56. Eli
Eli
Easton promised Kendra that her place would be ready in time for her to celebrate Christmas there.
Her eyes sparkled with tears of excitement and gratitude when he told her.
I felt sad because I had visions of us spending Wren’s first holiday season wrapped up together, celebrating, making memories, and creating traditions under the same roof.
If we are in separate houses by then, my magical plans go up in smoke.
I already don’t get to have Thanksgiving with her because she is going to be with her dad and I have to be on shift at the fire station.
I was so proud of Kendra for coming to see the cabin and knew how difficult it must have been to finally walk through the door.
Ever since that first day she stops over once in a while, but only when I am there helping out or if I’m available to go with her to check on progress—and that makes me proud as fuck.
To know that she feels comfort and safety with me.
Seeks it out and needs me. Of course I want her to be able to go alone, be relaxed in her own space, but for now I’m glad to be her crutch.
Now we just need to get her to go back into the pottery studio.
Ever since Danny took the evidence he needed and I cleaned everything up the following day, Kendra has not gone back in.
Sutton has stopped over to pick up some inventory for the store, but Kendra just handed over the key and told her what to pick off the shelves .
. . which is very un-Kendra. The girls were going to do one of their pop-up shop events that they have organized a couple of times since Kendra started selling out of Brooks and Books, but Kendra canceled it saying she didn’t have enough for a big show.
Her injuries are healed, and even her physical therapist has been encouraging her to do some pottery, saying that the strength of her arms and hands benefited her and contributed to her quick healing.
Kendra acted like that was exciting news, but when it came time to actually go in the studio, she froze and froze and froze again upon every attempt.
Kendra is stubborn.
She doesn’t like to be told what to do.
She doesn’t like to be pushed.
Her buttons can be detonations.
But I think she needs it this time.
She needs her art like she needs air, and I know that in order for her to be fully herself she needs to get her hands back into the clay and pour out the rest of the pain she has been holding in.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Kendra screeches at me from the mouth of her wide-open sliding garage door.
I greet her with my signature smile, knowing my dimple will get to her. “Making my mom a gift.”
“With my shit? You don’t even know what you’re doing, Hulk. Step away from my wheel!”
Her eyes are wild with horror as she watches me fumble a small lump of clay as well as a preschooler probably could. I try to shove my thumb into the middle, making a poor attempt at a hole for a mug shape.
Kendra stomps her way into the space.
Yes, come to Daddy.
She turns off the wheel and crosses her arms.
“Hey, I was making a masterpiece!” I object, trying not to laugh.
“Where the hell did you even learn how to do anything with my pottery stuff? What are you trying to make? Why? What?” Her questions are a jumbled mess of frustration, and she’s fucking adorable.
“I watched a YouTube video,” I say proudly.
“A YouTube video. As in one!” She growls at me and scoops up my small mess, tossing it into her trash bin in anger, and washes her hands.
“I want to make my mom a mug as a thank you and special Christmas gift for all her help with Wren.” That part is at least true, but I want a Kendra mug.
“Oh, so one of my stock mugs isn’t good enough?” She motions to her shelves that are starting to look like slim pickings after Sutton came by for another restock for Brooks and Books two days ago.
“No, her favorite color is green, and you don’t have any.” I shrug innocently.
Kendra stomps to the shelf and nudges two mugs around and presents me with a stunning mug covered in hand-painted flowers on a green mug.
“Wow, look at that!” I exclaim. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart.” Kendra narrows her eyes at me.
“You just decided to watch one, one video and come out here and give it a go then? Not even ask me? Eli, this is part of my livelihood. This is my grandfather’s equipment!”
Oh shit, I didn’t know that.
She continues, “This is not a fucking toy! It’s my art.”
“Exactly,” I say, watching my little dragon get all wound up, and I can envision smoke pouring from her ears.
“This is part of you, it’s important to you.
You belong out here. Your hands should be messy and covered in clay, not mine.
