Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
DAMON
I am such a coward.
What I just did to Dottie is fucked up, and the fact I blamed her for my actions was gutless.
I wrestle out of my jeans with the bottle of whiskey in my hand. Foregoing the glass, I take a hefty swig and kick my jeans to the corner.
I am such a fucking asshole.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a few more minutes and finish the bottle. I need to apologise.
Just as I talk myself into going and finding her, stuttered moans vibrate through the thin walls. Before I realise what I’m doing, I moving toward the door that is acting as a barrier.
My angry cock hangs heavy and thick, and I can feel the bead of pre-cum pooling at the tip. Hissing, I take my cock in my hand and pump it twice before I smack it away in frustration.
She’s doing this on purpose. She has to be. Taunting the damn devil.
My hand grips the doorhandle that leads to Arrie’s bedroom, and just as I’m about to wrench the damn thing off its hinges and show Dottie exactly what taunting the devil is, my phone vibrates and beeps with a message.
It breaks me from the lecherous struggle I’m wrestling with and makes me see reason within the alcohol induced fog that currently has a stranglehold on me. Releasing a staggered breath, my hand falls from the knob.
I send a silent prayer to whoever or whatever is watching me, which undeniably stopped me from making a terrible mistake, one that I would never be able to undo.
Stumbling away from the bathroom door and into my room, I search for my phone in the dark, allowing the blinking blue light to guide me. Clenching it in my hand, I know who it is before I open the message.
Blossom.
I’m free. Where do you want to meet?
My heartrate picks up, and I glance between the bathroom door and my phone. We’ve never disclosed our location beyond our state.
Rafters Falls.
It’s an hour away from here so the likelihood of bumping into anyone from town will be small. I hate this fucking town and the busybodies that reside here. Always flapping their gums about shit they don’t know or understand.
Three dots appear immediately.
It’s a date.
And then she’s offline, and I’m left to wrangle my wayward thoughts, aching cock, and another bottle of whiskey. Just peachy.
Someone, kill me now.
Fuck me my head is killing me, and it tastes like something shat in my mouth.
Rolling over to avoid the sun shining in through the curtains, I groan when I feel like a basketball is thumping around in my skull.
Reluctantly, I try and open my eyes to check the time, and as soon as the sliver of light hits my retinas, I growl and throw the pillow over my head.
Laying there as still as I can, I try and piece together the day and night. It comes flooding in like a tsunami, threatening to throw me beneath the raging waters. I can’t fucking believe I said that shit to Dottie.
Fuck. She is going to hate me, and she’d have every reason, too. I feel like a cunt, but it’s probably best this way. Keep her at arms distance until she’s finished the mural and back in Sydney, but then I hear those little whimpers and moans in my head.
I didn’t imagine that shit.
I guess I pissed her off that much she had to rub one out, and I hate that I both love and loathe that thought in the same breath.
If she was my girl, her ass would be black and blue right now, but she’s not, and that’s the way it’s staying.
Forcing myself to open my eyes, I glance down at my phone to find it’s three in the afternoon and there is a message from Blossom. Opening it,
I read through our texts again; grateful she agreed to meet at Rafters Falls. It’s a small quaint town an hour away and it has everything a person could want in a small town.
Recreational areas, rivers for white water rafting, cafes, restaurants, bars and even a club, along with all the basic shit a town needs to thrive in this shitty market. A sense of relief washes over me, knowing I won’t have to meet her anywhere near this hole of a place.
I type out a quick message.
Dinner and drinks, Blossom?
Her reply is instant.
Do you think drinks are wise?
Dutch courage, princess.
I’m not a princess!
I chuckle at that.
Alright. Let me see what I can arrange, and I’ll get back to you.
She sends a thumbs up, and just as I’m about to close out of the message, a picture starts to load. I sit up in my bed, fuck the headache that tries to slow me down. I’m ready for whatever she has to throw at me.
When I see another one of her black and white photographs—this one of her in the shower covering her tits, angled down to showcase her stunning figure, stopping right before the promised land—I release a feral growl.
