Staying With Her

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Epilogue

'–just to the left at the 360-foot sign and up into the seats. Edgar Martinez has his first major league home run. Martinez tops the players out of the Mariners farm system–for whom they have big hopes. Three to one, Seattle runs on home.'

The first pitch came and Josiah jumped clumsily and missed the grab. He took a step forward and picked up the ball with the glove. "Stupid." He'd said for the fifth time that afternoon. He could've dropped out and ended the game. But he lifted his weight and tossed the ball back to Blackhawk. He loves baseball, so he always wants to play catch. At seven, the Boys and Girls Club taught him to want to play. To throw it on a high arc to the right field, far beyond reach of the first baseman–just the way daddy had said to him.

"Why can't I catch it?" he asked.

"Son, you got to stay in front of the ball. You're missing the ball because you're so afraid it will hit you," he told him.

He pondered for a second. A ball flying would've been his worst nightmare and when that first crack to the bone sounds so unsettling, he'd want to thrash the glove into the ground and stomp away. But he wasn't afraid. He looks long for that arc to just run ahead and pitch forward with an amazing grab. It's the timing. He's like a cat on a hot tin roof. Even now, the game seemed to push his buttons and taunt him for he faltered and lost his grip.

Blackhawk got creative with both his smokers and his meats, taking liberties with the design and construction to yield a better result all while catching a ball with his left. Don and Joe's Country-style pork bulk sausage and beef–it's no Texan brisket. But it'll work for the time being. The smell is exquisite on his 1985 Genesis grill–like his childhood. His father's red hood and the flavorizer bars and grates. He'd searched Ballard inside and out to find that design. He'd remembered standing alongside his father as he cooks up grandma's brisket with Texas butter beans, skillet cornbread, candied jalapenos, classic coleslaw, and old-fashioned potato salad. He'd wear a smile every time he'd got a turn to flip the beef. "Attaboy." He told him. Patting his pubescent shoulder as he reached for the tong.

Laughter filled the backyard as Joesph and Sarah placed their goods on the patio table. "You did good son," he said.

Blackhawk lifted his eyebrow. "We aren't that far apart."

Joseph Martin laughed. "I mean it. Ballard? I've got to get me one of these someday."

He looks around the ranch home built less than six years ago.

Blackhawk smiles. His hands worked the property with Gary's constructions. It's the home he's always wanted. No picket fences. No daisy bush garden. Just a baby blue ranch with pick-up trucks parked in the driveway. Scooters scattering the front lawn. A narrow strip of garden in fencing the foundation and pathways.

"Where's Dahlia?" Blackhawk asked. What a sweetheart? Her father's blues and mother's blonde hair. They named her after the Seattle City official flower. Bonus, she was born in August. When the flower is in full bloom.

Martin grabbed the plate set and dishes a spoonful for each. "With Maeve," he laughs. "They're playing dolls."

Blackhawk's heart tightened at the name. His baby fever had him near a heart attack. What would he be doing with six year olds? And a little one? Her name was historical. A beauty. If his mother lived to this day, she'd be proud. A mini her running around in diapers and long curly hair. His green eyes and her smile. Her nose. Her cheekbones. Her freckles. At four, she knew to trick him into melting his heart for anything she'd wanted. 'It comes with being a dad,' he says. He'd do anything for his angel. The love Dahlia would never come to see. If only Kate were to see her creation. She refused to look at her. In fact, she refused to take her home. That moment shaped her life, but not in the way one would expect. Sarah took her in as her own. Jumped at two in the morning for milk. Wiped smeared bottoms and prepared her for life. Only her biological mother ranged over the big apple.

The wind blew a dainty appetite at the sight of her Neapolitan pizza. Martin and Blackhawk grabbed the plates and shut off the grill as they sped towards the patio table. Each one in their seat and with a different story. Martin opens up with a tale. He never let reality get in the way of a good yarn and has the entire table blowing their socks off. Next to Blackhawk sat Jett–he's six-year-old and his identical brother, Jaxon. The terrible twins scan their eyes around the table, giggling at every laugh and as usual, kicking the other under the table. Maeve sat in the high chair next to her mama. Picking at the mozzarella and tomato as she pouts her lips. Something they're accustomed to.

Later come the tantrums and stomps. Shrieking and crying as they dip out of the bath and feel out the cold air. He's drained down to his shoes and Clarissa–perfectly dried. To this day, he's amazed at her perfection for nurturing four children. She was without blemish. Her curves are young and skin supple. At thirty-one she looked hot. Her breasts were her best asset, and he'd be damned if he couldn't have her in bed. It's become the norm. She will have her feet up in the air and while he's raming her with his rock hard cock her ankles will move side to side like they are loose. The light switched off, and the wailing stopped. Their snores filled the hallway and the faint jingle of the mobiles hums them to sleep.

