Royal(75)
Guess I don’t have a choice.
All I want to do is go back to my place and lose track of time for a few hours with Demi. She’s the only highlight of this shit-tastic day, and she’s so fucking gorgeous I want to devour her from head to toe.
She needs to be naked, in my bed, her curvy legs wrapped around mine and her nails digging into my ass as I bury my cock inside that perfect pussy of hers all night long.
From outside, I see the top of her head as she peruses the gas station’s fancy wine selection. Pulling my wallet from my pocket, I head inside and get in line.
“Oh, hey,” she says when she sees me. I take the bottle from her hand.
“You can head on out if you want.” I nod to the car.
The line grows shorter when a second checker comes to the front. A couple more people and I’m next.
My cock throbs when I think about what we’re going to be doing in T minus fifteen minutes.
“Okay, I’ll see you in a few.” Demi kisses my cheek and heads out, the bells on the door chiming as she skips through.
But then my stomach drops. For reasons I never could’ve anticipated.
Two more people are ahead of me, but I fish a fifty out of my wallet and slap it on the counter, telling the cashier to keep the change.
I have to get outside.
Now.
Chapter Forty
Demi
“Hey. Hey, you.” A woman leaning against the brick façade of the gas station calls after me as I head to Royal’s car.
I turn around, doing a double take. She looks familiar, but I can’t immediately place her. Matte, dark hair frames a round face, and pencil thin eyebrows accent blue, almond-shaped eyes. She wears a lot of makeup, like a woman with secrets for days, and her full lips are bunched into a hidden smirk.
She reminds me of a Bratz doll, pretty by her own standards and looking like she’s completely up to no good.
Stopping and adjusting the purse strap over my shoulder, I stare a little harder and rack my brain.
I know I’ve seen her before . . .
The woman motions me closer. Her knee is bent, her foot pressed against the back of a cage of propane tanks now.
“Excuse me, do I know you?” I ask, stepping closer.
Glancing inside the Conoco station, I see Royal slapping some cash on the counter and rushing to get out the door.
“You don’t know me, no.” She produces a lit cigarette from behind her, tapping the ash on the sidewalk and taking a slow drag. Clear gray smoke curls in front of her face and she laughs. “But we have something in common.”
Narrowing my eyes, I shake my head. “What are you talking about?”
Royal bursts through the doors, the bottle of my wine under his arm.
“What the hell are you doing here, Pandora?” he says.
She takes another drag and a couple of steps toward him, blowing a puff of smoke in his face.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She smirks. “What, I’m not allowed in Glidden ‘cause all of a sudden you think your fucking cock is too good for me? Running around with this rich bitch now, so you can’t be seen associating with me?”
“Royal, what is she talking about?” I move closer to him.
“This is my boss’s daughter. Pandora.” His jaw clenches when he says her name, and he watches her every move. “We used to . . . hang out. In our free time.”
“Oh,” I say. “Oh.”
That’s where I’ve seen her. At the garage the other week.
She doesn’t seem like the kind of woman I imagined Royal with over those lost years. In fact, she’s the opposite of what I ever pictured for him.
I won’t judge him though. Rixton County is slim pickings. All the smart, pretty, ambitious girls always move to Manhattan.
Royal hooks his hand into the crook of my elbow and nods toward the car.
“Let’s go,” he says.
Pandora’s nose scrunches, and she flicks her cigarette, grinding it into a paper and tobacco stump with the scuffed toe of her pleather boots.
“Do you know?” Pandora looks directly at me.
“Do I know what?” I ask.
Royal leads us away from her. But she follows.
“Do you know that he’s a sex offender?” Pandora yells after us. A man heading inside stops, stares, and then continues. A woman pumping gas takes a step closer to her sedan. “That’s right. Your little knight in shining armor is a fucking perv.”
My ears ring, and I can’t bring myself to look at him.
Sex offender?
His hands have explored every inch of my body. His cock has felt me from the inside. His mouth, his fingers, his tongue . . .
My stomach rolls and flips, and I feel a dry heave forming in the base of my belly.
Not to mention the fact that being associated with a sex offender is career suicide when you’re an elementary educator. No one, and I mean no one, wants their child’s teacher to be fucking a sex offender.