Violet Eyes (27 page)

And hungry. God, she’d loved playing with his cock. And before Eric had come, she used to wear him out. It was like she could never have him inside her long enough. After he’d kissed her for a while, she’d rip her shirt off, push him down on the bed and sit on top of his crotch. Slipping inside her was always a quick motion; she’d be open and ready before he’d so much as fingered her.

Those nights were good, but she really seemed to get off on it when he pushed her around a bit, and acted like her “master”. He’d grab her by the hair and push her down on her knees and demand that she suck his balls or lick his ass or feet…and if she acted hungry those times when she started cocksucking on her own, she was fuckin’ ravenous when Anders “forced” her into it. She was a woman who needed a hard man to push her. She craved it. And he’d pushed her to do all sorts of kinky shit.

He remembered watching football one Sunday afternoon several years ago with Jake and Ed. The Dolphins were down by thirteen in the
fourth quarter and Rachel had been working in the kitchen, cleaning up after their halftime dinner. It was still really too hot for football, and the air conditioner was on the fritz. Everyone was sweating, and the beer was going down fast.

The Dolphins missed a first down again, and Ed crumpled a Miller can and launched it to bounce off the front door. “This fuckin’ sucks,” he’d complained. At that moment, Rachel was walking through the room. Sweat stained the front of her thin aqua-colored tank top that boasted Miami Dophins in faded orange across her chest. The shirt clung to her skin nicely. She didn’t say a word, but she bent over to pick up the can.

“No,” Anders said. “
That
right there sucks.” He pointed at Rachel. He was feeling mean today, and a little fuzzy around the edges after a six pack or more. “She sucks and fucks really good.”

“You’re a lucky man,” Ed laughed, and popped the tab on a new beer. “At least you’ll get something good after this pathetic game. I’m just gonna go home pissed off.”

Anders stood up. Watching Rachel bend over and seeing her breasts push against the low cut front of the tank top had given him an idea. “I wouldn’t want that,” he’d said. “Give the boys a little show, baby…something better to look at than this fuckin’ game.”

Rachel had seen the danger in Anders eyes, and wisely didn’t say anything. She smiled a little nervously and tried to duck from the room, but her husband had caught her. “I want you to make sure my friends have a good time today, and the Dolphins aren’t helping,” he’d said, with one hand holding her arm in a vise grip. “Be a good hostess.”

She struggled against him, but Anders slipped a hand around her waist, crushing him against his side.

“Rachel never danced in one a’ them clubs,” he said. “But she sure as hell could have. So maybe today, we make this our own private club and enjoy her, heh? My treat.”

He yanked hard on her cotton tee with his free hand and in seconds, she was standing there in her small pink bra and gray shorts, perspiration shining on her tanned cleavage.

“Dance, baby,” he commanded. When she’d refused, he’d slapped her ass. “You think I’m joking around with you here?” he’d said, and then belched. “We need to see something to take our mind off the game.”

Rachel had given him a dirty look, but then she’d begun to dance as he suggested, running her hands up and down her sides and bending over to shake her pink bra in their faces. She held Ed’s knees as she did, and then moved next to him, to shake her tits in front of Jake.

“Let me help,” Anders had said then, and slipped his hand up her back to pop the latch on her bra.

“Anders, seriously!” she’d said, standing up to wrap her arms across her bare breasts.

“I said I wanted a show,” Anders had demanded, and depantsed her as she tried to hid her tits from the boys.

Then he pushed her to the floor in front of Ed and Jake.

“Hell with the dancing,” he said. “Ed said the game sucks, but I said you suck. And the way you suck is not a bad thing at all. I want you to show the boys what suckin’ is all about. You can start with Ed. He’s lonely, ya know.”

Anders’s friends had protested.

