Pretty and Reckless (20 page)

ELISE

I blew out a breath of exhaustion as I clutched two grocery bags in my arms and walked down the hallway. I’d developed an anxiety that my poor coordination would get to me and I’d drop one. The bag would bust open at my feet and everything inside would go flying in all directions.

And it happened. Boom! Like I could sense him, a bag fell from my grasps and smashed onto the carpeted floor. I gasped as items rolled down the hallway in what seemed like slow motion. Of course he’d found me. He kicked a leg out and stopped a can with the sole of his three thousand dollar shoe.

“You need to get the hell out of here,” I said, coldly. “Or I’m calling the cops.”

“I only want to talk,” he said, his dark eyes swallowing me in. He was slouched down, his heavy body resting against the wall, and sitting next to my front door. There was no way I’d be able to avoid him if I wanted in my apartment.

“I don’t want to talk,” I snapped. “So I’d appreciate it if you got your ass up and away from my door. Don’t come back here again.”

He held his hand out. “Five minutes,
five minutes.
I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I snarled, my harsh words surprising us both. “Did you really think I’d be happy to see you and invite you in for a cup of tea?”

“I’m sorry.”

The world stood still, and I got lightheaded. In my twenty years of knowing this depraved man, he’d never,
not even once,
apologized for anything. I was convinced he was incapable of remorse.

“You want penance?” I asked, my voice getting louder. “For which part?” We both jumped when Old Lady Martha threw open her door. She popped her head out of her doorway to give us both a frigid glare.

Martha was apparently the only tenant in the complex who was allowed to make noise. We couldn’t raise our voices or have the volume on our TV too high, but it was completely passable for her to blare Elvis Presley on repeat at seven in the morning.

I rolled my eyes, waving my hand at her to go back inside. The walls shook as her door slammed shut.

“Get up,” I said, moving forward and kicking his leg roughly.

He wouldn’t leave until I agreed to talk to him. He’d hold our conversation in the hallway, and scream out my dirty laundry for all of my neighbors to hear if I didn’t let him in.

I rested my bag on my knee and looked down at him. “Five minutes, you hear me? If you do anything stupid, I’m calling the cops.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he muttered. He didn’t bring himself up until I opened up my door and walked inside. He picked up the remainder of my fallen groceries in the hallway and then followed me in.

I tossed my bags onto the counter, making sure to keep a steady distance from him.

“Start talking,” I demanded, narrowing my eyes on him.

He didn’t look any different. He didn’t look grieved that his daughter, the only family he had left, had walked out on him.

He inhaled a deep breath and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I thought I could try to get you back.” I gripped the edge of my counter top and told myself I wasn’t going to scream at him until after he was done. After I heard his bullshit excuses. “I thought coming here I could convince you to come home, but I’ve realized it might be too late. You’re done with me, aren’t you?”

I drummed my fingers along the counter top, refusing to look at him. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was too disgusted to face him or I was too scared. “Sure am.”

He nodded in defeat, shocking me. Clint Parks was never one to give up easily, and I wondered what he had up his sleeve. “I was drunk,” he stammered.

“Are you serious?” I asked, baffled. “Is that the best cop-out you have for trying to rape your own daughter? Is that your best defense for repeatedly hurting your own flesh and blood?”

He shook his head violently while scrambling for the right way to fix this. He was a smooth talker who bantered off hollow words. He was going to find a way to talk his way out of this.

“It’s not a justification for what I did. There’s no excuse for that, baby girl. I’m so ashamed, but I would’ve never done that sober.” He drummed a finger in the center of his chest, smacking it roughly into his shirt. “You know that, Elise. You know me. I’m your father! I’ve been there for you since the very start.”

I stared at him in disgust. “You’re absolutely right, father. I do know you, and I know you’re a horrible fucking person. You’re a monster, and I thank God every single day I got away from you.”
 

“Forgive me,” he pleaded.

“Forgive you?” I repeated, losing patience. “Forgive you for pimping me out?” He dodged a bag of chips thrown his way. “Or do you want me to forgive you for repeatedly shipping me away to some mental institution for no goddamned reason?” I snorted. “Or better yet, do you want me to forgive you for trying to rape me?”

I bared my teeth, my body close to overheating. “Oh, and let’s not forget the scene you made at Weston’s when you made me come face to face with my first fucking rapist!”

I snatched up a glass and launched it across the room. “So you tell me, father, what exactly are you apologizing for?”

He slammed his eyes shut. “All of them.”

“You think a simple apology is going to fix that? Nothing, and I mean nothing; will ever get me to forgive you. You are nothing to me. You will never be forgiven. I am done with you.”

“But I’m your father!”

“We may share blood, but you’re not my fucking father.” I let my head fall forward. “I could go on and on, but I’m done. You’ve exhausted me in every physical and emotional way possible. I want to move on, and if you love me like you say you do, you’ll give that to me. Turn around, walk out the door, and never come back. Let me be happy.”

“But I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice strained. “You’re all I have left.”

“You lost me a long time ago.”

