Page 18 of Inked Daddies

I turn the toy back on as I watch Trick touch himself. I can’t see everything from here, but his tight expression and the movement of his hand in the shadows tell me enough. My fantasy has evaporated. No need for a fantasy now.

I have the real thing. Safely. At a distance.

But he’s here, and he clearly likes what he sees.

Maybe it’s that acceptance, that encouraging nod, or maybe it’s just his eyes on my naked body, but I’m slick and panting in no time at all. I can’t look away from him, from the lust in his eyes. The way he can’t seem to look away either.

He staggers closer, and for a beat, I panic. But I remember the wall between us when he slaps a hand on the wall next to my window for balance. He’s so close that I can’t see what he’s doing anymore, but he can see every part of me through the screen.

He must know it when I’m right on the edge. As soon as I’m there, he gives a sharp, commanding nod, and I explode. I snatch my pillow and put it over my mouth to muffle my sounds, because I cannot stay quiet after this. My core tightens, releases, and tightens again with every wave of my climax.

When I shove the pillow aside, he’s still there.

This isn’t a fantasy. Not anymore.

8

TRICK

I shouldn’t be here.

It’s not like I planned this. I’m not some creep hanging out in bushes for fun. I stayed behind for a reason—to make sure Crow’s buddies don’t come sniffing around for her. From what I know of the kind of racket he’s into, they like certain types of girls, and a girl like Marie? A sweet, innocent thing with those big brown eyes and that way she has of making people lean closer when she talks? She’d go for alot.

And that thought makes my stomach twist.

This isn’t some random girl we’re talking about. This isMarie.Preacher’s kid. The girl we watched grow up from braces and braids to…whatever the hell she is now.

I should be keeping watch, scanning the swamp, the street, the shadows under the trees. But instead I’m here, standing at her window like some creep. Watching her is not the assignment. Iknowthat. But I can’t make myself move.

I mean, she’s always been shy—blushes if you so much as wink at her. But tonight, when she hugged her dad and ran inside, therewas something else in her eyes when she looked at me. A flicker of…what? Invitation?

Maybe that’s what I want to believe. Maybe she’s having some kind of trauma thing in her head, and I’m taking advantage. I don’t know. But I don’t want to look away.

It feels wrong, sure. Like I’m breaking some unspoken rule. Me and the guys share everything—the house, the truck, the shop, the business. We’ve been sharing since forever. That’s what makes us work. But this? This feels private. Intimate. It’s not something you share. Not yet, anyway. I don’t feel too bad about it.

All I feel is the steady thrum of something I can’t name, pulsing under my hand and making it hard to think.

She’s a woman now, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her that way since the moment she came back from Boston six months ago, all long legs and a shy intelligence that drew me in. I told myself it didn’t fucking matter. She was still the same girl who used to hang around the shop, stealing glances at the tattoos and grinning when we teased her about her bookishness.

But she’s not the same girl. She’s a full-grown woman. And that’s what makes me damn hard. It’s not the fact that I knew her before. It’s the fact that I have no clue what she’s capable of now.

And I never would have thought she was capable of putting on a show like this.

Gasping for breath after she came, writhing on that little toy of hers…it makes me wonder what she’d do with something bigger. Makes me ache to find out.

It’s not just the heat of it that gets to me. It’s the fact that it’sher.

I shouldn’t feel this way. I know that. It’s all kinds of wrong. But I can’t help myself. I’ve been stroking it ever since I knew what she was doing in her bed. Her toy is quiet, but she isn’t.

Thank fuck.

Her naked body got me harder than a hammer in no time, and I couldn’t do anything but jerk off since I heard her moans. I can’t think straight. Can’t look away, even though it’s the right thing to do.

I gave up caring about the right thing a long time ago.

I lean my hand on the painted cinder-block frame next to her window. It’s my turn. I murmur to her, “Keep going.”

And thank fuck, she does.

---