69. Kendra
Kendra
We’ve settled into a blissful, domestic little bubble and I’m terrified it’s going to pop. Our routine is so nice, comfortable, dare I say . . . perfect.
Fuck, if I say that something will surely get ruined.
When Eli is on shift I stay at the cabin. I’m busy with work at the salon, in my studio, or with Wren when Holly can’t watch her—which has been happening more often. If Eli is off we stay at his house.
Wren is growing and changing so fast. Her first word was in fact “dada,” and Eli cried like a baby. He is the best dad I have ever seen, and that is saying something because my own is top tier.
Speaking of which, we have dinner together now once a week, he is constantly texting with Eli, calls himself Papa Max, and spoils the crap out of Wren.
Every time he comes over he has something for her.
It’s never big or extravagant, sometimes even just her favorite food of the week like a jar of applesauce.
Being around us, Wren especially, has brought back a spark to him that has been dimmed for a long, long time.
Eli said that they bonded when I was in the hospital, had a “man-to-man” chat while they waited for me to wake up.
Whenever they are together you can see Eli come to life in a different way too.
My dad treats him like he treats me, lovingly and fatherly.
He calls Eli “son” often, which always seems to shock Eli and then settle into him like a pulsing wave, a jolt right to his heart.
I have watched it happen time and time again.
“Can I ask you a question?” Eli and I are cleaning up after putting Wren to bed.
My dad’s just left after another one of our weekly get-togethers.
He and Eli grilled chicken on the deck, and I made a fresh salad to go with it and brownies for dessert.
Eli ate three, enthusiastically declaring them the best he’s ever had while brushing the crumbs off his blue Henley that forms to his arms in a way that melts my brain.
“You can ask me anything, sweetheart, you know that.” He shuts the dishwasher and turns to me.
“Do you want me to ask my dad to stop calling you son?” I worry my bottom lip.
Eli goes still. “What?”
“Well, I just noticed that whenever he calls you that, you, I don’t know . . . seem uncomfortable, maybe?”
He crosses and uncrosses his arms. “It’s not that, no. I, um, I actually really like it when he says that,” Eli says very quietly, a tinge of pink warming his cheeks.
I step over to him and rub up and down his distracting arms. “What? Talk to me, please?”
His mournful eyes look at me, the navy blue awash with unshed tears. “I think your dad might actually like me, love me even?”
“Of course he does!” I exclaim, knowing it’s the truth.
“Well, my own dad never truly did. He didn’t say it, didn’t stay, didn’t want our family, didn’t want me.
Never once did he call me son, sweetheart.
So, yeah, when your dad does it . . . it means something, surprises me.
I’m still getting used to it. And, God, I pray that I don’t ever do anything to fuck it up. To make him stop.”
A tear slides down his handsome face and cracks something in my soul.
We hold on to each other for a long time in the silence of the kitchen, letting our love be enough to say the words we can’t find.
His father is a horrible person. Still after all this time, my man stands here terrified that he’s not enough, that he was the reason a shitty person made the choice to abandon a wife and four children.
Even now Eli is worried that the people who love him completely could still just walk away from him. I squeeze him tightly to me, my head pressing into his chest.
“Ahh, ouch,” he says.
“What! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” My eyes scan his body, finding no obvious injuries.
Eli chuckles. “No, no I’m fine. I just have a surprise for you.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I say, “Ouch, and you being in pain does not sound like the kind of thing I’m into. You were boxing with Rem and Matt today, right? Did one of those fuckers bruise your perfect ribs? I will kick their asses.”
“Easy killer, no ass kicking is needed. Come with me.” Eli leads me up to his bedroom and shuts the door.
I sit on the bed and wait semi-patiently. He turns on the bedside lamp, strips out of his jeans, socks, and Henley. With only his black briefs and a T-shirt on he goes to his mirrored dresser and opens his drawer. His underwear drawer.
“I thought the whole point was to get undressed, not get more clothes.”
“Shhh,” Eli says, back still to me.
“Did you just shush me! Hulk, you—” but my words die on my tongue when he turns around with my drawing in his hand.
“I only do it when I need you to shhh.” The cocky asshole winks at me, and my traitorous pussy yells “Yes, Daddy!”
“Still can’t believe you have this,” I say, unfolding it and lightly tracing my finger over the wing that looks more like angel feathers.
“Permanently,” Eli says, stripping off his T-shirt slowly, revealing a huge Saniderm bandage covering his left pec, over his heart.
“What did you do?!” I jump off the bed and rush to him.
“We didn’t box,” he admits with a blush.
