Brad

I wake in a soft bed, covered by a down comforter and an arm draped over my stomach. I turn my head and look at the beauty sleeping besides me. Pangs of lust hit my senses as my eyes peruse her, and my cock jumps at the glimpse of her tits under her arm and the kanji tattoo her hip. Her dark brown, almost black, hair is covering her face, but each time she breathes her hair moves. I don’t want to move and risk waking her, but I’ve got to take a piss and I’d rather not be the guy who pissed her bed the morning after, just like the couch. This seems to be a reoccurring theme with me.

When I return, she’s stretching. Arms over her head, legs straight, her bare breasts on display and her leg closest to me is begging for me to hook it around my hip and thrust into her. I rub my chin and wait for her to notice me. She opens her eyes and notices that I’m not clothed and her gaze lands on my cock, standing at full attention.

“Morning,” she says huskily.

“Hi,” I say dumbly. I walk back over to the bed and slide in under the sheet, then pull her to me. I kiss her lips softly and run my hand down her throat to her breasts. I palm each one as I roll us together so I’m on my back and she’s straddling my lap. My cock is tapping on her door, asking to be let in, but my mind knows not to be stupid and go bare. Almost as if her pussy accepted the invitation, the crown of my dick rubs against her folds. She so fucking wet that I could cum with just that small contact.

I lasted longer than I thought I would last night. Considering she’s the first person I’d been with – not counting Mr. Hand – since being released, I feel like I fucked her for a solid amount of time. Her tight pussy milked my cock like it needed the come to survive and I was willing to provide that lifeline to her.

She leans back and takes my cock in her hand and languidly strokes me. She rubs her pussy against my dick, allowing the crown in a little bit and then taking it out. She’s playing with me, toying with my body and definitely amping up the game here. My cock wants to play and she’s teasing me. My hips respond instinctively to her touches and thrust up of their own accord. My manhood wants to be in the land of milk and honey; it wants to be so deep in her pussy that she can't breathe.

I warned her last night, once I had her pussy, I wouldn’t want to leave it. My cock wants to be back in its rightful home.

Her.

She rubs her swollen folds along my shaft, using her moisture to lubricate me fully. Without a warning, she leans up on her knees and then impales herself on me. I groan and arch my back on the bed as she moves up and down on me slowly. She throws her head back as her right hand grips her breast. Her jaw is slack as her head comes forward again and she looks me in the eyes. With a slow smile on her face, she picks up her speed and bounces on me, gripping my thighs behind her as she leans back. My fingers dig into her hips as I let her work me over.

Time goes in slow motion as I watch her tits bounce with her movements. I watch her bite her lower lip, then release it to open her mouth on a moan. I watch my cock slide in and out of her juicy center, spreading her lips as she takes me to the hilt. Her natural juices shine, reflecting bits of sunshine that wink at me like a fucking beacon.

I do everything I can to stave off the orgasm that’s building at the base of my spine and when I can no longer hold out, I tap her hip and gruffly tell her I’m going to come, so she lifts off of me and my cock springs free with a pop. We move fast until I’m hovering over her as she fists me and strokes. Come spurts out and lands on her stomach and her breasts. Her eyes are wild as she watches unabashedly. As I pant and catch my breath, she runs her finger across her ribs, through one of the streaks I painted on her, then catches my eye just as she licks it off her fingertip.

Holy fuck!

“So, we should have had this discussion last night, but I’m clean and I also have an IUD.” she mentions after I roll out of the bed.

I pause mid-step, turn and smile.

“Me too. I had a whole physical and made sure that I was clean and clear after my release, just to be on the safe side.”

“So, we can keep doing it like that, yeah?” The corners of her mouth perk up as I nod. I go to her bathroom, grab a hand towel and wet with warm water to return to the bedroom and clean her up. Mika tries to talk me into a shower, but instead I kiss her and promise her breakfast.

It’s deja vu from the other morning. I’m standing shirtless in front of her stove, preparing breakfast for Mika and myself. The only difference now is that we're not skirting around our mutual attraction and we know each other's secrets. On top of the emotional bonds, we've shared physical closeness as well. Hell, I've been inside her, watched her come apart in my arms.

As I’m scrambling the eggs, I softly hum to myself. This is a different feeling, a feeling of contentment and connection. A chill runs through me and I almost drop the spatula.

Shit!

My back straightens and I feel like all the air is escaping my body. Panic engulfs me and I start to get the sweats. After turning off the stove, I turn around and head back upstairs. The bathroom door is ajar and steam billows from the small opening. I walk to her bedroom and pick up my scattered clothing, quickly dressing myself as I dash back down the stairs. I discard the contents of the pan on the stove, write a quick note with my apologies and a lie promising a phone call, and head out the door. Only once I’m in my truck with the key in the ignition does the tightness in my body begin to uncoil.

