Attainment

Huh, she has a point.

“Are you scared of sloths?”

I have to think for a second about what a sloth actually looks like. “No, I don’t think so.”

“They are REALLY weird looking.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Charli.”

We turn the corner, and once again I’m greeted with the evil statue, sitting on the park bench styled seat like he owns the fucking joint. Newsflash McFuckhead, I own it.

I purposely keep my distance as I approach the counter. Charli, however, decides to take a seat next to him.

It makes me cringe with disgust.

“Bryce, come sit with me,” she proposes, smiling sweetly at me.

“Nope, I’m good. What do you want, Charlotte? A Happy Meal?” I ask, wanting to get this McShit ordered so I can get the McHell out of here.

All of a sudden Charlotte bursts into pretend tears. And I mean really bursts into pretend tears, howling loudly like she is auditioning for the cowardly lion in The Wizard of Oz.

I look around slightly dumbfounded, noticing others looking her way as well.

“Charlotte, what are you doing?” I whisper under my breath.

Her howl gains a few decibels.

Feeling uncomfortable as it is—by having to be here in the first place—I am now in the equivalent to hell, taking in bystanders giving me dirty looks. I realise it’s because I’m just standing here while an innocent little girl is crying.

Bloody Hell!

“Charlotte, come here. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“No,” she faux sobs while peeking through her finger covered face. “You come here.”

You cheeky little shit! You are just like you mother. I’m both furious and impressed with her efforts to get me closer to the statue of Satan.

An elderly lady touches me on the arm. “Is she alright?”

“She’s fine,” I reassure the nosey woman then begrudgingly make my way over to Charlotte. I kneel in front of her and ignore the statue with every fibre in me. “You’re making a scene, Charli—“

She drops her hands from her face with lightning speed and clasps mine which I’ve placed on her knees. Her eyes are wide like saucers, wide and dry; completely tear free.

“He’s not real,” she whispers, focussing intently on my face.

I feel her lift my hand and move it toward the statue. What. The. Fuck?

I go to pull my hand away but she secures it with her other hand, now having both hands wrapped around mine. Intrigued by the determination in her face—because let’s face it, I could lift her up and out of this seat with my pinky finger—I play along for a second.

“I’m not touching the statue,” I say with stern words.

“Yes, you are. You need to,” she retorts, just as sternly.

“Charlotte. I. Am. Not. Touching. That. Statue,” I say again, placing her hand back on her knee.

She doesn’t let go of mine, and this time her faux sadness becomes real. “I don’t want you to be scared.”

In this moment, my heart fills with love. “Sweetheart, I don’t want to be either. But I can’t help it.”

“But Bryce, look at him. He is just paint and...” she knocks on his leg. “Plastic?”

I drop my head, knowing she’s right—apart from the plastic—technically, he’s fibreglass.

Breathing in deeply and drawing on every bit of will power I own, I look up and place my hand on Ronald’s knee. “Is that better?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” she says with a tear filled smile.

So much like her mother.

I stand, pulling her up with me and placing her on my hip. Then I lie. “Yeah, much better.”

* * *

Later that night after the kids are in bed and Brayden is asleep for what we hope is at least six hours, I walk into the ensuite to the sound of the shower running and Alexis humming what I soon make out is Cold Chisel’s “Flame Trees”.

Propping myself against the door frame, I watch as she soaps her body. She has her back to me which I’m thankful for, because it affords me a little extra time to take in the curved silky body that rocks my world.

Grabbing my t-shirt from behind, I pull it over my head and drop it to the floor, quiet so that I don’t alert her to my presence—I want to surprise her. I unbutton my jeans then pull them down over my already hard dick. And taking myself in my hand, I slowly palm my length to ease the intense throbbing that has surfaced.

I’m eager to touch every inch of her, so make way into the shower and secure her from behind, cupping her pussy with one hand and placing the other on her neck. She jolts in surprise for the split second it takes her to realise I am the one holding her captive.

“It’s been 27 days since I’ve been inside you, Alexis. 27 fucking agonizing days,” I whisper harshly into her ear.

My finger flexes and massages the soft skin of her clit, while my other hand firmly clenches her neck but not enough to make her feel uncomfortable.

She moans and her legs weaken, but being so attuned to her body, I predict this movement and support her waning frame.

“Can you feel my cock on your arse?” I question, nipping at her ear before running my tongue along the back of her neck. “How hard I am?”

An indistinct word is mumbled from her mouth as I press my finger deeper into her wet skin. Alexis begins to rock her hips against my hand, and her head falls back onto my shoulder, baring her neck. I loosen my grip and lightly trail my hand up and down her neckline.

“Please tell me I can fuck you.”

With her eyes still closed and water streaming down her chest, she licks her lips. “You can.”

I let out a growl, something I do often when around this woman. “That’s not what I asked you to say.”

I want her to tell me I can fuck her; hear those dirty little words beg for it.

Alexis tilts her head to face me, grabs a handful of my hair, and brings my mouth to hers, all the while forcing my finger inside her pussy. “You can fuck me,” she mumbles, aggressively.

My body responds to her request, tensing and magnetising to her soft wet skin. I slide my finger in and out of her and join it with a second, gently stretching her in preparation for my cock. The last thing I want to do is hurt her, after all, it’s only been four weeks since she gave birth.

“Does that feel good?” I ask her, making sure she is enjoying what I’m doing.

Her body indicates that she does, but I want to hear her say it...purr it.

“Yes, it feels...so good,” she moans.

I press my mouth to hers again and stroke her tongue with my own, tasting all she has to offer. She is my delicacy; my desired flavour.

Alexis breaks away from my mouth and bends forward, placing her palms flat against the tiled wall and widening her stance. Dropping my hand from her throat, I glide it down in between her breasts only to rest it upon her hip.

With a delectable moan slowly pouring out of her mouth, she presses her arse against the crown of my dick, allowing me to glide and swirl it around her opening.

“Fuck,” I ground out, now desperate to feel her pussy walls clenching around my cock.

Slowly, I press into her, closing my eyes with the superb sensation of her warmth which has been 27 days in waiting. The air surrounding her mouth is sharply inhaled, and it worries me for a split second that she isn’t quite ready like she says she is.

Just as I am about to withdraw, she lets out the most erotic sounding moan with enough ardour to rival the steam in the shower.

“Oh God, Bryce. I’ve missed you, I’ve missed this.