CHAPTER EIGHT: Amy Lynne
It didn’t take long to pack up my meager belongings and load them into Jackson’s two-year-old minivan that only had thirty-six miles on it.
The van had been parked in the garage next to a gorgeous red Mercedes SL convertible that looked like it hadn’t been driven in a while either, judging by the film of dust covering its gleaming red body.
I wondered why he had a minivan if he didn’t drive it, but I didn’t dare ask. I didn’t want to seem too nosy right off the bat. I’d call Gail later and ask her the list of questions I was compiling in my mind about Jackson Ritter.
All I had to pack was my measly wardrobe, an old laptop I’d bought off Craigslist, and some makeup and toiletries that I stuffed into a plastic bag. The furniture and everything else, such as it was, came with the apartment.
It was pathetically sad, knowing my entire life could be packed up so quickly in one suitcase. Most homeless people had more shit than I did piled in their shopping carts.
I stopped by the convenience store to give notice to the manager, Brad. I hated leaving him in a lurch, I explained, but I had another offer I simply couldn’t pass up.
I offered to give him two weeks’ notice, but he was nice about it and said there’d be no problem.
He even gave me a hug and wished me well.
I told him I’d see him soon, since I couldn’t shop at the FoodMart anymore.
I climbed into the van, buckled my seat belt, and then pulled out onto the highway, hopefully heading for a better life.
I had been dealt another hand.
Let’s hope I played this one better than the last.
* * *
“Lizzie, this is Amy Lynne,” Jackson said as he held his daughter in his arms to introduce her to me. He beamed when he looked at her. I could tell right away that she was his entire world. “Amy Lynne, this is my Lizzie.”
“Hi, Lizzie,” I said in a high voice. It was funny; people used the same high, sing-song tone to greet cute little kids that they used to greet cute little dogs. I held out my arms and wiggled my fingers at her. “Can I hold you?”
Lizzie hid her eyes behind her hands for a moment, and my heart stopped. If she didn’t like me, my new job would end as quickly as it had started. Then she peered through her fingers at me with her big brown eyes and her mouth widened into a toothy grin. She practically jumped into my arms.
“Wow, she’s usually more standoffish,” Jackson said. He watched us interact for a moment. The look of love in his eyes for his little girl nearly brought tears to my own. I would have given anything to have someone look at me that way.
“I’m going to let you two get acquainted while I take your things up to your room,” he said. He looked around the foyer and saw my single suitcase. He pointed at it. “Is that all you brought?”
I bounced Lizzie in my arms and smiled. “I travel light.”
“Well, that makes it easier on me,” he said. He poked Lizzie in the belly with a finger. She laughed and slapped a hand at him. He picked up the suitcase and stared into my eyes.
“I’m glad you’re here, Amy Lynne,” he said softly. “This house has been a sad place for so long. Lizzie deserves better.”
“I’m glad I’m here, too,” I said. Our eyes locked for a few seconds, as if time had momentarily paused, and then he turned and disappeared up the stairs with my pitiful suitcase in hand.
* * *
I’d never been good at sleeping in strange places. Not that my bedroom in Jackson’s house was strange. On the contrary, it was the most amazing bedroom I’d ever seen.
It was as big as my old apartment, with a plush king-sized bed and antique white-washed furniture that looked like something out of a magazine.
There was a bathroom en-suite that had a huge soaker tub and a walk-in shower big enough for two.
The towels in the closet were thick and soft and expensive, so unlike the thin, scratchy towels back at the apartment.
There was a large walk-in closet. Sadly, my clothes only took up a fraction of the space. I had four pairs of shoes. They looked ridiculous all lined up neatly on the closet floor.
Maybe I’d take some of the fortune I was now making and buy myself a new wardrobe.
Or at least a new pair of jeans and some panties that didn’t have holes in them.
I spent the evening playing with Lizzie in her playroom, which was bigger than my bedroom. Talk about extravagance. Her playroom looked like a branch of Toys-R-Us. She had every toy imaginable, even toys that were meant for much older kids. I made a mental note to go through them at some point and put some of them away in storage until she was old enough to enjoy them.
I bathed Lizzie and put her to bed at eight. I had never bathed a child before in my life. I somehow ended up soaking wet with soap in my hair and eyes.
Lizzie cackled as I made a show of spitting out bubbles and shaking my head. She was a glorious child.
It was easy to see why her father loved her so.