I should stick around; I know that I should. I can’t just run when I get this feeling bubbling inside me. I just need a minute, a breather. I need to get my shit together.

In a few minutes, I’m home and jumping in the shower. I turn up the hot water and scrub hard, trying to slough off the insecurity and panic that coats me, constricts me. I know that leaving was a dick move, but each second I was inside Mika’s home feeling happy and carefree intensified the feeling that I was being choked by an invisible force. I recall feeling those exact feelings at the beginning with Candy, the happy and carefree, then my mind replays the flash and clang of the cell doors closing on me for the first time and I feel myself panicking.

The water from the shower head continues to pelt my skin. Each stream of the near-scalding water feels like a mini hot poker jabbing my skin. My hands are flat against the tile and my head hangs between my shoulders. I’m not sure how long I stay in the shower, but the water goes cold and I linger for another minute then shut off the water. I wrap the towel around my waist and sit on the edge of my bed. My head is in my palms and I take several deep breaths.

My cell chimes a few times from the pocket of my jeans, still crumpled on the bathroom floor but I make no movements to answer it. I feel powerless under the heavy weight of my thoughts.

* * *

I’m startled awake by a noise from the front of the house. I am sweating and there is an undeniable tent in my boxers. So much was happening in the dream I was just having, that I’m unsure how to analyze myself now that I am jolted from sleep.

There’s another noise at the front door so I head that direction, grabbing the commemorative bat I had signed by Barry Bonds when I was little as I pass it in the hallway. I lift the bat in the air, peek around the corner and see a shadow by the front window. I swiftly open the door and catch the individual as they begin to walk around the porch, their back still facing me. The figure is dressed in a dark, hooded sweatshirt and looks to be female based on size and stature. Is it Mika? Nah, this person doesn’t have the same body shape and is too tall.

“Who the fuck do you think you are messing with?” I bellow into the night.

The figure stands straight and slowly turns, then pulls the hood down and her long, honey brown hair cascades over the shoulders of her hoodie.

“I come by every now and then, to check on the house and make sure people aren’t squatting,” she says.

Silently, I nod.

“There were some squatters once, in your backyard. I had to get the cops involved to get them out of there about a year after you went away.”

The fear and adrenaline have settled into my throat, making my voice weak, so I just stand there with the bat gripped tightly in my hand. My knuckles are white and my heart feels like it’s going to pound of.

“I didn’t want anything to happen to your home, because… because I knew that would be all you had left, if you came back to it.”

“Why?” I croak, finally finding my voice.

“Because even though you did what you did, you’re still family. And even though they’re pissed about what you did, they still give a shit about you. They won’t say it, but they do.” Beth, Jacob’s Fiancée steps into the light.

“Do they know you come around here?”

“No.”

“And where does Jacob think you are right now?” I ask, my voice gravelly.

“He and Tyson are in San Diego for the week. I usually come out here during the day or early evening. This random visit in the middle of the night is, well, random. I couldn’t sleep.” She shrugs.

“Do you want to come in?” I ask with hope.

“I shouldn’t.” She looks past me into the house.

“All right.”

“I didn’t know you were back yet. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Beth. You aren’t… you are never a bother. I’m-I’m sorry.” So many thoughts are running through my head. I should say so many things, want to say so many things, but my head is jumbled.

“I just want to make sure your place stayed intact.” She shakes her head.

“Thank you. I would have never expected…. Thank you.”

“No worries,” she says, as she turns and runs to her car at the end of the driveway.

I’m left standing in my doorway, in my boxers, shocked that one of the people that I’ve wrong has been looking out for me and that even though she and Allison, Tyson’s fiancée owes me nothing, their actions prove that they still care, in which may mean that Jacob and Tyson could still care too. This means that it’s possible that I can conceive my family goal.

Mika

I came downstairs from my shower anticipating spending Sunday getting to know more of Brad. Instead, I found a note with chicken scratch on the counter and an empty house. The note didn’t say much other than he got a phone call and had to go home. His responses to my texts were chaste and eventually I started to feel like he had played me. I went on with my Sunday but it was a disappointing end to what had started as a great weekend. On top of that, I had switched my off days this week with one of the other nurses, so instead of having Monday off as usual, I have Friday off.

I dragged my feet through Monday morning, but eventually found a good rhythm to start my work week off. By noon, I had scrubbed in on two surgeries and completed a few assessments on new patients. Even so, my day was not even close to being over, as Mondays were generally twelve hour days. Each week, I usually work two 12hour shifts and two 8-hour shifts, allowing me plenty of time off on the days when Jared is with me.

When I still hadn’t heard from Brad, I continued to analyze and reanalyze the entire weekend and still couldn’t figure out what went wrong.

