My hands slipped and touched the floor, and Grant paused his teasing licks.
“Fuck, Kiyah. You know what this means?”
“Yes.”
“That ass is mine,” he declared, slapping my ass. “Go upstairs and wait for me.”
Chapter Seven
Grant
My eyes followed Kiyah as she rushed out of the living room. I bit back a groan when her ass jiggled enticingly. I’d been with other gorgeous women—perfect tens, but none of them could compare to my wife, who was a perfect 100 in my eyes.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the couch cushion and impatiently waited for my dick to deflate before returning it to my pajama pants. It twitched angrily, wanting nothing more than to be buried in Kiyah. I was grateful she fucked up because I nearly came just from tasting her.
My cell phone vibrated on the side table, and I expected Daisy to tell me she would be an hour late to work in the morning. I made myself presentable and frowned when I found several incoming text messages from Dad.
Dad:I’m sorry, Grant.
Dad:I’m sorry that I hurt you and that you carried that secret for all these years.
Dad:I can’t begin to imagine the level of mistrust you have for me, and despite you telling me that you’re over it and I’ve been forgiven, I’m not convinced.
Dad:I don’t regret what I did. Given the opportunity, I’d do it again.
Dad:You might find that statement particularly cruel, but I love my children, and I’d do anything to see them safe and happy.
Dad:You’re not a father, so you might not understand my position. But one day, you’ll understand when you’re blessed with the gift of fatherhood.
Dad:You’ll understand how low you’re willing to go to protect the people you love.
Dad:I meant it when I said my door will always be open.
Dad:I love you.
I rubbed my chest with a closed fist as I attempted to massage away the ache that blossomed from my father’s words. I was a piece of shit for weaponizing that secret against him for the sake of getting him off my back about Kiyah. I knew a blow like that would devastate him, and I did it anyway. He wasn’t his usual fun-loving self during dinner. He remained muted while everyone around him animatedly spoke. He drank more than expected—going over his two-glass maximum at dinner, earning concerned glances from Mom. She finally intervened and moved his wine glass out of reach when the server attempted to pour Dad his fifth drink.
I began to respond to his message, but my guilt had gotten the better of me. Before I knew it, I was in my office, fishing a bottle of Jack out of the false bottom of my desk.
“Fuck Casey,” I mumbled when I poured myself a shot. Only three souls knew I had a drinking problem: me, Kiyah, and Casey.
Mimi and Papa died, Kiyah returned for the funeral and disappeared again, and work had been kicking my ass. I turned to alcohol and have been having difficulty kicking the habit ever since Casey found me passed out beside an empty bottle on my kitchen floor. He tried to convince me to get help, but stubbornly, I told him I was fine when I was anything but. Hethought I should tell Dad, but the thought of Dad finding out I was a functioning alcoholic was enough to send me spiraling. He promised not to tell, but only if I agreed to keep the house dry and not overdo it at social functions. He also insisted he’d swing by and do random checks every once in a while.
I replaced the bottle, traversed my office, and typed the code into my safe. I held the divorce papers in my hands and briefly considered signing them. I scanned the document, snorting at the section where she refused assets. She was entitled to half of my assets because there was no prenup. Yet, Kiyah didn’t want alimony, the house, or any stakes in Baker Personal Injury & Law.
“She’ll take Dad’s money, but she won’t take mine,” I mumbled derisively.
Years ago, I used to wire money to Kiyah’s bank account. She was my wife, and it was my duty to take care of her. I’d sleep better at night knowing she had a safe place to stay and enough funds to cover all her needs. I learned my lesson and stopped sending her money after the fifth time she returned it. It felt like rejection—like nothing I gave her was fucking good enough, not even my money.
Maybe it’s time for me to sign them. I always promised to give Kiyah everything she wanted, but why can’t I give her this? We love each other, but we’re not happy, and our “love” for each other is starting to affect our relationship with our family.
I returned the papers to the safe and left my office to perform my nightly check—something Dad instilled in me years ago. He taught me that as the man of the house, it was his responsibility to ensure his family’s safety by protecting us from intruders. There were some nights he’d allowed me to accompany him. He would check all the doors and windows to confirm they were locked, the gate to the property was closed, and thealarm was engaged before popping his head into everyone’s bedrooms. Although the threat of someone breaking in was nearly impossible given where we lived and the security features, Dad said it was better to be safe than sorry and that protecting the people we loved was the greatest honor.
I only performed the nightly security checks when Kiyah stayed over. A shrink would have a field day analyzing my actions. They’d probably tell me some bullshit that I loved Kiyah more than I loved myself, and that was why I failed to take my protection seriously when I was alone.
And the fucked up part is that they’d be right.
Kiyah