Page 16 of My Dirty Father In Law
But what does this mean? Could the alpha male be falling in love with me, despite our bargain? Could I be falling for him? The knowledge makes me gasp and my cheeks heat because I’d love to be in a real relationship with Jordan Lewis. But how do I make my wishes known? What if I tell him, and he laughs me out of the house? Even worse, what if he takes our child after the baby’s born ... leaving me cold and alone, with only my regrets to keep me company?
9
Jordan
My shoulders slump as I stare at my drink on the bar. The din of the crowd around me is lively and entertaining, and yet I can’t think of anyone except Juliette. My son’s fiancée.
Goddamn it, how did things get to this place? On the one hand, I’m a lucky motherfucker. I’m the dude who gets to fuck a pretty French girl non-stop, practically keeping her chained to my bed. She’s gorgeous and voluptuous, with a hungry pussy, big tits that bounce, and a tight asshole. Juliette loves it too, and can’t get enough of my massive dick penetrating her everywhere. So what’s the problem?
The problem is that she’s my dead son’s girlfriend, and that I’ve been disrespectful and goddamn selfish at every turn. Hell, I even fucked Juliette at Harry’s wake, with guests milling about downstairs! We were supposed to be mourning the death of my son, and instead, I was drilling his fiancée’s juicy little pussy in my bedroom. Plus, it was such a fucking shitshow when Juliette and I showed up late to the funeral. People stared, and whispered behind their palms, but the truth was so outlandish that they didn’t believe it. After all, what grieving father fucks his departed son’s girlfriend? I swear, I should shoot myself in the head because I deserve it. Literally, a shiver of revulsion runs through my frame because I deserve to be dead after what I’ve done.
Meanwhile, a hard pound to my back startles me from my gloom.
“What up, bud?” my friend Chris greets. “You look like shit. Why the long face?” He signals the bartender for a drink, and the man spins into motion immediately, despite the fact that there are a dozen patrons ahead in line. It’s good to be a rich motherfucker, and Chris certainly looks the part with his thirty-thousand dollar watch and rugged good looks. I know he’ll tip well, too, because that fucker likely cleared eight figures this year. Damn.
But I merely shake my head, my own problems pressing.
“It’s female shit.”
Chris grins, flashing even white teeth while sliding onto the stool next to me.
“That’s my favorite kind of bullshit,” he chuckles, “because it often ends with a wet twat and a big dick deep up her ass. You know that anal sex solves everything. It’s the best shit out there.”
“You’re fucking disgusting, you know that?” I ask. “Really fucking gross.”
“Said the kettle to the pot,” my friend winks while his drink is placed in front of him. “Thanks, my man, put it on my tab,” he says to the bartender. Then, my buddy turns back to me. “So who is it?” he asks, brows raised. “I thought you were in mourning still, but good for you, my friend. It’s good to get right back in the saddle.”
I stare at my drink again, my mind whirling.
“It’s just a woman,” I grunt.
“She must be some woman if she has you so uptight,” he rumbles. “Who fucked you in the ass? Her?”
I snort, shaking my head.
“Shut the fuck up. But since you’re such a fucking asshole, I’ll tell you. It’s Juliette Lechain. My son’s fiancée. You might have seen her at his funeral.”
My friend lets out a long, low whistle.
“Oh shit, the busty brunette? With the sweet smile and big tits? Yeah, I saw her. You’re fucking that? So what’s the problem, bud? She riding you hard, and you need a scrip for Viagra? I’ve got you covered, my dude, because my doctor can get that shit, no prob.”
I stare at my buddy.
“You are one pathetic loser,” I grind out. “Yes, it’s her, but the problem isn’t that I can’t get it up. The problem is that she’s my son’s fiancée.”
“Your dead son,” my friend interjects immediately.
My shoulders slump again.
“Yeah, Harry’s dead,” I say in a hoarse voice. “Goddamn.”
Chris claps me on my shoulder.
“I don’t mean to be callous, but I don’t see what the problem is,” he says. “I mean, Harry’s gone. My apologies, bud, but it’s not like he’s going to rise from the grave to fight you for her.”
I shake my head.
“No, it’s not that. It’s that I’ve been a fucking asshole,” I say through gritted teeth. “Juliette was in a bad spot. She’s French and can’t stay in the United States now that her student visa’s run out. She was going to have to leave, except Harry was in the process of getting her a fiancée green card.”