A few nights later, after Jared had gone to bed, my emotions were taking over and I wanted comforts. Having turned to a favorite home remedy, I was licking brownie batter out of the bowl when a knock echoed through the house. With the bowl in one hand, I answered the door without checking to see who it was.

“I come bearing apologies and chocolate,” Brad says quietly, as soon as the door is open.

“I already have chocolate, but considering the unexplained departure and the radio silence, I expect this apology to be awesome,” I deadpan in a low voice, as I step aside to allow him inside and motion him to the kitchen.

“Can we sit?” he asks.

“You can sit while I finish up my brownies.” He follows me, takes a seat at the dinette and then clears his throat.

“Your son?”

“In bed.”

He nods. “So, Sunday morning. I was cooking breakfast, feeling all hippy and shit—”

“Hippy?” I interject.

“Happy go lucky. Whatever. I was very content and happy with how things had gone and were going: being with you the night before, waking up with you, everything. But then anxiety kicked in, I freaked out and ran.”

“Yup,” I mumble.

“I shouldn’t have left. I should have stuck around and talked to you. There are no excuses for my behavior. I’m sorry, really, I’m so sorry.”

His admission is met with silence as I collect my thoughts.

“But you didn’t, and that left me feeling like I did something wrong, or that you were no longer interested.”

“That’s far from the truth, on all counts. I can understand why you feel that way, and all I can say now is that I’m sorry. I had a freak out and I didn’t know what to do.”

“So, a freak out happens, and you run? Is that how things go with you? You run away from your fears, or in this case happiness?”

“No,” he says plainly.

“Then, now what?” I ask.

“Now, I grovel and continue to be completely honest with you and I persuade you to let me stick around. I keep my shit together, because I should know that running away solves nothing.”

“Uh oh,” I say, setting the pan in the oven and putting on the timer.

“My freak out had nothing to do with you. It had to do with the chick I told you about, the one who screwed me over. I think my subconscious still associates certain feelings with my past.”

“Have you ever seen anyone for all this?”

“No, but I have a feeling that would be helpful for me, and possibly for our future.”

“A future? You realize that we’re just starting? If you and I continue, there’s no telling what the future holds for us.”

“I want a future with you in it, if that means anything, and that includes everything: you, your son, whatever comes at us.”

“You haven’t met him yet. He may be the son of satan.”

“And if he is, that’s okay.” He manages a smile. “I want to do this. I’m willing to go see a shrink if it helps make you feel at ease about taking a chance on me, on us, again. I can’t get you out of my mind, so I want another chance with you, I’ve never been around kids though, so I may fuck up here and there when the time comes.”

“And if I agree to this?”

“What would this be?” He wants a confirmation.

“It would be you and me, me and you,” I say.

He smiles and pulls out his phone. “Help me Google for a good shrink?”

We spend an hour or so looking up different types of psychologists. He narrows the list down to two and left messages for them both requesting an appointment for a new client.

Afterwards, we sit together on the couch awkwardly eating brownies. I want to trust he’ll stays true to his word, and for whatever this is between us to move forward but I can’t shake the feeling that I will get comfortable and open up to him, and he will run again. On the other hand, I understand his trust issues based on what he has told me about his past and why it makes him wary. I’m hoping that if he starts seeing a counselor, he can work through these feelings and find a better coping mechanism than running away. The problem is, I’m wondering if I should let him go in the meantime, until he’s fixed himself?

“Sunday night, I was woken up by a noise at the front of my house,” he says, staring off at the wall. I turn my body to face him fully, tuck my feet underneath me and focus on him as he continues. “I thought someone was breaking into my house. I had a bat in my hand and I swung open the door to find a hooded figure on my porch. Turns out it was Beth, Jacob’s Fiancée. She and Allison, Tyson’s Fiancée, has been taking turns checking on my house while I was in jail.”

“Wow,” I say quietly, my hand to my mouth.

“I think there’s still a chance, somehow.”

“A chance?”

“So, I came out of jail with three main goals to strive for. The first was to get a job. I started that mission while I was still in jail by studying for a new career and I now have a job that I am actually good at and enjoy. The second goal is to get some semblance of a life back, which means keeping my appointments with your brother, staying on the right side of the law, find a new routine, and just become a regular, upstanding citizen living a life I enjoy. You unexpectedly became part of this goal too. And my third goal… my third goal requires overcoming a huge obstacle and until Sunday night, I wasn’t completely clear if I could achieve it. But now I have no doubt now that there is a small chance, a chance to repair my family.”

“Family?” I ask, knowing that this is digging deeper into Bradford Maddox.

“I lost my family when I fucked up.”

“Wait, you said your sisters-in-law. Aren’t Jacob and Tyson your cousins?”

He takes a deep breath, scrubs his hands down his face and finally meets my eyes.

“Let me tell you a story. It all begins with my mother, who worked at a big fashion company and fell in love with a married man…”