or do someone’s hair, Renee. Please?”
There was no answer for a few minutes. He closed his eyes again, letting himself drift, appreciating every second of the central air conditioning hissing in through the vents.
Finally, the door opened, revealing her again. Terry stared at her feet, clad in flat, utilitarian sandals, her toenails a bright candy pink, her smooth tanned thighs uncovered up to what looked like a tennis skirt, her flat stomach, trim waist, and her full, high tits.
He rolled over to his hands and knees, attempting not to hyperventilate. By the time he’d made it to his feet, she still stood there, chewing on her lower lip, her eyes snapping with worry and a dash of disbelief. Those lips, he thought, hauling himself up and putting a hand on the door frame. He touched her cheek. She flinched away, rubbing one bare arm.
“What are you doing here,” she whispered, putting what he saw as a purely proprietary hand on the counter—no longer dark, generic granite anymore, but a bright white manufactured-looking substance that glinted in the sunlight streaming through the large window.
“I’d ask you the same thing,” he said, shoving past her. Rude, he knew but at that moment he didn’t care. “If I didn’t know what a horny old bastard my father is.” He jerked open the door of a massive stainless steel fridge, found an expensive bottle of water lined up with a bunch of others in the aggressively tidy interior and grabbed it. He knocked back over half of it, letting some of the liquid trickle down the side of his mouth, relaxing as the hydration eased the pounding between his ears one gulp at a time.
“Terry,” she said, her elegant looking hand on her long, tanned throat. “Listen, we were going to tell—”
“No, no need. You’re grown-ups. Free to do whatever you want.” He set the bottle on the island and glanced around. “You really spruced up the old homestead. Nice work.” He grabbed her left hand and glared at the obnoxious double rings on her finger. “Landed the big one, didn’t you?”
Terry hated himself then, despised the words dropping out of his stupid mouth. But he couldn’t stop them. “Guess all those blow jobs you gave me, Dominic and Aiden Love were great practice.” He winked at her. She frowned. They stood, glaring at each other a solid minute.
“Does Mike…does your father know you’re back?”
“Nope. Thought I’d surprise the old fucker. But he won the surprise contest, no doubt about it.” He turned and started rummaging in the humongous fridge again, pulling out lunch meat, cheese, lettuce, and a bottle of mustard. After dumping everything on the island, he turned to where his mother used to store the bread, stopping when he realized that space was now occupied by a set of wall ovens. “Bread?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.
“There.” She pointed over his shoulder. “Pantry.”
He yanked open the light ash-wood cabinet door and grabbed what he sought then went about assembling a sandwich, mainly for something to do with his hands since he had zero appetite.
Renee Reese was in his kitchen, wearing a bigger diamond than his mother had ever owned, looking younger than ever, and sleeping in his father’s bed.
He dropped the head of lettuce and watched it roll to the edge of the counter before falling to the floor. She picked it up without a word and put it in the sink. “What the actual fuck, Renee,” he asked her, his eyes hot in a way that did not bode well in the daily headache department.
She straightened, tugged her shirt down over the short skirt thing that barely covered her firm thighs. “Stop staring at me like that, Terrance,” she said.
He barked out a laugh, unable to stop himself. “Oh, that’s rich. You’re using your step-mama voice on me now? How cute.”
“Listen,” she said, slumping against the counter across the kitchen from him. “Terry, I told Mike…um…your father, that he should tell you.
There was no answer for a few minutes. He closed his eyes again, letting himself drift, appreciating every second of the central air conditioning hissing in through the vents.
Finally, the door opened, revealing her again. Terry stared at her feet, clad in flat, utilitarian sandals, her toenails a bright candy pink, her smooth tanned thighs uncovered up to what looked like a tennis skirt, her flat stomach, trim waist, and her full, high tits.
He rolled over to his hands and knees, attempting not to hyperventilate. By the time he’d made it to his feet, she still stood there, chewing on her lower lip, her eyes snapping with worry and a dash of disbelief. Those lips, he thought, hauling himself up and putting a hand on the door frame. He touched her cheek. She flinched away, rubbing one bare arm.
“What are you doing here,” she whispered, putting what he saw as a purely proprietary hand on the counter—no longer dark, generic granite anymore, but a bright white manufactured-looking substance that glinted in the sunlight streaming through the large window.
“I’d ask you the same thing,” he said, shoving past her. Rude, he knew but at that moment he didn’t care. “If I didn’t know what a horny old bastard my father is.” He jerked open the door of a massive stainless steel fridge, found an expensive bottle of water lined up with a bunch of others in the aggressively tidy interior and grabbed it. He knocked back over half of it, letting some of the liquid trickle down the side of his mouth, relaxing as the hydration eased the pounding between his ears one gulp at a time.
“Terry,” she said, her elegant looking hand on her long, tanned throat. “Listen, we were going to tell—”
“No, no need. You’re grown-ups. Free to do whatever you want.” He set the bottle on the island and glanced around. “You really spruced up the old homestead. Nice work.” He grabbed her left hand and glared at the obnoxious double rings on her finger. “Landed the big one, didn’t you?”
Terry hated himself then, despised the words dropping out of his stupid mouth. But he couldn’t stop them. “Guess all those blow jobs you gave me, Dominic and Aiden Love were great practice.” He winked at her. She frowned. They stood, glaring at each other a solid minute.
“Does Mike…does your father know you’re back?”
“Nope. Thought I’d surprise the old fucker. But he won the surprise contest, no doubt about it.” He turned and started rummaging in the humongous fridge again, pulling out lunch meat, cheese, lettuce, and a bottle of mustard. After dumping everything on the island, he turned to where his mother used to store the bread, stopping when he realized that space was now occupied by a set of wall ovens. “Bread?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.
“There.” She pointed over his shoulder. “Pantry.”
He yanked open the light ash-wood cabinet door and grabbed what he sought then went about assembling a sandwich, mainly for something to do with his hands since he had zero appetite.
Renee Reese was in his kitchen, wearing a bigger diamond than his mother had ever owned, looking younger than ever, and sleeping in his father’s bed.
He dropped the head of lettuce and watched it roll to the edge of the counter before falling to the floor. She picked it up without a word and put it in the sink. “What the actual fuck, Renee,” he asked her, his eyes hot in a way that did not bode well in the daily headache department.
She straightened, tugged her shirt down over the short skirt thing that barely covered her firm thighs. “Stop staring at me like that, Terrance,” she said.
He barked out a laugh, unable to stop himself. “Oh, that’s rich. You’re using your step-mama voice on me now? How cute.”
“Listen,” she said, slumping against the counter across the kitchen from him. “Terry, I told Mike…um…your father, that he should tell you.
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