James
Delilah was so fucking delectable while dancing around that damned bag. I was relieved she was focused on it and not me, because the rod in my pants was at full-mast nearly the entire time. I may have to start doing penance if this keeps up. As the shower pounds down on my neck at a scalding level, I eye the bastard in question, still pointing toward the sky like a flagpole. Jesus.
Squirting gel into my hand, I curl a fist around it, and begin the process of jerking myself off yet again. I'm gonna be raw by the time I move out and it's only been two days. Eyes closed, my dirty mind drifts to visions of Delilah's perky tits bouncing in the clingy sports top she wore, nipples boring their way into the stretchy fabric, calling for me to bite them. Fuck. Then, there's the perfectly round and toned ass encased in spandex. Not a single thing left to the imagination. The seam practically nestled itself between those plump cheeks. No panty line. Coulda been a thong. Coulda been commando. Either way, sign me up.
My balls turn to stone and my dick swells as the familiar tingle of an impending release taunts me. I squeeze harder, pump faster, and brace myself with the slap of a hand against the wet tile. Out of nowhere, an even dirtier thought hits me. I can see, in near perfect detail, me slowly slipping every inch of this hard cock directly into her ass, pulling back and thrusting back in. I grip my dick harder imagining the tight squeeze of it, and groan.
Fucking hell. Come shoots out of me hard and fast, coating the wall in front of me, making my knees buckle from the intensity. The best hand-held I've ever had. I should be ashamed. I'm not.
As I run fingers through my short hair, I gin up the courage to look myself in the mirror. My face is red from the steamy hot water and my chest is damp. Beneath the towel, I still have a semi. Soften up, you bastard. Hah...never thought I'd wish for that. Irritated, I stomp out of the bathroom and throw on jeans and a long-sleeved button down which I leave untucked, and roll up the sleeves. Thought I was done with camouflage for a while. Guess not.
Delilah emerges from her room in shorts and a tank top. Good God. What did I do to deserve such torture? Why can't I let it go? I'd go out and find a hook-up, but I suspect none of them will catch my interest while I have Delilah on the brain. She's like a disease. A wonderful, beautiful, tempting disease.
"How you feeling hot stuff?" If she had any idea how hot...oh, stop it. Why do I torture myself so?
Delilah smiles innocently. "Good. For now. I'm guessing the pain will set in later."
"It will. I highly recommend ibuprofen before you go to bed. You ready to eat?" The grumbling of her tummy answers. "I'll take that as a yes." She turns beet red.
"Sorry. Honestly, this is the first time I've been this hungry in months. Let's go do some serious damage to a burger and fries before it changes its mind." She points at her flat belly. My mind immediately deviates to a scene where my tongue is licking it.
"Hell," I mutter.
"What's wrong? You look pained. I'm the one who's supposed to hurt."
I gaze at Delilah for a moment and shake my head. "Never mind. Let's go."
Fast-forward to the restaurant. Why does every innocuous thing she does have to seem innocently sensual? I mean, seriously, it's just ketchup. On her lip. I motion to it and she swipes the sauce away, sticking her finger in her mouth, sucking it in and popping it back out with a silly grin. Surely you know which gutter my mind has landed in.
"Why the heavy sigh, big guy?" She frowns and glances down at her food, twirling a french fry around in a massive puddle of ketchup. "You don't have to baby sit me, James. If you have places to go, girls to meet, or whatever, don't let me stop you. Because you're living with me doesn't mean I expect your undivided attention. I love spending time with you, but don't hang out with me out of a sense of misplaced duty. I'm grateful for all your support since..." Her mood visually collapses. Dammit. It was so good seeing her carefree smile and attitude resurface for the first time in months.
"I'm not. I'm right where I want to be, D-doll. I like hanging with you. What's not to like? A girl who can dance around a heavy bag like Muhammed Ali? Every guy's dream, sweetheart." I stuff a wad of fries in my mouth to prevent me from saying anything about the bouncing tits. John, please forgive me man. I have no control over myself. If you have any sway up there, see what you can do about this obsession I have with your wife.
Delilah shrugs and takes a huge bite. "Okay, it's your life."
"Seriously, you did great today. Tomorrow I'll have you throwing real punches. By the end of the week, you'll be cursing me."
"I admit it was fun. I felt foolish though. All those big dudes were laughing at me."