I could see the hurt in his eyes. He never thought this day would come. He never thought he’d lose control or me.

“Is this really goodbye?”

“This is. Stay away from me. Let me go. Please don’t make me run.”
 

ELISE

I felt a rush of hot air, and stomped off my boots as I took a look around. “Wow, it looks even better in here,” I said, pulling my gloves off.

The building was finished. The stairs were stained to match the floors and all of the doors were replaced. Fresh white paint coated the mailboxes that were now specified with red apartment numbers.

“So are we going to be painting again?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at Weston teasingly. “Because I just want to make it clear that I thoroughly enjoy painting with you, and I’m up to do it as often as you want.”

He unwrapped his scarf, shaking his head and chuckling. “Yes, my love, we’re going to be painting today, along with a few other activities.” He broke the distance between us, coiled his arms around my waist and squeezed my side.

“And what kinds of things?” I asked, leaning back against him, my ass grazing his cock. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, shivers stretching over my skin with excitement. We hadn’t had sex since the night we’d left the museum. It had only been a week, but I was regretting telling him I wanted to take things slow.
 

“
Yo
, doc!” I glanced up to find a man at the top of the stairs with a tiny girl standing to his side. He grabbed her hand, gripping it tight, and they both hopped down each stair one by one.

“Good timing,” he said, stopping in front of us as Weston moved to stand next to me. “I was on my way down here to mail out rent, but might as well give it to you now.”

I jerked my side to the side, eyeing Weston curiously when he took an envelope with the word rent scribbled across it with red crayon from the man. “I really appreciate you giving me an extra week,” the man went on. “My check was a few days short because of the snow.”
 

I looked him and my stomach dropped. His face was weary, he looked both sleep and bathed deprived with his unshaven face, and I noticed the rips and stains on his coat. I switched my gaze over to the girl, noticing the great condition of her pink, furry boots and her coat. Her hair was brushed and pulled into two pigtails on the side of her head.
 

Weston slipped the envelope in his pocket. “No worries, Glen,” he said, smacking the guy on the shoulder. “I’m happy to help.” Reaching down, he ruffled the girl’s hair, resulting in a front-tooth missing smile. “You have to take care of this little one.”

The girl’s attention went to Weston when Glen squeezed her tiny hand. “I love my boots, Mr. Wes. Pink is my favorite color,” she told him, eagerly.

My heart melted watching their interaction. “You’re very welcome, they look beautiful on you,” Weston replied.

“Well, we’re off to the babysitter,” Glen told us, guiding the girl towards the door, and they both gave us a wave. He stopped before walking out and turned around to look at us. “And if you ever need anything repaired around here, I owe you one.”

Weston nodded. “I appreciate that, you two stay warm.”

“So, you own this place?” I asked, slowly, biting at my lower lip.

He nodded, his eyes falling to the floor and looking at the melted snow. “I do.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged. “I was going to eventually.”

I clicked the roof of my mouth with the edge of my tongue. You seem to have a knack for wanting to tell me things
eventually.
” He looked at me blankly. “Why don’t you live here if you own it?”

He reached out, grabbed my hand, and I stumbled a few times as he pulled me up the stairs. “I’ll explain everything to you.”

“Eventually,” I added, upping my pace to keep up with him.
 

He opened the front door to apartment 2B, allowing me to go in first. “My lease isn’t up on my apartment for another eight months and it’s closer to my office,” he explained, shutting the door.

He grabbed my arm, his body crowding mine while he unzipped my coat. He pulled it off, arm by arm, slowly, and tossed it onto the couch alongside his.

I slipped off my shoes. “So then why did you buy it if you can’t live in it?” I moved around the studio, looking over the pictures again, being drawn in even after seeing them before. The place was still as spectacular as ever … maybe even more now that we had memories to go along with it.

“I did volunteer work at shelter in the city,” he explained, grabbing me around the side of the waist and dragging me around the room. “After I paid off my loans, I decided to help some of the families there.” His voice lowered, knowing I’d catch on to how he was able to afford to help them. “It’s hard for homeless people to get jobs because they don’t have an address or a phone number. So I provide them with a few free months of rent, help them with furniture and a phone, and then they start paying rent when they get a job and save up.”
 
 

“At least the money went to good use,” I muttered, attempting to pull away from him, but he constricted his grip on me. We might’ve cleared the air by him telling me what he’d done, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt when it was brought up. I’d always be affected by the deal they’d made.

I squirmed, feeling his warm breath nestle over my neck, and his mouth dropped to my ear. “Let’s not ruin this. I brought you here because I want to give you something,” he whispered.

“And what is that?” I asked, running my hand up my side and caressing his cheek as he stood behind me. He kissed my neck, his soft lips making me needy for more before turning me around and pulling away. He walked across the room, grabbed a painting off of the wall and handed it to me.

“Did you buy this from your friend?” I asked, staring down at the picture. It was the one I’d fallen in love with. I stared at it closely, remembering how I’d connected with it, and how much progress I’d made from not being that women in hiding anymore.