This is going to be a long ass morning.
After three wanks, two cups of black coffee, and a healthy serving of bacon and eggs, I feel a little more human than a few hours ago. The headache is still bugging me, but it isn’t as bad as earlier, thankfully, so I focus on the paperwork I need to have signed and ready tomorrow for the attorney.
I can’t wait to unshackle myself from Kerry-Anne, and I know the only reason she has signed the papers is because she’s hoping the cop she cheated on me with years ago, is going to marry her old, wrinkly, Botox ass.
I shiver at the thought, not to mention knowing I shoved my dick in it.
The front door bangs closed, and my body ripples in goosebumps. I keep my head down, attempting to focus on the paperwork and not the fact I know Dottie is about three seconds away from entering the kitchen.
Three.
Two.
One.
On cue, she enters. My grin resurfaces, but I keep my head down. I would bet my left nut if I look up at her now, she would be blushing because we both know I heard her last night, and she did it on purpose to rile me up.
“Damon. Sorry, I didn’t know you were home.”
“Well, it is my apartment.”
“I’ll let you get back to it.”
“Dottie.”
Shut up, Damon.
“Hmm?”
“Could you try and keep it down a little tonight?”
“Fuck you.”
I chuckle but keep my head down, pretending I’m interested in the paperwork in front of me, and not the feisty vixen in front of me. When I hear the telltale signs of her walking away and then the door slamming, I lean back in the chair, scolding myself for continuing to rile her up .
It’s not helping anyone, but when she snapped at me, something came over me. Sighing, I gather the paperwork together and head to my room.
I doubt Dottie will come out of Arrie’s room, so after I put the documents away for tomorrow, I head into the kitchen to grab the small platter I made earlier and a hair of the dog that bit me in the form of a beer, and take it all into the lounge room to watch some Dexter Original Sin.
Halfway through the second episode and three beers later, I hear a door creak before footsteps follow. I throw a piece of jalapeno and cheese kabana in my mouth and take a healthy swig of my beer.
“Do you think drinking is wise, Uncle Damon?”
“Can I help you, Little Dottie?”
“Would you stop calling me that, for fuck’s sake?”
I hide my grin with a sip of my beer.
It’s quiet for a few minutes and I trick myself into believing she’s left.
“Is this Original Sin?”
“If you mean Dexter’s Original Sin, then yes.”
“I fucking love Michael C Hall.”
“You do?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the screen.
“Yep. I always wondered if there was something wrong with me for finding Dexter hot.”
I spit my drink out.
“What?” I choke, looking up at her and finding her in my fucking shirt again.
She shrugs. “Mind if I watch?”
I motion for her to take a seat, and she complies.
“Beer?”
“I’ll grab one.”
“Sit down. I’m getting one for myself anyway.”
Dottie sits down and folds her legs under her ass while I try not to look. Stomping to the kitchen, I grab two beers and catch my breath. It’s as if last night didn’t happen, as if she didn’t poke the damn bear at all.
It unnerves me.
I have to keep my shit together. I walk back to the lounge and offer the beer to her. Peering up, she offers me a small smile before taking it. Our fingers brush lightly, and a zap of electricity moves through me.
Clenching my jaw, I nod back and move to my side of the couch and keep watching. It’s hard to stay focused on the show, when I can feel and smell Dottie so close to me, but I try and remember the times we watched movies and shows together with my daughter. Her cousin and best friend.
It helps to a degree, thankfully, but I can’t stop the undercurrent thrumming beneath my flesh. We have a few more beers in silence, only talking when it has something to do with Dexter, and by the time we are up to date with the episodes, it’s approaching midnight.
Switching it off, I find her asleep on the couch, my damn shirt exposing her pretty little lace-wrapped pussy.
Closing my eyes, I try and rein in the man-whore inside of me. She is my fucking niece.
Not biologically, the devil on my shoulder pipes up.
“Shut the fuck up,” I say to the quiet room and move on shaky legs over to cover her up.
Throwing a blanket on top of her, I tuck her hair behind her ears and step back before I do something stupid. Again.