Before, most mornings and evenings you couldn’t drag yourself away from the wheel, the creativity, the calling.
” I watch her gulp at my assessment and know I struck a nerve.
“Why do you care,” she bristles.
“Because I care about you, sweetheart, and I know that you have been running from this for some reason and you need to stop. I can be here with you or you can tell me to fuck off, but you need to sit down and make something,” I say sternly.
“I really want to tell you to fuck off,” she sneers at me.
“Do you really?” I pin her with a knowing glare right back.
“No,” she whispers, tears welling as she deflates like a sad balloon.
“Why are you so afraid to be in here again? You love this, it’s as much a part of you as your stunning eyes or your expressive style,” I say, stepping to the sink to wash up and meticulously scrub the drying clay from my hands.
“I’ve had so much taken from me, beautiful things.
I loved, love . . . creating my own beauty here and knowing how precious it is and that I get to be that caretaker of it.
I am just so tired of taking care of things and having them still be broken, taken.
I wanted to reclaim the cabin, this too, but .
. . it’s exhausting. I thought it was a sign to give up.
” Kendra looks down to her pink Converse that she’s scraping on the cement floor, wiping a tear off her cheek.
“You were born to let your creativity shine, and no matter where you are or who you’re with, it comes out. But this right here, this is a calling on a whole different level. Don’t give up. Please, sit and see how it feels to try and make something again.”
Kendra nods. “Okay, but only if you do it with me?”
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
“Your first real lesson has to start somewhere, Hulk. Come on.” She grabs my clean hands and tugs me toward her supplies, explaining things to me animatedly.
We closed the large garage door to block the cold air, instantly cocooning us in the intimate space.
Kendra cleaned up my messy attempt to get her attention and set up what she wanted on the wheel; a deep cream-colored chunk of clay that would become something magical under the direction of her hands.
She sits on her low stool, and I pull up a bench I found in the corner of the garage behind her.
My legs are spread wide and Kendra is settled between them.
She stripped out of her chunky, rainbow knit sweater that she stormed in here wearing and is left in a tight black tank top and black leggings that make my mouth water.
“Why exactly did you need to take off your shirt?” Kendra asks, eyeing my chest as she’s pulling her hair up into a wild, messy bun that misses some strands of hair, leaving them running rivers of pink and blonde down her delicate neck.
“Didn’t want to get clay on it.” I wink at her.
Rolling her eyes she says, “You had it on when you were making your monstrosity.”
“True, but I was only alone for like five minutes and I was just trying to get you out here.”
“I should quit now just to punish you,” she says sassily.
“You wouldn’t dare, because now that your cute ass is on that stool you are buzzing, ready. I can feel it.” I run my nose along her neck and she shivers.
“Fine, pay attention, Hulk.”
Kendra switches the wheel on, and a low hum fills the space.
I’m mesmerized by the spinning and watching the way her hands slip over the surface of the material.
Becoming one and commanding it to form into something new all at once.
A dance and a flow that Kendra can feel on a visceral level that comes second nature.
She doesn’t need a plan, it’s like the clay is telling her what it wants to be and she’s making it happen.
She makes it look easy, and I know it isn’t.
“Beautiful,” I whisper in her ear. I grip her thighs, running my hands up and down, molding her body in my own hands.
“Eli,” she groans.
“I like touching you way more than the clay, sweetheart.” I kiss her neck again and she tips it to the side, inviting me to keep going.
“Mmm, yes. It feels so good.” Kendra grinds back into me and I know that she can feel how hard I am against her lower spine, all the while her hands never stop working the clay in front of her, dipping her hand into the water she has next to her when she needs it, bracing the slippery material firmly in her fingers as she moves.
“You’re in charge, Kendra, tell me what you want. You set the pace.”
“Touch me.”
“Where.”
“Eli,” Kendra pleads.
“Use your words, sweetheart. Tell Daddy exactly what you need. You know I’ll give it to you.” I nip her earlobe, making her jolt and bump her work.
