Chapter 8
Disclaimer: All I own is the plot and the twins.
Aiden's POV
"Awe, come on babe, do you really have to leave right this second?" Kelly, my new secretary, purred from my whirly desk chair.
I turn to the young, naive woman with a smirk. This girl is perfect with her long tan legs, perfectly straight light brown hair, and dark almost black eyes. She is a complete and exquisite opposite of the bitch I have sitting her ass around my house from day to day.
I feel myself getting hard again as I my eyes rake across this piece of living art in front of me. The fashion her hair is cascading in a messy yet sexy flow over her shoulders and down to the middle of her back, the way she is only wearing my gray and white neck tie loosely around her slim neck, and finally the manner she is lounging in my chair with her legs spread far apart with both feet propped up on the desk top all ready to wrap deliciously around my waist as I pound into her until she tumbles over the edge in ecstasy.
Damn, she is almost too sexy to leave.
Her sexy pout morphs into to a lustful smirk as she eyes the bulge in my pants. "I know you don't want to leave me high and…wet, Mr. Dennison. So why don't you take off those pants," She bites her bottom lip," or I could slip them off for you…with my teeth if you prefer."
I think I just out grew my pants by a size or three. "Trust me, baby, I would, as you can tell, but I have to get home to get ready to take my wife to her chemo appointment early tomorrow morning."
What? I'm not naïve enough to think that just any woman would have crazy sex with a man that everyone knew as married. I told her half way through her interview that Spencer has cancer and because of her being sick all I ever did at home was care for her. I also told the girl that I never get a break or any loving time, which now I'm sure I will start getting plenty of.
As the old saying goes 'what the bitch doesn't know won't hurt her'. And what this bitch doesn't need to know is that I have a dyke for a wife and two little brats as children, but what's a man to do?
When a favor is asked of him he can't say no, no matter how much it costs us in return. The burdens we men carry; women should be thankful and fall to their knees in praise.
Kelly looks up at me with sad eyes. "I guess you're right. I'll be here bright and early Wednesday and we can continue this then. For now, go be a good husband."
With that said I slip my tie from around her wholesome neck and continue on my way out of the office. Luckily I don't have to hide the very noticeable tent in my pants due to the fact that everyone left the office and building grounds over an hour ago.
The damn fools don't know what they are missing after hours. I think to myself with a coy smirk, picturing Kelly's body sandwiched between the desk and my own body.
When I get to my sedan I fling my seatbelt on with displeasure; it's time to go back to my 'sick' wife and 'wonderful' sons. If it wasn't for Paula being my parents' "oldest and dearest friend" I wouldn't be married to this wrench I am forever bonded to.
The Dennison House
As I pull up to my house I quickly notice how every light was off, leaving the building's windows black as the night around them.
I slam my car into park, cutting the engine with a snarl before throwing open my car door so I could march my way up the short stone path and up onto the tiny rock porch, fuming the entire way. I don't know what this whore thinks she is doing or what she was thinking about when she decided to go to bed before I had gotten home but I'm gonna teach her really quick that it was a really bad idea.
I twist the door knob experimentally, finding it unlocked. That just pisses me off even more. First she goes to bed before I get home and now she has left the door unlocked, Spencer just loves disrespecting me today.
I throw the door open, causing it to hit the wall with a loud bang and a slight crack.
"SPENCER!" I bellow, my voice echoing throughout the entire house. That's weird; normally it wouldn't echo and usually I would hear Spencer's feet padding quickly along the floor to get to me, even if she was asleep at the moment.
I drag my hand along the wall until it comes in contact with one of the light switches. When I finally find the right switch the light comes on and what I see makes my blood boil. Everything in the living room is gone; the pictures, some of the furniture, my couch, and lastly my TV.
"SPENCER!" I growl again. But, just like last time, I got no answer of any kind.
"She wouldn't." I thought angrily, making my over to stairs. "She doesn't have balls."
I fly through the kitchen, noticing that there are multiple things missing from off the refrigerator and counter tops.
No, the bitch wouldn't have the guts to fucking leave.
When I make it to the top of the stairs I poke my head into the boy's room to find it bare as the day I bought this house. Every toy, poster, and any other bratty kid thing that the punks had in here were gone like they were never even there in the first place.
Gridding my teeth, I sprint to the bedroom and when I lay eyes on the contents, or the lack of them, I can't help but punch the wall in anger. Everything in the closet was gone, besides my clothes, were torn down and missing, the bed was stripped of its blankets and sheets, and all the pictures that wasn't a staged family photo were absent from the side tables and walls.
The bitch left but I will find her and when I do, she and everyone who helped her in her escape will regret the very day they were born.
That is a promise.
