcorrect from abusive Jock to total dork, thinking she’d be safer, only to have that asshole break her jaw?
My hunt continues. “Where did you go, Wallace?”
The last traceable whereabouts I have for him are a few months after Gail’s online medical records report her jaw surgery in Oregon. I’ve marked that spot in red on my map, and the blue trail of Gail’s adventures turns north again about then. North-east…
My phone rings. The Office flashes on the screen, and I hit the speaker icon. “Yeah.”
“Are you done with?—”
“I sent through the analysis and the smoking gun of a document an hour ago,” I say, double-checking my sent emails. “Check your spam if you can’t find it; it’s definitely sent. It was the uncle. Already alerted the parents and set a hunter on his ass, as per their wishes. Should be dealt with by week’s end.”
Clint’s chair screeches, so I know he’s leaning back when he gives an impressed whistle. “Good work, Vince. Are you sure I can’t talk you into?—”
“Nope. I’m out, Clint. Hundred percent out , so save your flattery. I can’t look at this stuff anymore without having nightmares. I’m going where the dreams are all rainbows and unicorns and tigers and shit. I’m gonna have a bunch of babies, and I ain’t ever leaving them. I’m not giving some asshole a chance to come along and do nasty things to them. They’re going to grow up happy and innocent — the way it should be. Great working with you. The end. Have a nice life.” I hang up and turn back to the mystery of the missing Adam.
That asshole is definitely already dead somewhere, which saves me a job. The only questions in my mind are how and where.
“Can’t use a train twice, Gail. That’d scream pattern . You went with something else. Something safer. More calculated. Poison?” I nod. “A strong one. Can’t have him recovering and coming after you. Living in fear of a man is a terrible thing — worse than running from the law. You made the right choice, Gail.”
I run through assorted poisons in my mind. “Something strong. Something natural. Something you could get your hands on…”
I isolate her known residences surrounding the most likely time period Adam went missing, and then I pull up and transpose the climate map. “Something that grows well in cooler climates.” I layer over a map with soil-moisture levels. “Cool and damp . Hemlocks? Western Water-hemlock would be mighty available to transient hippies in Oregon, who are heading toward the north and east… into Washington?”
I stare at the map. At the last known location for both Gail and Adam Wallace in Oregon and the first known location of Gail after that, in Washington. Right in the middle, if I drew a line between the two, is Walla Walla .
I chuckle softly. “Oh, the last laugh is all yours, Gail. Walla Walla? It’s the perfect place to bury an abusive asshole with a stutter, named Wallace.”
I lean back in my chair with a grin and call Freddie .
“Hey, big guy.” Her voice sounds like sunshine, and I close my eyes, imagining her face.
“Howdy, Angel. Just calling to say I’ve cracked the case, and I’m on my way home.”
The bell above the bakery door jingles, and Gail looks up.
The moment she realizes it’s me, her welcoming smile vanishes. “We’re closed.”
“The sign says Open , Gail. Can’t imagine you’d want to turn away paying customers this early in the day, with so many treats left to sell.” I gesture at all the near-full baskets. “Not exactly a sound business plan, but you’re the boss. You want me to flip the sign?”
“I want you to leave .” She’s fucking seething.
“And I want to stay and chat, while I eat every garlic twist your talented daughter made. Did you have a good week?” I put some cash on the counter and reach for the basket of garlic twists, but she moves it out of my reach.
“Your money’s no good here.”
I sigh and lean against the wall. “People normally say that when they mean something’s free.”
“There’s nothing here for you, Monaghan. Leave, already.”
“I will. Soon.” I back up toward the door and brace my foot against it, so nobody will walk in and overhear what I’m about to say. “We need to talk. I was hoping to do it over a snack, but maybe it’s safest not to. You’re clearly not fond of me, and I should probably be more wary around food you serve me. Wouldn’t want to end up in a shallow grave next to Adam Walla-Walla Wallace, would I?”
Gail goes dead still, and I watch for every sign of guilt I know to look for. Her left eye twitches first, and then her fingers. Her chest practically flutters with the pace of her breaths, and she darts a glance at every exit there is. She definitely fucking did it.
“See, the thing is, Gail, I’m really good at the job I just quit. Way better than anyone else who’d ever think to follow up on a woman with a penchant for disposing of guys named Adam . So you don’t need to worry about anyone coming after you — unless you try to dispose of me.”
Her eyes glow with a dangerous fire, and I temper the air with my hand. “Don’t worry. There’s no need to plot my demise. I didn’t set out to discover your secrets and exploit you; I only went hunting for the asshole who broke your jaw, so I could kill him myself. Okay? I don’t take kindly to people who hurt my family, and like it or not, I love your daughter, and I’m sticking around. You and I are not going to be a family — we already are a family, and I protect my people. You don’t have to ever trust me, but I want you to know that you can.”
I hold up a list of names and numbers. I slowly fold it and place it on the windowsill by the door, so she won’t spook at an approach, and then tap the paper twice, to make sure it has her attention. “These are the contact details for my family, friends, and colleagues. Feel free to call them for testimonials of how responsible, loving, and kind I am. I’m not an innocent, but I do protect them — and that’s something you and I have in common, so I hope we can become friends in time. I’d appreciate it if you would stop causing your daughter stress by dropping hints about moving elsewhere, though. She deserves to feel safe and settled in this place that she loves. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I need to go hug your daughter and tend to her every fucking need.”
I bid her good day with a nod, and open the shop door, to address the small crowd waiting to enter.
“Apologies,” I say, and catch the end of one guy’s muttering about lining up to fuck the babymaker-baker .
I clear my throat loudly enough to startle the entire group, and then give a warning growl. “Frederica Beckett will be making my babies henceforth, and I’ll be sticking around to help raise them, so you may want to mind your damned mouths, if you like your fucking teeth. You have a nice day, now.”