“Fuck. Please, Daddy.” Hearing her call me that makes my eyes roll back in my head, because holy fuck I am a goner. “Please touch my pussy. I’m so wet for you.”
I cup her through her leggings and feel how hot she is. Kendra grinds into my palm and moans, tossing her head back on my shoulder, hands still sliding through the clay errantly.
I don’t think that’s gonna be a mug anytime soon.
Slipping my hand down the front of her leggings I’m rewarded with the dripping pussy I was promised. She is soaked. I run my thick fingers over her tight slit and back up to her needy little clit, and Kendra cries out.
“Yes!”
“Do you want these fingers in your tight pussy? Is that what my girl needs, to make a mess of my hand, wishing it was my dick?”
She is so lost in my touch all she can do is nod.
I rub my thumb across her clit as I plunge two fingers into her and holy shhhhittt.
“Fuck, sweetheart. You are so tight. You’re gonna strangle my cock when we have sex . . . eventually.” I tack on the last word not wanting to make her feel any pressure.
“It’s going to be so good,” Kendra pants. “I miss your cock.”
“You cannot say shit like that to me.”
“Sure I can, it’s t-true.” She bites her lip and moans as I add another finger, feeling her stretch around the fullness.
“Such a dirty girl.”
“Only for you.” She abandons the clay, letting the wheel spin, looking at me fully for the first time since I started touching her.
“That’s fucking right.” I slam my mouth on hers and increase my efforts as she grinds down on my fingers.
“Ride my hand, just like that. Make yourself come for me, sweetheart.”
Kendra rolls her hips to a rhythm of ecstasy, and I’m the lucky bastard that gets to see the pleasure paired on her face.
I kiss her deeply again before sliding my hand free from her leggings, locking eyes with her while I lick each of my fingers clean, moaning from the taste of her that I will never get my fill of.
Licking her lips, Kendra says, “I want your cock.”
Raising my eyebrow, I say, “You sure about that, dirty girl?” I glance at her hands, covered in clay.
“I won’t touch you,” she swears, “I want you to use me.” Her lust-filled eyes are anything but innocent as she kicks aside the stool and drops to her knees right in front of me.
Holy shit. This is happening.
Adjusting myself on the bench I pull myself from my briefs and grey sweatpants, and Kendra licks her fucking lips as she watches. Her eyes snap up to mine, seeking permission.
“You ready?” I ask one last time.
“Please, Daddy, use me.” And she leans forward sucking my throbbing crown into her hot, wet mouth.
When my piercing hits her tongue I feel as if stars explode behind my eyes.
I wind my fingers into her thick hair, wild and messy in that bun, pink streaks pulled tight in my grip.
I give my hips a testing thrust, Kendra gags a little on the length hitting the back of her throat, and her clay-covered hands grip my thighs.
Her eyes widen as if to apologize for touching me, for messing up my sweats, but I love it.
“Leave them there,” I command, and she blinks in understanding. I pump in and out faster while she sucks and moans, and the vibration sends a shiver all the way up my spine. Tears run across the rosy apples of her cheeks, and I can’t hold back much longer.
“I’m going to come,” I tell her. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.” Kendra’s gaze hits me straight in the chest, but I manage to say, “Don’t swallow,” and she blinks again and gives the smallest nod.
With that I thrust forward, hot bursts of cum shoot into her greedy mouth, and I feel like I’m orbiting the moon by the time my balls are drained. Kendra, surprisingly obedient, doesn’t swallow and waits for my directions.
“Open, let me see,” I say. She opens her mouth, and I see my seed filling her mouth the way I can’t wait for it to fill her pussy one day. “Swallow,” I direct—and she does, licking her lips afterward with a smirk.
“Good girl,” I say, leaning down kissing her, seeing the messy handprints she left on my legs.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she replies huskily, nipping my bottom lip.
Yup, I am royally fucked. There is no going back.