Spencer's POV
I don't think I have ever slept this peacefully in around six years even counting the facts that I am laying on an air mattress with no blanket that I happen to have stolen from me around twelve last night, along with two little pairs of feet kicking and jolting into my sides, my back, and even my stomach all throughout the night. I pretty sure that I have numerous foot-like bruises decorating my body, but do you know what? It's worth it, it's worth not having to wake up to someone yelling in my face or throwing books, shoes, or anything else they can get their hands on.
Carefully lifting my head off my brand-new pillow, I look at the alarm clock sitting on the floor a few feet from the bed.
7:37
The red numbers blink lazily up at me from its position on the hardwood floor, silently telling me to get up to officially start my new life.
Sighing, I deftly remove myself from the encasing little arms and legs of my boys. Somehow in the middle of the night the twins shifted until I was trapped in the middle with one boy on each side, both with their faces pressed into my neck and small arms draped around my torso.
Once I sluggishly slip into my black silky robe that was hanging on the bedroom door, I make my way through the vacant hallway, down the swirl-like staircase and into the box filled part living room part den, praying to myself that I had thought of unpacking the coffee pot in the mist of the slight chaos of last night.
The boys thought it would be fun to explore every hall and/or crevice while also trying to slide down the banister of the stairwell every time I turned back to try- the key word here is try- and unpack just a few mandatory items here and there. I have a really good feeling that I sort of failed to remember everything.
After walking in the empty kitchen and quickly discovering that I had, of course, packed the coffee pot in a completely different box and that I had, indeed, not pulled it out. God knows which box it could possibly be in; there are so many possibilities.
I have to sidestep a good number of the boxes that had been torn open with its few contents that consist of sporadically colored packing peanuts and random objects lying strewn around the grayed carpet floor.
Looks like I'm gonna have to have some new carpet laid down. I think to myself, digging through nearly four random boxes until I find my cherished prize of morning caffeine. I pluck my desired object out of its encasement before wondering into the kitchen and setting up the pot.
I gradually make my way through the cabinets that Clay had generous filled for me thanks to my brother and his bizarre sense and knowledge of what me and the boys like. He even remembered what two kinds of cereals and brands of orange juice Skylar and Scott prefer; Coco Dracula and Minute Maid for Skylar with Fruity Pebbles and Florida's Natural for Scotty. Honestly, I don't know the difference between the juices but if my sons do then I guess I'll indulge them a little.
After fixing a cup of coffee I walk outside, taking a seat in one of the three wooden veranda swings on the porch. The sun is barley peaking on the mountain with its many shades of purples, oranges, reds, and yellows. The day is going to be gorgeous; there isn't a cloud in the baby blue sky. It's completely peacefully with the lively sounds of chirping and sing birds and even a distant whinnying of a horse.
The sound of pattering feet breaks me out of my stupor compelling me to lift my head off the back of the swing so I could greet my incoming company.
"Good morning Sky." I greet my youngest son through a giggle. He has major sleep hair that sort of reminds me of a porcupine that is having a bad hair day after a turbulent night out.
"Morning Mommy." He mumbles past a yawn, rubbing his eyes tiredly with the back of his hands. He reaches his arms up towards me silently asking to be lifted up onto my lap.
Not even two minutes after Skylar is settled into my arms does his twin make his way out here repeating his brother's earlier actions.
While looking out off of the porch and into the surrounding fields and trees with my kids on my lap, I feel a wave of pure peacefulness rush over me, the greatest calm I've felt in a very long time.
8:30
I'm in the middle of scrambling a pan of eggs when I hear a loud roar of an engine making its way down the dirt road. When I leave the stove to curiously glance out the window, quickly spot a familiar old pickup pulling into the driveway.
"Who is it, Mommy?" The boys yell together from their spots at the table where they were intently coloring in a few Marvel Spiderman X-Man coloring books.
"It's Ms. Davies from the dinner yesterday." I answer as I make my way over to the living room, wiping my floured hands on my apron so I could get the door. I stand behind the door exactly three seconds before a steady four knocks sound through the door.
"Mornin' Ms. Carlin." A raspy voice hits my ears as the door swings open.
I smile and take a step back allowing her to step in. "Good morning Ms. Davies. Um, please come in."
"Much obliged." She says, with a tip of her ball cap before stepping around me and into the foyer, setting her tool box gently on the floor.
Today she looks as if she is dressed for some major outdoors work; she is wearing a baggy pair of holey blue jeans that is being held up by a tool belt, a blue and black flannel long sleeve shirt with a white tank top underneath, and a pair of hiking boots I can't even tell the color of because to the amount of mud and grass covering them.
"Is there anything in particular you want me to start on first, Ms. Carlin?" She questions, a spark of excitement glimmering in her eyes.