Is she fucking kidding? I saw those so-called big dudes. Laughing was not even close. I'd wager every dick in the place was at full rise. One guy was even so bold as to head toward us until I scowled at him. "They weren't laughing, babe. Not even close."
She makes a face. "Don't bet your salary, James. I saw the glares."
She's so far wrong. I'm not gonna correct her though. Instead, I change the subject.
"I'm meeting a buddy of mine tomorrow. He runs a security firm and has a job lined up for me. We're gonna talk about it and see where I fit in."
"That's cool. Sounds top-secret." She frowns again. "Any chance one of these jobs could get you hurt? Or..."
Crap. "I doubt it. Probably mostly sneaking around behind guys cheating on their wives and taking pictures." There might be some of that, sure, but Neil also deals with things on the sketchier, more dangerous side as well. My rep with firearms is what he's interested in. I'm not telling Delilah this. At least not right now.
****
Finally this day is over. Not that it was unpleasant. It wasn't. Being with Delilah made me happier than I've been in months, maybe even years. She's funny, sweet, happy—except for mourning John—smart and, of course, beautiful as hell. There were times throughout the day where I had to catch myself from tossing an arm around her, pulling her up against me and kissing those sweet lips, or telling her I love her. My heart aches so much I half expect it to seize up on me. My dick? I won't even go there.
I went to the gym again to workout this evening, hoping to wear myself out. After a shower, I slip into bed and flip off the light. Then, lay there staring at the ceiling. I try to concentrate my attention on the meeting with Neil tomorrow. I succeed a little bit, running a list of questions and potential answers through my head. As always, my thoughts swing around again to Delilah. If there's a God up there, I hope he takes pity on me and this job trains my focus off her. Gradually, gratefully, I nod off.
"It's the Two-Jays!" Zander's boisterous shout echoes down the corridor, making heads turn. All John and I did to warrant the one-man welcoming committee is yank open the double metal doors and step inside the high school. "Hey guys, you up for Dylan's party tonight? It's gonna be freaking awesome!" Zann skids to a stop in front of us, raising a hand for a fist bump. My brother and I accommodate in turns.
"I dunno. Dyl's bashes get out of control," John says.
"Aw. C'mon JC, don't be pussy. JD's coming." He peers at me, suddenly not so sure. "Aren't you?"
I shrug. "Maybe. Haven't decided."
Zann's eyes widen in disbelief. "Naw. You asses don't have dates, do you? It's a dates-only party and the Two-Jays couldn't score. Un-fucking-believable." He hoots with laughter, drawing a bit of attention."Since when can't the almighty JC and JD Coury score a pair of tits?"
"Don't be crude, Zander," John says. Neither of us are strangers to working our way around the female anatomy, but John is always a gentleman about it. He doesn't kiss and tell. Mostly. I don't brag, but if someone—Zann or JC— asks, I'm not shy about admitting I got busy with a girl. I don't divulge details, though. Unless it's common knowledge that we're dating a particular girl, we don't blab about who we've hooked up with. Neither of us is into ruining a chick's rep. And, we both stay away from the ones who make the rounds. John and I have each had a couple short-term girlfriends. However, more often than not, a date with either of us is just that. A date. Maybe a bit of lip-locking. Maybe a little groping, depending on the girl. We both love fucking as much as the next guy, but we're pickier about it than most of the assholes on the football team. A lot of those guys seem to think they were handed a fuck-fest punch card when they made the lineup. There is no shortage of jock-whores on the team.
"No, I don't have a date. I didn't ask anyone." Truth. I had a mild interest in one or two girls in our class, but I wasn't in the mood to randomly invite a girl to a couple's party. That made too much of a statement. Muddied things. I wasn't up for a relationship, or having to explain why one date didn't lead to one in my view.
"Seriously? Why not. C'mon." He waves his hand in the air gesturing to the noisy student body crowding the hall. "It's like shooting fish in a barrel. I dare you to walk up to any girl out there and ask. Guarantee she'll say yes so fast you'll be dizzy." It's true. John and I are considered big catches by the female population of South Reed High School.
Zander grabs my arm and pulls me along a few feet while surveying the crowd. "That one. Alissa Monroe. Dark hair, nice tits..."
"As my brother said, don't be crude."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. She and Jason Fillmore broke up months ago, and she hasn't agreed to a date with anyone. Believe me, many have tried and failed. Including yours truly."