“Technically, I bought it from myself,” he said, his eyes penetrating mine, like he was waiting for a reaction.

“So this was already yours?” I asked.

He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “No, I painted it.” His hand dashed forward to catch the canvas when it dropped from my grip. He secured it in his hands, holding it against his chest.

“What do you mean you painted it?” I asked, confusion humming inside my head.

“I’m the person who painted this.” He held it up. “I’m the artist.”

“So there was no friend?” He shook his head, and I tossed an arm out. “Seriously? You really made that up, too? Why didn’t you tell me?” I paused, letting the fact that he’d painted a portrait of me before we’d even seen each other again sink in. “I’m trying to decide if this is the creepiest, or the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”
 

He forced a laugh. “And I’m praying you go with romantic.” He continued to wait for my response, but my mouth slammed shut while I ran everything through my mind. “Look,” he rushed out, noticing my indecision. “I didn’t paint this picture in fantasy of you. I painted it because of your story. This is how I saw you when we met, and it stuck with me. I couldn’t get you out of my mind, so I found a way to discharge my thoughts of you.”

I took a step forward, my eyebrows rising in amusement. “So, I’ve been on your minds for years?” I asked, flirtatiously.

“I didn’t see it that way then, but now that I think about it, yes.”

I snatched the painting from his hand, running my fingers along the woman’s, or my face, and admired all of the shapes and colors. “You’re really talented, so I’m going to go with romantic.”

“Really?” He asked, a breath of relief dispensing from his chest.

“Yes, really. It’s romantic. It’s hot. It may be borderline stalker, but because I love you, that makes it okay.”

I carefully placed the painting down on the floor, and grabbed his hand to yank him forward towards the couch. His sweater was itchy against my palms when I shoved him down onto the couch, his back bumping against the cushions. I hiked up a leg, my foot resting next to him and quickly straddled his lap.

He let out a gasp, his breathing growing rapid, when I started to rock against him. Excitement winded through me when I felt his growing arousal hidden underneath his jeans rub against me.
 

“So did you bring me here to see the painting, or did you bring me here to get me naked?” I asked, locking eyes with him. He shivered as I ran my tongue along his lower lip.

He grabbed my waist, holding me in place so I couldn’t move. “I brought you here to show you the painting and to find out your reaction.”

I grinned, rolling my hips in a circle so he’d loosen his grip. “And how do you feel about this reaction, doctor?”

“I fucking love this reaction,” he said, dipping me down onto him roughly. “This is definitely one I was hoping for.” I yelped, jumping up when his hand connected with my ass, and he pushed me down against his hard cock again.

I maneuvered my face to his neck, slowly sliding the tip of my nose against his skin, noticing the goose bumps erupt. I slid my tongue against them, tasting his skin.

“As much as I love your art, I like the work we make a little bit better,” I told him, tugging his sweater over his head, watching the goose bumps expand.

“I completely agree,” he said, pulling off my top and throwing it across the room. “There’s nothing out there that competes with the beauty of your naked body sprawled out and ready to take me. I think that will be my next painting.”

“I think I like that idea.”

A hand went to each side of his face, holding him in place while we locked lips. His tongue was hot and ready sliding against mine. He used one finger to unbutton my jeans and frowned when I stopped him from sinking his hand underneath his panties. I wanted his hand on my pussy, but my mouth was watering for something else.

I unsnapped his jeans, taking them and his boxers with me as I crawled down his body and fell down to my knees. I wasted no time in bringing out his hard cock and wrapping my hand around it, salivating as I took it in with bewildered eyes.

I pulled my lips together, and watched him twitch when I blew out a heavy breath along the top of his length. He shivered, his cock stirring, and growing harder. I glanced up at him, noticing his mouth open and his head tilted back.

I took off the hair-tie from my wrist, pulled my hair up, and took him in my mouth.
 
My tongue coiled around him, eliciting a moan from his throat as I worked him in and out.

“Up,” he rasped, leaning forward, grabbing my underneath my armpits, and throwing me on the couch next to him. I stayed still, letting him undress me and then watched him shed his pants from his ankles. His eyes drank me in
,
 
and
I waited for him to tell me what to do next.

“Turn around,” he said, loudly, “on all fours.”

I did as I was told, bending down on my hands and knees with my ass facing the air. He positioned himself behind me and I bucked forward when he smacked my ass. A chilly finger ran along the inside of my thigh and then moved up to my slit.

“Already dripping for me,” he groaned out, putting a finger inside of me. My head flew back, my hips colliding with his arm, needing more. He took his slow, excruciating time teasing me, fingering me slowly like he wanted to drag this out all day long.

“Fuck me already,” I gasped, looking back at him over my shoulder.

He laughed, his finger pumping harder. I struggled against him, ready to pull away and jump on his cock, but he wouldn’t let me. My breathing hitched when I felt his cock pressing against my pussy, and he paused, driving me insane while I whimpered in front of him, begging him to fuck me until he did.

My head bowed down, watching his cock penetrate me over and over again, as I experienced my first time enjoying being fucked doggy style.