Alex
Page 48
“You can’t be that moronic,” she seethes. “I’ve been in a hospital all day hoping one of my kids doesn’t die because she took a lethal dose of meth, and I come home to find you waiting for me after I explicitly told you I was not in the mood to see you, and on top of that, you want me to cook you dinner, which does not sound in the slightest bit relaxing to me. It’s utter ridiculousness. Now…I’m tired, I’m hungry and I’m going in my house…without you.”
Brandon’s jaw drops and his lips purse inward and out again, not quite sure if he should say anything. But Sutton doesn’t see that because she spins away from him and starts stalking up to her house. She doesn’t even spare me a glance but calls out over her shoulder, “Are you coming, Alex? We can order some Chinese. I’m starving.”
Staring after her just a moment, I admire the strength still evident in her step, even though she looks like a feather could knock her over. I’m completely turned on by the steel rod that is her spine and the way she just stood up to Brandon. I resist the urge to do a football dance of victory around Brandon because I just got invited inside while he got sent packing.
“He can come in but I can’t?” Brandon calls out to her pathetically.
Sutton doesn’t even respond but opens her door and walks in, leaving it open for me to follow.
Turning to Brandon, I try to look sympathetic. “Sorry, dude. But word of advice: Next time a woman tells you she’s tired and had a rough day, I’d try to refrain from asking her to cook for you.”
Staring at me blankly, his lips purse in and out again, not quite able to formulate a response. Shrugging my shoulders, I turn away and trot up the porch steps and walk through her door, shutting it quietly behind me. I don’t see her and assume she may be in her bedroom getting changed, but I hear the satisfying sound of Brandon’s Audi starting up and backing out of her driveway.
“Make yourself at home,” Sutton calls out from the back of the small house. “I’m going to grab a quick shower.”
“Okay,” I call back to her. Spying her car keys on a small table near the door, I add on, “I’m going to move your car into the driveway.”
“Be gentle with her. She’s an old soul,” she warns me.
Snickering, I head out the door and move her bucket of rust off the street and into the safety of her driveway. I lock her doors, although I’m quite confident no one would steal it, and head back inside her house. I can hear the shower running, so I busy myself by looking around her small living room.
Sutton’s house is a contradiction. It’s small and in a shabby neighborhood not too far from downtown Raleigh. It needs some work, especially on the outside, but once you walk in, you can see she has put some real effort into fixing it up.
Her living room has hardwood floors that have some scratches and dents, but they are clean and gleaming under the soft lamplight. Her couch is soft and cozy-looking, in a large flower print of butter yellow and pale blue. Definitely girly and so not my taste, but for some reason it fits Sutton. A large, shaggy area rug sits in the middle and plain but sturdy oak tables finish the decor.
What really catches my attention, though, is her mantel. It sits over a fireplace that doesn’t look like it’s been used for years, but it’s crammed full of family pictures. Walking up to it, I study each picture one by one. They are of Sutton and her family. Some with Sutton and Glenn together, or just Sutton and her mom. There’s one of Sutton and Jim where it looks like Sutton is dressed for the prom or something. And there are several with all of them together, including a few of Sutton with some friends that look like they could have been taken in college. The photographs all come together to tell the story of a woman who has a very happy and healthy family life, which is amazing given that she is the child of an addict and an abuser. She has strength and resilience that cause me to marvel at her, and it’s one of the reasons that she has me captivated.
“Admiring the craziness of the Murdock family?” Sutton’s voice carries softly from behind.
I turn toward her, intent on letting her know her family’s brand of craziness is actually pretty f**king awesome. But the words get stuck in my throat.
Sutton is standing there, fresh out of her shower. Her hair is pinned on top of her head in a wavy mass of fire-tinged locks, slightly damp around her temples and nape. She’s wearing nothing but a white silk robe that is tightly belted at her waist and barely hits the top of her thighs. This state of dress in and of itself isn’t necessarily enough to cause desire to surge through me, but the fact that she put the robe on while soaking wet, causing it to become practically transparent, has me almost dizzy with lust.
The translucent material leaves nothing to the imagination. I can clearly see her br**sts, which are fuller than I originally gave her credit for, and her pink ni**les are puckered hard against the cool air of her living room. My dick starts to get hard just from a brief glance, and gets even harder as she walks toward me and I notice her br**sts swaying against the thin material.
Eyes hot with something I can’t identify, she walks by me and over to her purse that sits on the small table by the front door. Reaching in, she pulls out a small box and turns toward me, tossing it my way. I fumble to make the catch, bobbling the box a bit, but when my hands steady, I notice with surprise I’m holding a box of condoms.