I sigh at the challenge Zander's thrown at me, and internally debate it. I have to admit I've admired Alissa from afar. John chuckles next to me. "You're gonna do it, aren't you?"
I don't answer. Fisting and unfisting my hands, I make a decision and stroll over to her locker as she closes the door.
"Hey, Alissa. How are you?"
Her long hair flips behind her as she turns toward me, startled by my abrupt appearance. It takes a second, but then she flashes a damned sweet smile. "Hi, JD. What's up?"
I lean against the row of lockers, my hands shoved in my pockets, where she can't see them sweat, and do my stay cool thing. "I've been looking for a reason to talk to you lately. I tried sitting next to you in Trig a couple of times, but Aspen Jones always beats me to the seat next to you." I toss my trademark grin into the mix, and she blushes, but doesn't break eye contact.
"Sorry. BFFs and all that."
"No biggie. So, Dylan DeVries is having a party tonight. I wasn't gonna go until I saw you over here. I'd like to get to know you and wondered if you'd come with me as my date."
She blinks at me for long moments. "Wow. Didn't see that coming, JD. Sure. I'd love to."
My grin widens. "Great." I hand her my phone. "Type in your info and I'll pick you up at seven." She does.
"Gotta run, JD. My English class is across the building. See you."
"Go on. Don't be late. I'll text later. Thanks, Alissa." She scurries off down the corridor, turning left to the east wing and disappearing. The slap on my back nearly knocks me over. "What's that for, asshole?" Zander's grinning like he hit the Lotto.
"You succeeded where no man has before. Well, except for Jason. I bow to your greatness." He folds in half at the waist with a flourish.
"It's not hard. You just gotta be nice and not a dick when you ask. Not salivating helps, too. Keep those handy tips in mind."
"Hey! I'm nice. Ask Molly Finch, my date tonight."
I roll my eyes. "Why aren't the two of you a real couple? She's practically the only girl you date anyway."
"Nah. I like keeping my options open."
"You're an ass. Molly is a great girl and you're using her," John says. Then, his eyes go squinty and I can tell he's about to push Zander's buttons. "Maybe I'll ask her out next week." Zander's face turns beet red, and I stifle the bone-crushing laughter I'm dying to let loose.
"Keep your hands off Molly, JC. You two can have any damned girl in this school. Don't go messing with mine." He jabs a finger at a smirking John.
"Your girl, eh? Doesn't sound like it."
Glaring, Zann spins and stomps off to chemistry. As my lab partner, I'm sure to get an earful in class.
"Nice going, bro. You gonna get a date or not? Apparently, I do. A pretty damned good one."
He shakes his head. "I have a date. I was messing with Zann. Laura Benedetti. We've been out a few times lately."
"Oh? Are you two a thing?"
"We might be a thing." He's smug.
Turns out, John and I ended up having a thing with Alissa and Laura for the rest of our junior year.
****
"Well...if it isn't James D. Coury in person. Lookin' damned good old man." Neil rises from his command-central desk and heads toward me, hand extended. For the next few seconds we revert to military muscle-heads as we try to out-grip each other in a strangling handshake.
"This is quite a set-up, Neil." A bank of about a dozen video screens monitor a variety of activity and places, occasionally switching to another view. His curved gun metal desk wraps around one wall to the next. Four computers sit at intervals, all lit up with Neil's current projects. Other than a notepad, pen and a few folders, the large work area is starkly naked.
"Yeah. State of the art technology. Nothing but the best. Many things you've never even heard of." His gaze scrolls over my large frame. "Jesus, you've bulked up. You bench-pressing boulders in your spare time? You were a rock last time I saw you. Didn't think a guy could get any bigger."
I shrug. "Things got boring out there in the desert." I tower over Neil by about four inches at my six-foot-six height. Neil's not exactly milquetoast. Most people would shit their pants if they met him in a dark alley. I'm aware my physique is close to being out of control. I like it, though. "What's the deal?"
He considers me for a moment, then gestures to a chair at the massive desk. "You still the best shot the Army ever enlisted?"
"Fair."
"I'll take that as a yes."
"All right. Yeah, I still got it. I can hit anything with anything at pretty much any distance."
"That's what I thought."
"You got a job in mind which requires that particular skill set?"
"You still move like a ninja? Or this ridiculous body slowing you down, Grampa?" He doesn't smile.
"Quiet as a mouse in ballet slippers. In and out before they have a clue I'm there. Nothing's changed."