It was a dark, drizzly evening. The case file of the Drag Club robbery hypnotized his brain and blocked the surrounding air. The "R Place" on Pine Street found the bartender with multiple stab wounds and yellow "washing up gloves" with traces of his DNA. Judging by that of the accused, Cruz Evans, in the drain. A first blow to the head with an exhaust pipe. He reaches for his coffee on the nightstand and fixes his glasses. The cold air gave him chills for both the evening and the murder investigation. In the sense of getting shot, he sentenced Debra and Richard–thirty to life without parole and for an additional ten years. He's unaware of the creaking bathroom door and the seductress leaning against it.

Her heart was racing. Just like the night before. Watching him sit with thin light square titanium glasses and button fly loose fit boxers beneath the duvet has her cunt dripping a puddle. A tingle ran down his spine and he turned to see her better. A wet-look bra with Demi cups. Strappy accents, fishnet shoulder details. O-ring accents rounds her waist. There's a matching bottom with adjustable garters. A thong cut back and a police badge–his badge. The blood rushes south and his cock springs at the sight. To top it all off, fishnet stockings. She crawls to the edge of the bed. He held his breath and glanced at the thick round shape of her ass and fought the urges inside of him. A blindfold meets his eyes, and he's tied spread eagle on the bed with handcuffs.

His mind races. "Oh God."

She slides his work to the table and some fly to the floor. The wild cat moved between Blackhawk's legs, pulling them apart rather easily and watching his squirm. His thick rod had more length than Nathan, her late husband. Thicker even. She pulls the blanket away and already had he dripped enough pre-cum that the front of his boxers showed a small circle of wetness. She rubs her hands over the bulge before adding his boxers to the pile. Her hair pulled behind her as she reached for it and licks the side. She licks the jizz leaking from the tip all while he groans and pulls at the bedpost. Her hand's cups and works his balls while her mouth takes his shaft. She sucked on his knob, the deep, engulfing feeling when she took him deep and he could feel the back of her throat–he could feel himself getting close. He thrusts into her mouth, relishing the sound of her gagging as he pushed deep and felt his balls hit her chin. She choked at first as his load hit her throat. It filled her mouth and leaked out the sides, but she was a trooper. With a loud swallow, she licked her lips dry.

"That was amazing baby," he gulps. "Now untie me."

He pushes forward.

Clarissa crawls up his torso and rubs her pussy against his steel shaft as she works to let him loose. Hastily, he pinned her to the bed and assaults her mouth in a passionate kiss. He moves his tongue in and before she seems his lips; he clicks the cuffs and holds her steady. He bends and licks her neck. Biting, pulling, and sucking as she whimpers. Moans loudly and pulls at the bed. He took a nipple between his lips, wrapped his arms around her thighs and lifts her to steal the lingerie from her body. He blindfolds her and gave her nipple one sensitive lick.

He pulls back and watches her before walking to the bathroom. Then he pulled the feather and began to tease her body with it. He traced circles around Clarissa's nipples. Teasing the skin of her inner thighs from her knees to her pussy lips. He whips it across her chest and down her abdomen. With a light touch below one ear, he pulls the feather down her neck, under her chin and back up her neck to the other earlobe. Her knees would open and her throat clogged with moans. Her body recoiled from the shock. She gasped a lung full of air and her knees snapped together only to thrust apart.

Blackhawk shifts down and settles between her legs. The crown pushed between her lips and he rubs the length. He grunts as he pushes further, sinking in deeper. Until he stops and thrusts his powerful cock inside of her. Clarissa jerks on the bed and screams. He pulls back only to grope her thighs and dive again. Her pussy gulped up every inch of his cock. And her breath came rasps. He reaches up and kneads her breast. Thunderous cries came from her parched throat. The bed hits the wall as he pounds her and she sinks further into the mattress. His cock thickened and twitched. Her toes curled so hard that they ached. Her abdomen erupted in heat and pleasure. It spread up into her chest where it almost stole the little breath she had left. His cock presses down with his aim and hits her spot. The spot that has her blasting out his name. It came in thick spurts and fast that it filled the brim–as usual. The pleasure burned her to a killer orgasm.

Their breath mingled together and Blackhawk crawls up, claiming her mouth in a loving kiss. He'd noticed the blindfold had slid off and her the cuffs marked her right wrist. He curses himself for being rough. However, the wildcat inside of her wishes for his mark. He lays his head on her stomach. Listening to her breathing and feeling the rise and fall of her breaths. His semen dribbled down her inner thighs. She could still taste it in her mouth.

"Oh fuck."

Clarissa chuckled. "Language."

Blackhawk closed his eyes before looking up at her. "The kids are asleep."

Clarissa nods at her wrist and he released her instantly. She laid his head on her stomach and threads her fingers through his hair. "If you haven't noticed. I'm wearing the bustle wrong."

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