"Please call me Spencer and, um, no I really don't have a specific thing I want you to do." I say shyly, barely able to look her in the face.
"Are you sure Ms. Car- I mean Spencer? Because I work for you so put me to work. I'm up for anything." She states with a confident grin.
When I don't say anything she cocks her head to the side, smile still in place. "You don't believe? Well I can guarantee I'm the best person at followin' orders. So toss me one." She requests while mimicking shooting an imaginary basketball into a hoop.
Her smile is so contagious I can't help but to smile a small one back. "Well, I would love if you started from the inside out. If that's okay with you that is." I'm really not used to telling people what to do.
"It's cool with me. Where do I start?" She is already grabbing her things off the floor and looking around with a carpenter's eye, studying all there is to see.
"If you like you can start with breakfast? If you haven't ate that is?" My sentence sounds more like a question then a statement.
A look a surprise flashes across her face but it disappears so quickly that it makes me wonder if I even saw it in the first place. "Are you sure, Ma'am?" She asks, unsure.
The uncertainty gives me the confidence I need to conquer up another smile. "Of course, Ashley, I'm almost done with it now. Come have a seat."
Breakfast was a quiet event besides the squeals of the twins and the rumbling raspy chuckles coming from the woman across the table from me as she watches the boys' antics.
Even with those little sounds the rest of the quiet makes me nervous with this mysterious woman sitting in my kitchen but oddly enough it is an exciting kind of nervous. I can't really explain it but just looking at her makes my heart rate race a tiny bit faster than normal. It's actually kind of unnerving that I can't really figure out why.
Nervously, I try to start a conversation with my dark haired company. "So, um, Ashley, were you in the military?" I gesture to the glossy black ink on her arm.
Her posture goes from calm and relaxed to ridge in two seconds flat, her eyes turning a hard black color that's filled with a profound sadness. "Yes, Ma'am. The Marine Corps." She answers stiffly. Ashley sits silently staring at the white and black tile, seemingly loss in thought, before looking back up at me with a look void of any emotion. "Can I start workin' now Ma'am?"
Slightly put off at the sudden change of mood, I weakly nod my permission while slipping her plate over to my side of the table as she stands and retrieves her equipment. "I'm sorry if-" I try to apologize before getting cut off.
"It's fine Ms. Spencer. Thank ya for breakfast, it was excellent... I will start up stairs if that's fine with ya." Even in a seemly poor mood she says this in a gentle and incredibly polite manner.
"That's completely fine Ashley. Thank you." I reply, wringing my hands tensely around my coffee mug.
She tips her hat with a nod and gathers her tools in her arms, walking quickly up the stairway as if she couldn't get away fast enough.
I watch the place where she disappeared around the corner for a minute or so before slowly walking out of the dining room and back into the kitchen. I guess that the military subject is a sore one and now I feel terrible for asking about it. Whatever happened most of been awful for her to reacted that way.
From what I gathered from yesterday's first meeting she seems like a very laid-back, calm, go with the flow type person with a bit of a jester's side but then again there is always something more to people; especially the quiet ones.
Shaking my head and planning on getting in a full apology later I turn to the twins with a grin asking if they would like to go outside to have a look around.
Walking around this monstrous yard brings back memories from my short time of living in Ohio; the dark and light green colors of the trees, the coolness of the grass, and of course the smell of rain in the air before a gentle summer shower. In LA all you could smell was the fast food places and the scent of the salty ocean.
The boys and I play around a naturally made sand box until lunch. When we find ourselves back inside you can immediately hear the pounding of a hammer from the floor directly above us. After a short mental debate, I make my way up to the southern with the intent of asking her to come down for lunch accompanied with my earlier planned apology.
By time I make it up the stairwell, down the hall, and to the room that Ashley was in the hammering had stopped. Suddenly cautious, I peak my head around the door and into the room only to find Ashley on her knees in the middle of the floor looking at something within her leather wallet.
"Hey, um, Ashley, are you okay?" I ask quietly causing her to jump up, spinning on her heel mid movement looking as if she was ready to fight; fists raised, crouched down, and eyes for of anger and a promise for violence.
The intense wild look in her eye forces my feet to propel back making me ram my back against the wall out in the hall way.
The sound of my collision seems to knock her out of whatever thought process she was in, turning her back into a woman now wearing a confused but shameful expression. "I'm sorry, miss, but I gotta to go. My, um, father needs me to come on back to the ranch to, uh, help 'im with loadin' cattle. I'm sorry."
With that said she grabs her tool belt and box before bolting out the door, flying down the stairs.
What in the world just happened?
Review!
Sorry I took so long to update. Forgive me?