Folsom (The End of Men Book 1)By: Tarryn Fisher & Willow Aster
The clock in the lobby reads 7:20 a.m. I already have a hard-on, one that will last for most of my day. I’m surprisingly awake, considering my late night. I smell of aftershave and coffee, tangy like a hopeful morning. I grin at the people who stare at me and ride the elevator to the top floor. Apartment 922 is unlocked, as it’s supposed to be. I open the door and I’m greeted by Silica: long-legged, thin as a rail, hair a deep amber. She’s wearing nothing underneath an open robe. Typical.
“Hi.” Her walk is catlike, rolling shoulders and nimble legs. She laces her hands behind my neck and stares up at me expectantly.
“Hi,” I say. I’m waiting for my cue. Cues are important for accuracy.
“I missed you,” she says. She burrows her nose into my neck, breathing me in. “I’m glad you’re home.”
Ah. There it is. Keyword: home. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against me. She feels that I’m hard and her head lolls back as she grinds her pelvis against me. A cat in heat. Biting onto her bottom lip, she makes eye contact.
“I made dinner,” she says. She releases me reluctantly, her eyes on my dick. “I hate it when you work late.”
I follow her into the kitchen where a table is set with a candle and two place settings. Nothing like a romantic dinner at 7:30 in the morning. I stretch before sliding into my seat and then I loosen my tie. That’s always a nice touch—tired husband loosening his tie after a long day. She smiles and then moves to the kitchen where there’s a mess of pots and pans scattered across the sticky counters. I look out the window as she bangs around, the silverware drawer sliding open and closed, a clatter of metal as she grabs a fork. The traffic on the street below thickens every ten minutes. I’m glad I left early to get here. She returns with only one plate, piled high with food.
“Aren’t you eating?” I ask.
She makes a show of placing it on the table, reaching around me so that a breast brushes my arm. She wants to think she’s seducing me, but my body is ready. It’s always forced to be ready.
“I ate,” she admits. “Don’t be mad.”
“How could I be with this spread?” I glance down at my fish, the shrimp, a loaded baked potato leaking butter and sour cream. This is not what she ate. If I lifted the lid to her trash can there would be a half-eaten container of yogurt—I’d bet my life on it. She slides into the chair next to me, leaning her head on a hand. Still full from my own breakfast, I cut into the potato eagerly. Silica watches, her leg jiggling under the table. I close my eyes for effect when I swallow the first bite.
She wriggles in her seat, pleased. I force down a few more bites, feeling sick, before setting my fork down and pushing my chair back.
“You’re not hungry?” She pouts.
“I’d rather eat you,” I say. That does the trick. She’s in my lap, moaning, spreading her thighs and wrapping her legs around my waist.
“I’ve been thinking,” she says coyly, “that we should start a family.”
I jerk back, looking at her in surprise. She looks vulnerable, soft brown eyes blinking slowly.
She nods. I kiss her neck and she tilts her head up to give me better access.
“I want that too,” I say. “Let’s go put a baby in you.” I carry her to what I hope is the bedroom and breathe a sigh of relief when it is. A husband should always know where his bedroom is. Then I fuck her senseless.
In my old life, I was a patriot. That was before, when there was a country to defend, and when there were men to defend it.
Now I’m this.
I kiss my “wife” goodbye for both the first and last time as she leans against the doorframe in her nightgown. My driver is waiting downstairs with the car door open.
“We have twenty minutes,” she says.
Robin is in the car where I left her. My handler. We have a precarious friendship. She doesn’t look up when I get in.
“How’d it go?”
“We decided that we want to start a family...”
She lifts her eyes to my face then promptly looks back at her Silverbook. “I love it when they want to play house. Only time I wish I was a fly on the wall.”