Chapter 20 Wesley #2
She stands up dramatically and throws the butter knife to the floor, it clatters against the wood.
“That’s it,” she declares, throwing her hands up in mock surrender.
“I quit. You win. This is shit.” She stomps past me towards the door, but just before she leaves, she turns and glances over her shoulder, her pretty brown eyes shimmer with amusement, her lips curve into a mischievous smile.
“Did anyone ever tell you how sexy you look on your knees?” I reach out, making a grab for her.
But she’s already gone.
I fly through the task, including going back over Shannon’s piss poor attempt. Once the frame’s done, I lower the mattress and straighten it out. It’s not until I move around the bed that I notice I’ve knocked over a basket. A couple of items have fallen out, along with something very pink.
Her vibrator, the same one she dropped in the pub.
I glance around, then pick it up, gripping it in the palm of my hand, fingers clasped tightly around the thickness.
It’s not small, but it’s certainly not been modelled on the size of my own.
My mind’s drowning in filth. Has she used it?
Does it smell like her? I don’t let myself linger.
I drop it straight back in the basket like it’s scorched my skin.
But I’d be a fucking liar if I didn’t have the urge to hold it to my nose and prove myself right, there’s no doubt in my mind Shannon had used it.
“Wow, how fast are you?” Shannon says, walking back into the bedroom. My brain mentally checked out, still thinking about the scent of her pussy. I’ve got to get out of here because I want her so bad. The room feels like it’s caving in.
“Are you hungry?” I don’t give her the chance to reply. “I’m hungry.” My words flustered, pushing past her. She looks confused. I didn’t mean to push her out the way.
“Is something wrong?” She frowns, but I take her hand to reassure her.
“No, sweetheart. I’m just trying my hardest not to fuck up.” It’s the truth.
“I’m just going to use the toilet,” I say, passing Shannon the tool kit.
She heads back inside the bedroom, and I step into the bathroom to take a piss.
After washing my hands, I look around for a towel, there’s one near the wash basket.
Grabbing it, I quickly dry my hands and my eyes drift around the room.
I feel proud of the space that took me two weeks to get just right.
I hang the towel back up, straightening it out. That’s when I see them, tucked inside her shorts she had on earlier. I know I shouldn’t.
But I do… I pull them out, lacy and familiar, the same pair she wore this morning when I made her come. My thumb mindlessly rubs the lace between my fingers like a prized possession. They’re soft, warm, and I stop before I go any further and drop them like a hot piece of coal back into the basket.
“Fuck… me.” I can only imagine how intoxicating she smells. I think about them wedged tightly between her slit, soaking as she worked herself over my cock, chasing her orgasm.
I’m rock hard again. It was a bad clothing choice to wear joggers while sporting a stiffy.
I try to think of anything else, willing my cock to calm down.
There’s no point in hiding it anymore.
Luckily, she doesn’t look down past the waist, either she hasn’t noticed or couldn’t care less.
“Did I miss out on you feeding me since I lost?” Shannon calls from the hallway, I stammer my reply. “I’ll… I’ll… feed you, sweetheart.” My voice comes out a stuttering mess, are we both talking about the same thing? Following her down the hall, I try my hardest to ignore all the sexual tension.
Christ, you’re a bad man, Wesley Parker.
We’re sat out at the back of my garden, enjoying the cooler air now the sun has finally dipped.
“Is this new?” Shannon asks, patting the rattan two-seater.
“Tristan gave it to me. One of his clients was getting rid of it,” I reply, taking a pull from my beer, glancing out at the open fields.
“Well, if he’s offering another, I won’t say no.
” She giggles, then takes a generous gulp of her cheap red wine.
Not that I hadn’t offered to buy her something that didn’t taste like cat piss.
But the raised eyebrow she gave me and the questions of how I know what cat piss tastes like, and then I’m not a snob, Wesley.
Shannon likes to bicker, and I like to poke her.
“Tell me about your parents.”
The question catches me off guard. She must notice the tension in my shoulders; it’s not something I talk about easily.
“You don’t have to tell me, Wesley. If you don’t feel like it,” she adds gently, shifting slightly and nudging her arse against my hips. I swallow the ache in my chest, but I want to tell her everything.
I clear my throat, readying myself to broach the subject.
“Mum passed away when I was twenty. She had heart problems.” The memory still haunts me, still fresh in my mind like I’m reliving the moment.
I can still remember the sounds, the dress she wore, her laughter, everything is clear as if it were yesterday.
Only it’s seventeen years ago. I’ve never really spoken about it before, other than with my mates, but even they only know the parts I want to share.
But Megan never asked about my mum.
It feels strange that Shannon wants to know about them, but she never knew them. She strokes her hand along my arm, her small fingers tracing the lines of my tattoos, the touch soaks into my skin. It feels like she’s silently telling me it's a safe place to open up.
“We were having a BBQ, just the three of us. She said she felt dizzy… had chest pains.” I swallow down the ache best I can. “Then… she was just gone.” Shannon gasps and sits up to face me.
“She had a heart attack… she died almost instantly.” The words burn like acid on my tongue. It still hurts. People kept telling me it gets easier, but they didn’t have a fucking clue. It doesn’t get easier. You just have no choice but to learn to live with it.
Shannon doesn’t say a word, her fingers gently move from my arm to the back of my neck, stroking the small hairs. I close my eyes, letting myself fall further into the comfort of her touch.
Care without words.
I tell her about my dad.
About his drinking. He was a good man, the best, but he drank far too much. He was never abusive, he just didn’t know how to stop.
I’d tried my best to get him help, but he refused.
I’d even pour away new bottles of spirits, topping them up with water…
my father was no fool, sober or drunk. I enjoy a drink myself now and again, but growing up around it teaches you how to enjoy it in moderation unless I’m having a bad day.
I’ve been known to binge, but prepared to pay for it for the next three days after.
Fucking hangovers past thirty are not worth it.
I don’t know how my dad functioned, but he always went to work and grafted hard for ten hours a day.
Maybe it was the bottles he kept in his drawer at work that kept him going.
We worked together for years, and he’d never hidden it.
Dad was classed as a dependent before he became a fully blown alcoholic.
In the end, it led him to liver disease.
He was admitted to hospital for the third time from drinking.
Went in on the Friday night… and passed away in ICU by Saturday morning.
In some ways, I was prepared he’d leave that way, but the pain of losing them both is something I’ll never get over. Some say time’s a healer, but honestly, I don’t believe that.
It was the first time in years I truly felt alone.
It wasn’t until dad died that I realised just how isolated I actually was.
Megan didn’t offer much comfort, barely tried.
I think looking back, she patted me on the fucking shoulder, as if she were telling me to pull myself together.
I was blind to her coldness, even when she left me the same evening he passed to visit her parents. I was truly alone.
“I don’t have the right words, Wesley.” Shannon pulls my head down and peppers my face with soft kisses. She has a huge heart and it guts me I never had the chance to meet her before it all went to shit. They say to have no regrets, but we all have some. Mine? Mine was Megan.
My fingertips trace her soft skin on her lower back. “My parents are still with me, so I couldn’t possibly understand what you’re going through,” she whispers, as her fingers rake through my hair. I love the way she touches me.
I kiss her lips. “You just being here is enough, sweetheart.” And I mean every word.