Mr. Ritter—Jackson, he told me to call him—left us alone to bond but checked on us throughout the evening. When I went to bed at nine, he was locked in his study working.
I tossed and turned until midnight. I was tired, but my body was still on my old schedule. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand.
I’d just be getting off work about now.
I’d grab a taco or a burger to eat on the way home, and then I would stay up until two or three, struggling with the accounting courses.
It was no wonder I was wide awake.
My body was still on “old life” time.
My stomach growled.
I thought of the leftover takeout chicken we’d had for dinner in the refrigerator downstairs.
My stomach growled again.
I swear it said, “FEED ME!”
I tried to ignore it, but it was no use. I knew my stomach. If I didn’t feed the monster, it would keep me up all night.
I pushed back the covers and tiptoed to the door.
I had on a long nightshirt that came almost to my knees, with no panties. It was what I always slept in. My mom always said, “A girl’s cooch needs airing out at night.” I know. With motherly advice like that, it was no wonder I turned out to be such a train wreck.
I didn’t own a robe, but I figured I’d be the only one up at this hour, so it wouldn’t be a big deal to sneak downstairs without getting dressed.
I eased into the hallway and started toward the stairs at the other end. All the lights were out except for a nightlight burning at the end of the hall.
I tiptoed to Lizzie’s room. Her door was ajar. I peeked inside to see her sleeping with her binkie tucked under her chin and a thumb in her mouth.
Jackson’s room was the last one on the right. His door was open a crack, probably so he could hear Lizzie if she called out during the night. I was easing past his door when I thought I heard him moan. I froze in my tracks. Was he sick? Was the takeout chicken coming back to haunt him?
I peered through the crack in the door.
The room was dark except for the glow of the moon shining through the windows.
Jackson was lying on the bed.
The moonlight bathed his body in a warm glow.
The covers were kicked off.
He was naked.
His hand was wrapped around his stiff cock.
He was slowly moving it up and down his shaft.
I felt a lump lodge in my throat. I knew I should have backed away from the door and retreated to my room, but my feet refused to move.
I felt my nipples go hard beneath the thin material of my nightshirt.
I felt a dampness between my legs that I hadn’t felt in a long time.
My mouth was suddenly dry.
I wet my lips and watched Jackson’s hand slide up and down the length of his cock.
I couldn’t tear myself away from the door.
Nor could I resist the heat that was building inside me like a volcano preparing to erupt.
I couldn’t tell if Jackson was awake or asleep.
He was on his back, his cock standing up from his dark pubes, straight and thick and tall.
It was more than a handful.
His eyes were closed.
His mouth was open.
I could hear him breathing now, panting as his hand moved up and down.
I cupped my left breast and rubbed a finger across my hard nipple.
I could feel the juices flowing hot between my legs.
I slid a hand down my stomach and pressed my fingers to my clit under the nightshirt.
A low moan escaped my lips.
I tugged up the tail of the nightshirt so my fingers could find my pussy. I dipped my fingers into the folds to get them wet, and then I rolled my clit between my fingers.
I watched him milk his big cock as I bent my knees and slid two fingers inside myself. I matched his rhythm. Each time his hand went up to the head of his cock, I imagined his cock sliding out of me. Each time his hand slid back to the base of the shaft, I slid my fingers deep inside my pussy, imagining his cock buried deep inside me.
His hand started to move faster.
I could see the muscles in his legs tighten.
He clutched the sheet beside him with his free hand.
I was fingering myself to the point of coming with him.
I heard him suck in a deep breath.
He raised his ass off the bed.
His hand pumped his cock furiously.
Then, like a great geyser erupting from deep in the ground, he moaned and shot a string of milky rope into air. He let out a low groan as the cum came down to cover his stomach and his hand.
The moment I saw him shoot his load, my body shuddered and my fingers pushed deep inside me to the knuckle.
I fell against the door and moaned as the orgasm washed hot juice over my hand like a wave crashing against the shore.
I closed my eyes and sucked in quick breaths.
When I opened them, Jackson was leaning up on his elbows, staring at me. His cock was lying lazily to the side now. I could see the glow of his seed on his stomach in the moonlight.
Our eyes met for a moment.
I smiled.
He smiled.
There was no embarrassment or regret.
Neither of us said a word.
I straightened my nightshirt and tiptoed back to my room.
I would be able to sleep now.
My hunger pains were long gone.