Page 14 of Control (Everyday Heroes 3.50)
“Yeah. Yeah. But how do I know this isn’t on me? Have I met him at Hooligan’s and accidentally led him on...so he’s hurt?” Would that justify why some stranger broke into my house and watched me sleep? “Let’s hope whoever it was got his rocks off and has now moved on to the next person.” If I keep saying it, then maybe I’ll believe it.
“We don’t know enough to even say that, and regardless, Des, this isn’t on you. He broke the law and is definitely high up there on the creep-factor record so...quit saying that, because it’s not funny.”
I pick up Disco and set him in the basin. “You’ll be happy to know I’ve sworn off men from here on out.”
“That’s funny,” he says and turns the water on for me.
“You doubt me?”
“I doubt a lot of things about you right now, but mostly that this isn’t bugging you.”
“It’s not. I’m fine.”
“I could get you a security guard if that would let you sleep better at night.”
And draw more attention and more town gossip and more just everything I don’t want?
“I started taking self-defense classes. Does that make you feel better and get you off my back?”
“You did? I know a guy who—”
“I did. Can we now get back to normal life where we don’t have to talk about this every time I see you?”
He falls silent, and I hate that its return has me looking up to meet his eyes. “Desi.” The compassion in his voice...so goddamn sick of it. My vulnerability turns into anger.
“Drop it, Malone.” We wage a visual war of wills—where he wants to do his job to protect and serve, and I want to forget it ever happened. “Thank you for looking out for me, but he’s long gone.”
I hope.
Chapter Five
Reznor
“Oh my God. Logan is going to be here any minute and Pussy is soaking wet.”
Well fuck if those words didn’t grab my attention and snap me wide awake from where I was dozing off on the backyard porch swing.
Was I dreaming?
Desi Whitman.
Yes, Whitman because I looked on the roster to get her full name after thinking about her way more than I wanted to.
The voice sounded just like hers.
I must be dreaming.
“Of course. I never take care of Pussy, and the one time I do, she gets wet and messy before he gets here to take her home to play.”
Now that? That definitely got my attention.
The damn swing creaks as I get up from it and head toward the side of the house to the left of me. The clapboard house where dogs are always barking and the sign that says Doggy Style over the garage door has frequently drawn my curiosity.
But I haven’t looked in the few days I’ve been here. I’m not here to be a nosy neighbor, and fuck if I haven’t been busy unpacking and cleaning up the place. Besides, I normally keep to myself, but when there’s talk of a wet pussy, no man is going to stand idly by and let it be.
“I’ve stroked you”—groan—“and petted you”—sigh—“and trimmed all your fur to perfection, and this is how you repay me? By getting soaking wet and filthy before your daddy comes back to town?”
My smile is wide and I’m not gonna lie, my dick is stirring to life as I walk around the front of the house and peer down the side yard to see a woman’s backside. She’s on her hands and knees on the sodden grass, with mud coating her calves and hands. One mighty fine ass is pointing in my direction.
