"Not really. I remember a birthday, a Christmas here and there. Mostly he'd come in, look at me like I was a piece of shit, then leave again."
"But you wanted him to stay," I said. "You wanted him to be a father."
"We don't always get what we want."
"Sometimes we get what weneed." Being as far away from his father as he could get was definitely something Woody needed, even if he didn't accept it yet.
Relationships were complicated, especially with our parents. Mine were almost as disappointing as his. What would have happened if they gave me more of their time when I was growing up? I could have ended up like them. Hard no fucking thank you.
"Sometimes we want things we can't have," Woody said, stroking his thumb over my hip.
"Sometimes we can have things, but we don't let ourselves take them," I said meaningfully.
He leaned forward until his chin was almost resting on my shoulder. "After what I did to you, you should have grabbed one of the ties off the rack out there and strangled me with it."
I smiled. "Who says I'm not planning to do that as soon as we're finished in here?"
"You probably should," he sighed softly. "I might not put up a fight."
"Of course you'll put up a fight," I said. "There's no way you're going to let someone strangle you with a silk tie."
"Because I'm too lowbrow for that?" His reflexion raised an eyebrow at me. "You think a rope or an electrical cable would be more appropriate?"
"No, I think your survival instincts are stronger than you're suggesting," I said. "Otherwise a silk tie would be appropriate. Preferably one in bright colors with cartoon characters on them."
He laugh-grunted, then slid his hands down lower, cupping my ass.
"Maybe I'm the one about to do the strangling." One hand still on my ass, he wrapped the other around my throat, his long fingers gripping firmly.
A flutter of surprise passed through me, but no more than that.
Should I be scared? Possibly. Instead I was turned on as hell.
"Don't wrap your hand around my throat unless you mean it," I said, my voice husky.
He swallowed and his eyes darkened further. "You should be kneeing me in the groin."
"I can if you want me to," I said. "But I'll probably impale my knee on your cock." I wriggled my ass against the front of his jeans, feeling him harden between the layers of fabric.
He groaned. "If you keep doing that…"
"There you go with that lack of self-control again," I scolded. "I think you have more of it than you're letting on." I wriggled against him again.
"I really don't," he said, pushing his ass out so his cock was out of reach. "You deserve better."
"Better than fucking in a fitting room?" I asked over my shoulder.
"Better than me." He stepped back to the door and closed his eyes. "That first night when I came after you, I was going to kill you. If it wasn't for Forrest, I would have."
He said the words, but the certainty wasn't there. Maybe he would have killed me, and maybe he would have scared me and left. I wasn't sure if he knew what really would have happened.
"I know that was the plan, but you didn't," I said. "You weren't going to let me die in that house, were you?"
He opened his eyes just a little. "I don't know. I guess I would have got you out. You were starting to grow on me at the time."
"I'm flattered," I said sarcastically. "Maybe I do deserve you."
"Nah, you're better than that." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.