Page 29 of Wanting What’s Wrong

Twenty-Five

Trent

We’re having a party, and I’m so hard for her that my balls ache. As usual.

Every single time.

Including now.

I squeeze her hand. On our fingers are matching wedding rings that we’ve worn every moment from the day we said our “I do’s”, but that’s not our only anniversary. Hell no. The other anniversary we celebrate is the day we first met—all the way back at the beginning, damn near 35 years ago now.

Because that was when it all started. That was when I knew I was bound to her, for life.

She’s standing at the drinks table talking to some of our neighbors. Just before the twins were born, we moved up to Montana, to a big house with a view of the Beartooths. We started a new life here and we’ve been fucking happy. As happy as two people could ever hope to be.

Everybody here, they think we’re a couple, a normal couple. We share the same last name, and why shouldn’t we? Nobody knows our secret, except Edward and Luke, who will take it to their graves.

We have like eight fucking dogs, ten horses and donkeys, damn chickens that are a pain in my ass and last year, Kat added some recused alpacas to our collection. They fucking hate me and I can’t tell her, the feeling is mutual.

But, I smile and scrub the green scum out of their water buckets, fix the damn fence they knock down once a week and tell my wife I love all the animals. Happy wife, happy life. It’s my mantra.

Kat started a pro-bono sort of tax service for small businesses after our first was born.

It was just a simple thing for her to do that made her feel like she was contributing even though that was wildly unnecessary.

But, it evolved into this small business training school.

All free, customized to every state where it walks you though how to set up your business, do the forms, provide the forms all the way to finding funding for expansions and she even has a plug from the Shark Tank show.

It's run by about a thousand people now and she’s really just the face and the compass for it all but I’m proud as fuck of my baby girl. Always have been.

We still make time for just us. I still love brushing her hair. I’ve painted her fingers and toes so many times I could probably get a license to own my own mani-pedi shop but touching another woman in any intimate way has never occurred to me and never will.

I have so many sketchbooks full of my drawings of her and the kids they fill an entire bookshelf in our library. Caroline’s picked up the artist gene and went to this fancy fucking art school in New York and her paintings are selling out as soon as she can finish them.

Kat and I have no secrets anymore except for one. Back when I emptied the storage unit of everything from the old house, I found the paperwork from the investment advisor that bankrupted my parents.

Didn’t take long with my contacts to find the motherfucker living in a sweet set up downtown thinking he was king shit.

After a little Q & A session in an abandoned building with him tied to a metal chair and maybe, just maybe an auto battery hooked up to some very sensitive body parts, he drooled and babbled out all the people he’d fucked over the years. Hundreds. Hundreds.

He didn’t fuck anyone over again. Ever. It was my last kill but I’d kill again if anyone ever threatened what’s mine.

I squeeze her hand and she gives me a glance. An open, willing, submissive little glance that makes my balls ache. Such a good fucking girl.

But she’s in the middle of something—being the hostess with the mostest. Making sure our Justin gets a good send-off before basic. She blinks a few times at me. “Trent.”

I lift one eyebrow and lean in. “Pantry. Now. Don’t you pretend you aren’t soaked for Daddy already...”

She knows she can’t sass me. Never would anyway. Because she’s the best good girl in the world.

I grab her hand and haul her away, kissing her ear as I do.

Leading her into the big pantry, I shut the door behind us. And lock it. Because this isn’t the first time I’ve taken her with a house full of people. And it won’t be the last.

I push her up against the shelf with all the flour and sugar and lift up her skirt. She’s curvier now than she used to be. Every year a little more. Every year even fucking better.

“There are so many people here,” she says halfway through a laugh. “Animal.”

I kiss her neck, greedy and hungry. “I don’t give a fuck. If you don’t want me going fucking crazy, then you shouldn’t wear this dress.”

She laughs that sultry sweet laugh, that girlish giggle, and paws for my belt. The same belt I had her bite down on all those years ago. And have a hundred times since.

But this time, this fucking time, I don’t let her. Because this is for her alone.

Down on my knees in front of her, I slip my head underneath her skirt, letting the soft fabric fall over my shoulders, blocking out the lights of the pantry above. As the satin of her skirt envelops me, so too does the scent of her wetness, and the new perfume I got her last week. Just because.

I hook her panties aside with one finger and slip my tongue between her lips. Her thighs part wider and I feel her lean back. And groan.

I breathe in her scent. Her musk. Her fucking heat.

I can tell where she is on her cycle from the way her pussy smells, like a fucking dog after a bitch in heat.

Two days until ovulation. “You know I’m gonna fuck another baby into you, don’t you, baby girl?

As soon as this nest is empty tomorrow, we’re starting all over again. ”

She laughs, holding onto my shoulders. “Oh you.”

Nah. Not me. Us. “And what are you going to say when Daddy fucks another kid into you, baby?” I ask, before plunging my tongue deep into her pussy again.

“I’m gonna say thank you, Daddy. Thank you so much. ”

God damn. Every word, every gesture, every moment perfect. Like she was made for me. Born for me to rule and keep and protect.

I slip a finger into her folds to reward her. And as I do I feel her creamy flow spill down thick onto my palm.

She’s so fucking beautiful. Always has been, always will be. If only women knew how far men fall when they do. If only she knew what she’s done to me. She’s the abyss and I never want to climb out.

I want her like a drowning man wants to breathe again. But it’s so much more than that. I don’t just fucking want her. I need her. From the depths of my soul. Still, always. To take care of her, to protect her, to claim her completely—as a woman and as that little girl that’ll always be inside her.

Sliding my tongue slowly into her depths, I lick and spread her with my fingers, tasting every nuance of her wetness. Her body arches back into a bridge, and she grips my shoulders tight.

“Oh, Daddy ,” she whispers, with whimpers and shaking moans, and pink lips dripping.

I gulp in her essence, diving hard into her opening with my tongue, sucking in the rhythm on the bud of her clit until I feel her body tense, her thighs instinctively opening, thrusting her pussy into my mouth.

She starts coming hard and strong, and she’s got me in that place all over again.

Fuck almighty, I love her. More than anything, more than everything. My baby girl. My whole entire world.

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