“No shit.” I meet his mischievous eyes. “What did you do?” I repeat.
“Keller took my virginity.” Eli grins.
I double over in laughter, not expecting him to say something so ridiculous, even if it’s technically true. He had virgin skin, no tattoos.
“Oh . . . my . . . God.” It’s not easy to see all the superfine details clearly through the bandage, but I know it’s my drawing, made a million times better by the artistic hands of Keller-freaking-Shore. I can’t wait to see it unwrapped and cleaned up.
“I wanted to wait and show it to you, but it’s not really something that I can hide. You see my body all the time.” He licks his bottom lip and I clench my legs together.
“You hate needles.” I point out the obvious.
“Yeah I do, still do, but I love you. And I wanted to do this, for you, us. To show you that I am in this, Kendra, forever. I felt like your drawing, the one you did all those years ago represents our family now, which is pretty amazing. The angel side of the wing is our baby, the bird-like butterfly wing side is for Wren, and you are the whole butterfly.”
“What about you? What part of the tattoo is for you?” I ask.
“I get to carry you all, protect you, love you—forever. Right here.” He points to the tattoo, to his heart. “I love you.”
He reaches down, hauling me up his body and I wrap my legs around his waist. The passion behind his kiss makes me dizzy as he sets me on top of the dresser, stripping off my top quickly, and taking my mouth again.
“I love you,” I say as he greedily licks up my neck and around the shell of my ear.
“Not as much as I love you,” he groans, pushing his hips forward so I can feel how hard he is against my aching center, making me wish my jeans weren’t in the way.
Reading my mind, Eli makes fast work of removing them and my simple cotton panties.
I reach around and unclip my bra, letting it get lost in the pile of our clothes somewhere in the room.
Allowing Eli to see me now, fully naked without any inhibitions or worry ever since the first time, is easy.
He loves me and, as he promised, worships me every chance he gets.
“Turn around,” Eli says.
“What?”
“I want you on your knees, on top of this dresser so you can see yourself in the mirror and how fucking stunning you are.” He puts his hands on my hips and helps me spin.
This dresser has a wide, lower top and Eli is directly behind me with a perfect view, his cock nestled right between my legs when I sit on my knees like he instructed.
He wraps a strong hand around my stomach and tugs me close to him, not caring that my back is bumping his bandaged chest. “Touch yourself,” he whispers in my ear. “I want you to watch you make yourself come while you think about my cock filling your tight little pussy.”
Our eyes are locked on each other’s in the mirror, and goose bumps rise up over my entire body at his dirty, delicious words.
I run my hands down my skin as Eli kisses my shoulder, his burning gaze tracking my every move—over my neck, across my collarbone, touching each of my butterfly tattoos, gliding down my stomach—and when my fingers dip into my center he bites down with a groan.
“Eli,” I moan.
“No.” His gruff word sends a shiver down my spine as he collars my throat gently with his strong hand.
“Daddy,” I moan, thrusting my fingers and hips at the same time.
“That’s right, dirty girl.” He squeezes a little tighter, and my pussy flutters around my fingers.
“Yes,” I rasp, running my wetness up over my clit and putting pressure where I need it, using my fingers, but it’s not enough. “I need you.”
Eli bends me slightly forward and I can feel the crown of his thick cock nudging the entrance of my slick center. Widening my legs, I rock back, needing to feel him push in. When he does, I cry out and he slams all the way forward, showing my pussy no mercy, and I come all over his cock.
“Fuck, fuck. Sweetheart. Look at you. See how well you take me. We were made for each other.” Looking in the mirror, we watch together as Eli envelops me from behind. Seeing his thick cock stretching my pussy in the mirror is going to be a snapshot burned into my memory forever.
It’s sexy, erotic, hot as fuck.
Perfect.
I press my head back harder into his shoulder and he grips my throat tighter, the most stunning necklace I have ever worn. His piercing is hitting delicate things at this angle, nerve endings that are sparking and glowing, sizzling inside of me, ready to detonate.
“I’m coming again,” I tell him.
“Feels so good. Me too, sweetheart,” Eli moans in my ear, and we shatter together, panting and spent.
He slowly pulls out of me, and we watch as his cum leaks from my still-quivering pussy and pools onto the dresser.
We just stare at it for a second, then Eli says, “That is so fucking hot.”
“Yeah it is,” I agree. Then I sweep my fingers through his cum, locking my eyes on his in the reflection while drawing a heart on the mirror. After, I suck my finger into my mouth.
“Dirty girl,” he rumbles and nips my earlobe.