Rachel had protested. Actually she’d screamed at him and tried to run from the room, clad only in her panties. But a quick slap across the face had shut that down. When Anders got an idea, he didn’t let it go easy. And right then, he thought it’d be pretty funny to show Ed and Jake just what kind of an awesome cocksucker he’d landed. He’d told ’em about the things she did plenty, and he knew they were jealous. And he’d knew she’d like it too, once he pushed her over the hump. She loved it when he forced her to do dirty shit. And at that moment, he wasn’t taking a no from the whore. She was his, to use as he wanted. She needed to know that…

Anders sat in the car rubbing his crotch and staring at the quiet South Florida house where his wife was now living as he remembered that crazy day when he’d made Rachel give head to both of his friends. She’d finally given in after a few slaps and by the time she’d sucked down Ed’s and Jake’s thick dicks, she’d given in to the experience and let herself get pretty horny. She’d come over and unzipped her husband’s shorts all by herself, no prodding. Then she’d pulled ’em down and fucked Anders cowgirl style right in front of them, slutty and sweaty as could be while Ed and Jake sucked down another beer and the Dolphins finally walked embarrassed and beaten off the field.

That was when Rachel had understood her place. And enjoyed it.

The Dolphins may have lost, but it was a great game day as far as Anders had been concerned.

“That’s a good wife for ya,” he’d told his friends as she worked him with her crotch, bumping and pumping a little sideways, slowing it down and then pounding it up faster ’til the sounds of her skin slapping on his filled the room.

She’d pretended to be angry at him after that incident, but Anders knew she wasn’t. Not really. She loved him to do shit like that. She needed to be used. She was a real man’s woman, and Anders liked to think he was a real man. She needed him, and he gave her what she needed.

Since she’d become a mom, he hadn’t forced her to do shit like that very much; a couple times he’d had her suck him off in the back booth at Hellion’s Bar when they’d had a babysitter and a night out. But mostly, he’d just used her at night, in their bed, and let her tend to the child the rest of the time. Sometimes, he even let her roll over when she said she really didn’t want it. And looking back, maybe that was the problem. He’d let her have her head too much these past few years, and lost his hold on her.

So maybe he couldn’t even blame Rachel entirely for leaving. He’d gotten soft.

“I can fix that,” he said to himself in the cab. He reached behind the driver’s seat and came back with a .38 Special.

Then he stepped out of the Chevy. He shoved the gun into his waistband, covering the handle with his gray T-shirt.

“Honey, I’m home,” he murmured, and stepped up the curb to approach the house.

Chapter Forty-Five

Tuesday, May 21. 6:28 a.m.

Rachel woke up to the sound of pounding. She ignored it at first, still in the grip of a dream that warmed her heart. When she drifted into consciousness, she could feel how widely she was smiling. But as soon as she opened her eyes, the happy images retreated, and she couldn’t even say what they had been…though she thought that they were connected to the strong bare shoulder that lay partially uncovered on the bed next to her.

Terry.

She took in a deep breath and could smell the faint scent of him. Of them, really. Her smell and his had mingled to change into something rich. The reminder of their sex in the early morning hours clung to the sheets and Rachel’s groin throbbed at the memory.

Then she heard the pounding again and was reminded of why she’d woken up. She looked at the clock on the small end table next to the bed. 6:28 a.m. it read.

Who the hell would be pounding on the door this early in the morning?

Then she remembered everything that had gone on last night with Eric and which had led Terry to stay over.

Damn. She should have been up already to check on her son.

Rachel slipped from beneath the sheets, trying not to wake Terry. He moved anyway, rolling sluggishly onto his back. His eyes squinted open. As soon as he saw her, his lips split into a broad smile.

“Someone’s at the door,” Rachel explained, pulling on a T-shirt and stepping into her gray jogging shorts. It was hard to take her eyes away from him lying there in her bed, between her sheets. Her chest warmed as she looked at him there, one long foot sticking out to hang over the floor at the one end, and his face, arm and chest exposed by the rumpled sheets at the other.

“Be right back,” she promised, and forced herself to dart down the hall.

She stuck her head into Eric’s room for a quick peek; the boy was still sound asleep, lying on his side. He looked angelic with his pink lips half open, and one round cheek visible above the covers.

Rachel slipped back out and hurried down the hall and around the corner to the front door. The pounding was more insistent now. At first it had been
knock-knock-knock
, pause,
knock-knock-knock
. Now it was just a fist pounding again and again and again and again without stop. It didn’t sound patient, or friendly.

