Father's Keeper (13 page)

Inside, I winced at that. I hadn’t
been gone all that long. Gil had always tried to love her and had taken damned
good care of her. He worked long hours to churn out exceptional one of a kind
pieces to keep my mother in her fancy workout clothes, expensive wine and a new
car every year. He’d busted hump and then she’d left. Him, me, her life.

“Try not to fall overboard and drown,”
I trilled and then couldn’t help myself, I laughed.

“Jennifer!”

I thought of saying I was sorry,
realized it would have been nothing more than nicety and upbringing. I shook my
head looked away.

“Yes, well. Will you send me a new
address when you have it? Will you let me know where you end up?”

I nodded, knowing I wouldn’t, or even
if I did, nothing would come of it. It’s as if when I left my mother washed her
hands of me. Not because I was a disappointment, but because she was done. Not
all families belong on holiday TV specials. She had done her job and now she
was going forward, without me.

When she left, I sat there, staring at
the hole in my jeans, swinging my feet across the fuzzy white rug on my floor.

“You okay?” Gil asked from the
doorway.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. He
had never said he was surely leaving. He hadn’t said a word. He loved me, he
said, but that had been the heat of the moment. Men said all kind of stupid
stuff when they were fucking. And what a heated moment it had been for sure. I
couldn’t quite meet his dark gray eyes and I was afraid if I opened my mouth to
speak, I’d cry.

“Jen?”

“You’re leaving then,” I said.

“Yep.”

“Oh,” I said. I put my head down, down
as far as it would go. Part of me wanted to beg him to take me with him. Part
of me was too fucking proud and refused to beg for love any more.

The bed dipped and he was running his
thumb over my other jean clad leg. “I was hoping you might come with me.”

I looked up, my heart jumping in my
chest, the blood thumping in my veins. “Where are you going?” I asked, as if
that mattered a lick.

“Wherever I end up,” he said.

“Sound perfect,” I said.

“Almost,” he said and took my hand in
his, squeezed. “Will you come with me?”

“Yes,” I said, putting my head on his
shoulder.

“
Now
it’s perfect,” he said.

I smiled.

* * * *

We pulled out of the driveway and I
felt the eyes. Marian had made sure to spread the word around before she left.
But that was fine, we were going somewhere new. Somewhere where we were just
Gil and Jen, not stepfather and daughter. We hit the road in his truck, my
piece of shit in the garage in Pleasant Parks. I’d deal with the Chevy later.

The hill going up and out of the
streets named for mystical characters in tales for young children looked huge,
but when we crested it, the town below looked small. So easy to leave behind
that small life and move onward and upward. Into the unexpected and the big and
bold life we could have.

That night we pulled into a roadside
motel with a fritzed out neon sign. It blinked at us like some highway siren’s
song. V CAN Y. . . V CAN Y. . . We ate heavy greasy chicken fried steak and
mashed potatoes. Flat beer and oversweet pie in the attached diner. I wore my
mother‘s pearls to dinner. A small reminder against my skin and my heart of
what I didn‘t want to be.

Later we crawled into bed and he held
my arms high above my head, slipped into me. His cock filling me where my body
needed it most, his kisses filling my soul where it needed it most. Gil rolled
his body over mine, coaxing not one orgasm from my cunt, but three, and he
tasted every cry that crossed my lips with his own sweet mouth before coming
with a humored groan saying in my ear “You’re gonna kill an old man, Jenny
girl.”

I shook my head, cupped his cheek,
kissed him.

When he dozed off, I watched him. The
sharp cut of his jaw, the gorgeous fall of his long lashes on the apples of his
cheeks. Asleep he nearly looked like a little boy. My harsh words about Gil to
Carl came back to haunt me.
I’m not my father’s keeper
…
I
realized that maybe I was, after all, but that was okay, because he was mine
too.

And I remembered from my dream that
seemed somehow prophetic now,
Sometimes crops need to be tended a long time
before they yield the sweetest fruit.

The
End

ABOUT PARKER FORD

Parker Ford writes
all her dirty stories in her head during her day job. Just an average secretary
working for a small publishing house, she adores her secret, filthy inner life.
She often races home to jot them down and share them with her husband. He often
races her to the bedroom to act them out. They live with one very spoiled dog
and a plethora of 'adopted' wildlife outside their home. And yes, she knows
that Parker is usually a boy name, apparently that is a memo her parents didn't
get. Reach her at
[email protected]

If you enjoyed FATHER’S KEEPER
,
you might also enjoy:

UNCLE
ED’S LAP

By
Parker Ford

Fiona volunteers to help her recently widowed uncle get his house
in order before starting her freshman year of college. Uncle Ed and aunt Carole
are two of her favorite people in the world. While trying to help her grieving
uncle, she doesn't expect her school girl crush to turn into a torrid affair,
but it does. She doesn't expect him to want her at all, but he does, more than
he can handle. And as her uncle struggles with the thoughts of wanting and
having his niece in so many ways, Fiona struggles to show him that it's all
okay. That she's not a little girl any more.

Warnings:
This title contains explicit sex and language, incest, spanking, shades of
erotic asphyxiation, bondage, elements of non-consent.

EXCERPT:

Fantasies were
just fantasies. You didn’t have to act on them. Right?