He nods, weighing his next question. From the look on his face, I can tell he hates to ask, but has to. "Frame of mind clear? You lost your brother. You two were tight. It messes with a guy. Be honest."
I think about his question for a bit, watching the goings-on in one monitor without paying attention to what I'm seeing. I expected him to ask. The answer is complicated yet simple. "I'll be honest, Neil. Losing John did fuck with me big time." I extend my arms. "See this? I was all over the place when I went back after the funeral. Fucked up in drills. Troy dragged my ass over to the gym pretty damned quick and set me on the bag. Beat the shit out of the thing every night until my focus was sharp as a razor's edge. Better than before."
"Good to hear. Next up. Women? Or woman?"
Didn't expect that one, but don't have to ask why. "Not sure how to answer, Neil." His brows bolt up. I hold up a hand. "Here's the deal. John's wife...widow, I guess...she's everything. I made a promise to John to watch out for her." Fuck, I can't maintain eye contact with Neil. Big problem.
"Spit it out. We can't go forward if you keep it from me."
"Right. This is so damned shitty, Neil." I glare at him. "I'm only telling you this because you need to know." My gut crawls up into my throat.
"Sounds like a good story."
"Not so much. Since the day I met John's wife, I've been fucked up over her. I'm living with her for now and—God, I'm such an asshole." I get up and pace around for a few minutes while Neil sits back and studies me. "I'm in love with my brother's wife, okay?"
As expected, Neil wastes no time laughing. For all his poker-faced, militaristic demeanor, he folds like a house of cards at my sticky situation. The Neil I know and love to hate.
"If you'd hit me with a sledgehammer I wouldn't have been more surprised. JD Coury has the hots for sis-in-law. Oh, my God. That's beautiful. Gotta hand it to you."
"All right, knock it off."
"Fine. Anything else about your mental or physical state I should be aware of?"
"What? This wasn't enough?" I stare at him. "No nothing else. Did you get the physical records I had sent over?"
He picks up a sleek black file folder, waves it around and slaps it back onto the desk. "Yeah. Healthy as a damned horse. Perfect vision and hearing. Bright white teeth. No sign of PTSD. No trace of drugs." He smirks at me. "No detectible gonorrhea."
"We good then?" He's dragged this on long enough. It's Neil's effort at making me twist in the wind and crowning himself king of the mountain. It's his mountain, so I guess he's got a right.
"Yeah, we're good. I've got a case I need you on ASAP. We'll get you outfitted with the proper gear in a bit." He scoots his chair in front of a monitor and clicks the keyboard in rapid strokes, muttering to himself. "Here. Donald Zimm."
Zimm is borderline obese, stuffed into an ill-fitting, cheap black suit. I can almost see the grease in his slicked hair and smell the acrid residue of his cigar smoke. He's standing in a warehouse, directing people like a mob boss wanna be, one hand on his hip in order to push back the jacket and put the gun and holster in full view, while inhaling his fat tobacco stick with the other. Three thugs stand around him in a semi-circle, armed and ready to take out anyone who gets the idea to attempt a hit on Donald.
"Guy's trafficking guns and who knows what else. I've got a few plants in his warehouse." That explains the covert video. He clicks more buttons and a different face pops up. "This is Jose, one of the body guards. Also known as Demitri Vangori. Jose works for Zimm. Demitri works for me." Neil's sober expression gives way to a wicked grin. "The other two body guards work for me as well. Demitri-slash-Jose will make contact. Zimm thinks Jose is setting him up with a buyer. That's you. You'll arrange a meeting. It'll go sideways. You bring down the scum and the body guards look the other way, while holding off the other goons. Once he's outta the way, the Feds move in. Don't kill the asshole. We want him good and alive." He shrugs. "Feel free to decorate him with a few strategically placed bullet holes, however. I think he'll look smashing in red."
I snap my head in a sharp nod of understanding. Compared to some of the missions I've been on, this is cake. "When's it going down?"
"In a week or two. We gotta tease Donald. Draw him out, lure him in. Make him hungry for the big bucks you promise. Make him dance. Set the bait. Jose's been selling you as a big cat who can move shit like nobody's business and pays big bucks for the privilege. The grease ball is already salivating to get in with you, Daniel Russell." He pulls a small pouch out of a box under the desk and tosses it at me. "Study up, Danny-boy."
****
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***I'd like to thank James from www.goonwrite.com for the cover to "Delilah's Tears."