The intensity frightened her a little. And so instead of just opening the door to see who was outside, Rachel stepped over to the couch, and carefully drew back the curtains on the living room windows and pressed her face to the glass, struggling to peer to the right.

“Shit,” she whispered, as she recognized the faded jeans and loose black shirt that hung from the shoulders of her ex.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she added to herself. She ducked away from the window before he could see her and stood in place, trying to come up with a plan of action. She couldn’t let him into the house. Not with Terry here. She knew Anders too well to allow that. He’d freak out and do something that all of them would regret.

No. There was no way she could answer the door. Instead, she leaned her back against it, and whispered, “Go away.” The fist pounded on the other side, each rap reverberating through her shoulders and chest. All of the warm feelings she’d had upon waking were gone now. Replaced with something far more primal.

Fear.

“Go away,” she mouthed again and again, and sank slowly towards the floor, resting on her haunches as the pounding continued.

Terry emerged from the hallway, looking a little confused as he rubbed his eyes and wearing only his shorts. He’d barely pulled them on; the belt buckle hung to the side, unfastened.

“Who is it, Mom?” Eric asked, stepping into the room behind Terry. “Why aren’t you answering it?”

Rachel held out one hand, motioning both of them to stop, and then put a finger to her lips, shushing Eric.

“It’s your father,” she said.

Eric’s face brightened. “Dad?” he asked. He started to walk forward, as if he would open the door himself.

“Eric,” Rachel whispered. There was a steel edge to her voice that made the boy stop and listen. “Terry is here. You know your father. What do you think he’ll do?”

She looked at him with pleading in her eyes. There were lots of times that Eric didn’t listen to her. He was headstrong, just like his father. But this time, out of all times, she desperately needed him to go along with her. For all of their sakes.

Eric paused, and then finished walking to the door. Then he turned around, and sank to the floor next to her, back to the door.

He didn’t say a word. After a second, Terry joined them, sinking to the floor. “Strangest way of answering the door I’ve ever seen,” he whispered.

Eric put a hand over his mouth to stifle the laugh.

On the other side of the door, the pounding paused, then banged five more times, then paused again. It recovered, but then stopped and started, stopped and started. The knock had grown strangely erratic.

“He’s got a bad temper,” Rachel hissed. “If he sees you here… I don’t know what he’ll do.”

Terry nodded. He opened his mouth to ask how long they would sit there, when suddenly the vibrations against all of their backs ceased.

The pounding had stopped.

Rachel should have been relieved, but all she could think was,
What will he do next?

Chapter Forty-Six

Tuesday, May 21. 6:35 a.m.

Anders slapped at the flies that were stinging him on the shoulders and back. They’d started biting as soon as he’d stepped up on Rachel’s stoop, and were getting worse and worse. He wondered how people dealt with these annoying things down here. The bites stung like a bitch.

“That’s whatcha get for living in a fuckin’ swamp,” he mumbled, and banged harder on the door. He knew she had to be in there. No way his lazy little Rachel was out and about this early on a weekend morning. And anyway, he’d seen her car still parked in the carport. She was here.

“Wake up, damn it,” he growled. Anders stopped knocking and slapped at the flies on his shoulders and back. Then he pounded again.

Then slapped.

Then pounded.

“Fuck this shit,” he said, and stepped quickly off the stoop, trying to lose the swarm of bright-eyed black flies that were all around. The buzz of their wings had steadily grown louder as he’d stood there on the concrete.

Anders looked around and saw that the swarm was more than just around him. All down the street the air was dotted with thousands, millions of insects. The air was dark with them. He suddenly felt more nervous than angry, and Anders decided that he really needed to get inside, whether Rachel was home or not. And there was one way to find out what the deal was. Check the bedrooms.

He walked quickly around the side of the house, swatting flies away from him with every step. “Damn. Fuck. Shit,” he complained.

The damn tent worms were all over Rachel’s yard too, he saw as he walked along the side of the house. They clung to the frame beneath a window, and Anders kicked the cotton-candy shit aside, before leaning in against the house and putting his face to the window, a palm on either side of his eyes.