Page 42 of The Gathering
Fuck, her tits were surely a thing all by themselves. He needed to lick them more often. She was fucking neglected.
Peeing. My God, it’s getting crazy. Remember how I said my hungers are emotional? Well, so is my bladder. I get angry, I need to pee. I get sad, I need to pee. I get scared—pee. I can drink a gallon of water and not pee, not until some emotion happens. So so weird!
Yes, he agreed. He needed to know the why to every one of these even if they didn’t sound dangerous.
Smells. That’s a whole category lately. Death in wood, metal in blood. Decay. Even in living things. I smelled Katrina’s lie yesterday. It smelled like burning rubber.
Bishop raised his gaze to the bed a few seconds. If that bitch wasn’t his daughter’s mother, she’d be so so long fucking gone.
Now he needed to find out what she lied about.
Pretty sure our son is going to be a dancer. He has rhythm! When I get the hiccups, he kicks me in these… patterns,I guess. But they feel intentional and specific. Intelligent. Maybe not a dancer but a music composer?
Bishop’s smile was huge now. Also at realizing why herlistwas five pages long. More like a sweet, rambling diary that seemed to be written to him.
Oh, what if it’s not rhythm but Morse Code! I should test that theory. He could be trying to talk to me! Or you! Wouldn’t it be cool? I could transcribe these hiccup notes and pass them to you when nobody is looking. Maybe they’re formulas. Or blueprints! I could get jealous and you would write me notes so I’m not sad-sad?
Bishop chuckled quietly while his Petite joy made its way to the head of his dick.
He read through the rest of her list, finding nothing terribly wrong but nothing terribly right. But every bit wasterriblyfucking sweet.
He opened the drawer and paused. He pulled out the Kama Sutra book and returned her notepad. He set the book on the desk, wanting it where he could see it. A reminder of what their life was supposed to be about. Their road map back to normal.
He got up and found his phone in his jeans and texted the group chat.
Gonna be an hour late. Let the Kings know.
He turned the lights out, his all-year-long-Christmas ones casting a warm glow on his now favorite place in the world. His childhood bedroom with his beautiful, sweet wife he was so fucking crazy about. His shack was his other favorite place with her. He needed to bring her back there, away from everything. Pick up exactly where they’d left off in that heaven. Him cooking every meal for her, feeding her. Fucking her all day and all fucking night in every single place possible in their private paradise.
He wanted to raise their son there. Just the three of them. Ninety percent of the time. He’d teach him to fish. And hunt. Survive off the land. Teach him how to love and take care of nature so that it loved and took care of him. He’d show him how to love a woman. And his Mah-Mah would show him how a woman should love a man. He’d become the very best of them.
And if he was ashe…. Bishop’s heart smiled at the idea of a tiny Beth, climbing in bed and carefully wrapping himself around his wife then pulling the covers over them.
“Mmmmm.” She moaned, pulling his arm against her chest and tucking his fist under her chin. The memory of her doing that their first nights together stoked his ravenous hunger.
He stared at her. Every inch of glowing skin in the Christmas lights. “I love you Beth,” he whispered, moving her hair away from her ear with his mouth then kissing the shell. “You’re my angel, you know that?”
“Mmmm.”
The tiny moan unleashed a bone-deep hunger in him.
He stroked her womb and she covered his hand with hers and moved it to her pussy, grinding her ass into his cock.
Fuck, here they go.
He needed to help her control her gifts. She was capable. He remembered her little fantasies of him bossing her around. He slid his fingers between her folds, his breaths shuddering out with her nasty moan. “I want you to be my good girl and do exactly what I tell you.”
“Oh God yes,” she gushed, hooking her leg over his hip, opening for him.
He stroked her inner thigh, pulling her leg higher over his hip, opening her wider. “What do you say to me, Angel?”
“Oh Bishop! Yes, yes! Make me be so nasty just for you.”
Mmmmmmmfuck.
“I want to do whatever you tell me. Fuck my pussy with your fingers, I need to fuck so bad.”
“Lay on me,” he urged. “Your back against my chest.”