My eyes rise to meet hers and she stares at me steadily. While she seems poised, I can sense an urgency vibrating through her.
Brandon’s jaw drops and his lips purse inward and out again, not quite sure if he should say anything. But Sutton doesn’t see that because she spins away from him and starts stalking up to her house. She doesn’t even spare me a glance but calls out over her shoulder, “Are you coming, Alex? We can order some Chinese. I’m starving.”
Staring after her just a moment, I admire the strength still evident in her step, even though she looks like a feather could knock her over. I’m completely turned on by the steel rod that is her spine and the way she just stood up to Brandon. I resist the urge to do a football dance of victory around Brandon because I just got invited inside while he got sent packing.
“He can come in but I can’t?” Brandon calls out to her pathetically.
Sutton doesn’t even respond but opens her door and walks in, leaving it open for me to follow.
Turning to Brandon, I try to look sympathetic. “Sorry, dude. But word of advice: Next time a woman tells you she’s tired and had a rough day, I’d try to refrain from asking her to cook for you.”
Staring at me blankly, his lips purse in and out again, not quite able to formulate a response. Shrugging my shoulders, I turn away and trot up the porch steps and walk through her door, shutting it quietly behind me. I don’t see her and assume she may be in her bedroom getting changed, but I hear the satisfying sound of Brandon’s Audi starting up and backing out of her driveway.
“Make yourself at home,” Sutton calls out from the back of the small house. “I’m going to grab a quick shower.”
“Okay,” I call back to her. Spying her car keys on a small table near the door, I add on, “I’m going to move your car into the driveway.”
“Be gentle with her. She’s an old soul,” she warns me.
Snickering, I head out the door and move her bucket of rust off the street and into the safety of her driveway. I lock her doors, although I’m quite confident no one would steal it, and head back inside her house. I can hear the shower running, so I busy myself by looking around her small living room.
Sutton’s house is a contradiction. It’s small and in a shabby neighborhood not too far from downtown Raleigh. It needs some work, especially on the outside, but once you walk in, you can see she has put some real effort into fixing it up.
Her living room has hardwood floors that have some scratches and dents, but they are clean and gleaming under the soft lamplight. Her couch is soft and cozy-looking, in a large flower print of butter yellow and pale blue. Definitely girly and so not my taste, but for some reason it fits Sutton. A large, shaggy area rug sits in the middle and plain but sturdy oak tables finish the decor.
What really catches my attention, though, is her mantel. It sits over a fireplace that doesn’t look like it’s been used for years, but it’s crammed full of family pictures. Walking up to it, I study each picture one by one. They are of Sutton and her family. Some with Sutton and Glenn together, or just Sutton and her mom. There’s one of Sutton and Jim where it looks like Sutton is dressed for the prom or something. And there are several with all of them together, including a few of Sutton with some friends that look like they could have been taken in college. The photographs all come together to tell the story of a woman who has a very happy and healthy family life, which is amazing given that she is the child of an addict and an abuser. She has strength and resilience that cause me to marvel at her, and it’s one of the reasons that she has me captivated.
“Admiring the craziness of the Murdock family?” Sutton’s voice carries softly from behind.
I turn toward her, intent on letting her know her family’s brand of craziness is actually pretty f**king awesome. But the words get stuck in my throat.
Sutton is standing there, fresh out of her shower. Her hair is pinned on top of her head in a wavy mass of fire-tinged locks, slightly damp around her temples and nape. She’s wearing nothing but a white silk robe that is tightly belted at her waist and barely hits the top of her thighs. This state of dress in and of itself isn’t necessarily enough to cause desire to surge through me, but the fact that she put the robe on while soaking wet, causing it to become practically transparent, has me almost dizzy with lust.
The translucent material leaves nothing to the imagination. I can clearly see her br**sts, which are fuller than I originally gave her credit for, and her pink ni**les are puckered hard against the cool air of her living room. My dick starts to get hard just from a brief glance, and gets even harder as she walks toward me and I notice her br**sts swaying against the thin material.
Eyes hot with something I can’t identify, she walks by me and over to her purse that sits on the small table by the front door. Reaching in, she pulls out a small box and turns toward me, tossing it my way. I fumble to make the catch, bobbling the box a bit, but when my hands steady, I notice with surprise I’m holding a box of condoms.
My eyes rise to meet hers and she stares at me steadily. While she seems poised, I can sense an urgency vibrating through her.