I busied myself
cleaning the kitchen. Bachelors suck at cleaning. So do young coeds but hey, I
was bored and my mother Marie had taught me well. Cleanliness was next to
godliness, plus if you threw yourself into it, it could make the afternoon fly
in an blink. I ate cucumbers from the garden with homemade ranch sauce uncle
had made the night before for dinner. That was all I really had the stomach
for. I poured a big glass of lemonade and downed it in four long swallows. Then
I started rearranging the cabinets and wiping down the liners. The worst chore
I could imagine from my growing up years. Now it seemed to soothe me.

"Wow. I had
no idea I would come home to such a tight ship," he said from the doorway.
I jumped, a china plate shattering at my feet. A thousand tiny jagged teeth of
china scattered around me on the red tile floor. Barefoot and in turquoise
shorts instead of jeans, I was pretty much fucked. "Shit, I’m sorry,
Fiona." He colored when he said my name aloud and my cunt responded with
tightening warmth. "You're bleeding."

I looked at my
calf where a thick nearly black rivulet of blood trickled slowly down my leg.
"It's no big deal. Just as shard. But I am kind of...stuck." I
shrugged, feeling horribly stupid. "I'm so sorry. I can go on ebay and try
to replace it. I'm such a klutz!" I felt like I might start sobbing right
then from frustration.

"Hey, I
scared you. Don't talk about ebay or any of that. Stay there. I'm gonna grab
you and take you in the dining room, then I'll clean up this mess."

His work boots
crunched over the china shards as he picked me up and carried me out. He set me
on the table and put my foot on one of the ladder back chairs. "Let me get
the bandages."

I nodded,
suddenly feeling little and helpless again. Letting him care for me the way he
had when I was a little girl and I'd skin my knee. He caught that far away look
when he came in. "You okay? You’re not cut anywhere else are you?"

I looked.
"Nope. Just there. Not too shabby considering the immense mess I
made."

"We
made," he amended. "You never would have dropped it if I hadn't
startled you." He wiped the cut with a wet cotton ball. Wet with alcohol
it seemed because fire bloomed in the cut and I hissed. "Easy, be
good," he said, smiling. He blew on the cut to cool the sting. Just like
old times. Only now, the feel of him blowing on my skin made my pussy keep a
wet temp with my heartbeat.

"Ugh,"
I said.

"Sorry it
stings. It will be over in a minute. Promise."

I could only
nod.

He squeezed a gem
sized squirt of antibiotic lotion on and covered it with a big square bandages.
"To keep it all covered," he said. His fingers smoothing the flesh
colored cloth covering made me shift on the table. I felt trapped by his
presence, the very hugeness of him and my pulse jumped at my throat from a mix
of excitement and fear. So close like this I could picture him beating off to
me. As close as we were, I could picture his hands pushing my legs apart. I
could imagine a million scenarios I shouldn't. "Thanks," I managed.

"You sure
you're okay?" He turned my chin so I had to look at him. I nodded and
swallowed hard.

"Yeah,"
I said, thinking inside,
God, just kiss me, kiss me already, kiss me and
then touch me and we'll pretend it never ever happened, I swear...

It took a second
for it to register his hands on my thighs, his long finger splayed out so they
pointed like traitors to my pussy. Uncle Ed leaned in, his lips brushed mine so
softly it was more like a kiss of wind than a person. I opened my mouth, spread
my legs, begging him with my body. More.

I buried my
hands in his too shaggy hair, tried to make sure I scheduled him a cut, and
pulled him in tighter, I closed my legs around his hands and scooted forward
just a touch. I wouldn’t think that I shouldn't do this. I'd think about how
good and right it felt. Fuck feeling shamed.

"Fiona, I
shouldn't..."

"I know...I
do, but..." His fingers slipped over the hot moist V at the crotch
of  my shorts. I broke off in moan. It was like being burned,
electrocuted, smacked so hard the blood seems like acid when it rises to the
surface. I wanted his touch so bad that jut a fingertip made my mind go red and
my heart skip wildly.

"Don't make
that sound," he said, but swept another finger along where the first had
been. Two fingers running soft patterns over the crotch of my snug shorts. Over
my pussy. Fuck. Directly over my clit.

"Sorry,"
I said. I tried, but another sound, deeper and more needy slid off my lips into
the air.

Uncle Ed shook
his head,
no, no, no
. But he popped the blue button of my shorts and
tugged at the zipper. I raised up, shimmied, helped him get them off. He tossed
them as he pulled at my panties and the shorts landed on the desk. My tank was
snatched off with ease. I don't wear bras, usually. "Spread your legs for
me, Fiona," he said.

A hot rush of
fluid puddled between my legs, and his fingers played through it like he was
painting me. My head fell back and I sank into the feel of him. His  mouth
on my nipple. He kissed me and shushed me all at once. Like a child, like
something precious. I watched his dark head as he kissed a path from my breast
to my belly button. I arched up, trying to be quiet like he wanted when his
mouth found my pussy and he sucked. His mouth impossibly hard and then impossibly
soft and then a tongue of perfect blazing wetness over my clit. "Oh,
Uncle." I wanted to tell him how good it felt, how good he was. How
perfect his mouth was on me and how it was what I wanted. So bad. What I
needed--so much.

"Shh,
Fiona. Don't."

So I didn't. I
curled my fingers around the edge of the table and I held on. The bright
afternoon sun trickled through the slats of his blinds and splashed across my
belly. His dark head worked between my legs, I touched his hair, arching my
pelvis to meet his mouth, greedy little girl wanting him to lick her. "I'm
going to--"