So much wood, and now it appeared in her bedroom. At least that's what she thought when she encountered a muscular man wanking it off on her bed. Her heels jumped off the floor to follow her torso out of range of fire. "Bedroom's at the end of the hall to the left," were her aunt’s instructions. Her neck shrank, her hands held her sweat in her palms, and her bladder had an urgency of relief.
She accidentally peaked at the shirtless beast. His long, wavy hair streamed down the pillow. His lips partly open as his pronounced abs contracted. His fist pumped his manhood, giving Pudica slight double-vision. Not a striking knight with that longer-than-average nose, but his pose surely caused a reaction. Her second attempt at escaping from lust was a failure. From her throat escaped a strange sound: sensual, but frightening as it made her feel good. Pink blotches faded into her cheeks, increasing her body temperature as she met his sinful gaze.
He gasped, reaching for the pillow under his head and covering his member with it. His skin lost its beige tint. His hair fell mid-neck.
She debated apologizing for the intrusion. Her hands pressed against her stomach, ready to explain how she got lost within the halls of the vast home. But they didn't know each other, so he couldn't pity her as the rest did in the past week. Definitely not a cousin—her aunt couldn't bear children.
She shut the door and stepped closer to the bed.
"What do I do?"
His jaw dropped lower. His eyeballs pushed out of their lids. But she did not expect him to say next, "My dick is at your service." He moved toward the edge of the bed. His facial muscles stretched in shock.
What was there to lose? Her mouth's virginity? From popsicles to toothbrushes, she put things in it every day. This could be an opportunity to do stop being the good girl her mother forced her to be.
His member might have grown in size, or he was much closer than before. Then, she snapped back to reality.
"Do you wan'a suck my dick?" he asked.
She studied him, trying to answer the question in her head.
"Okay, I'll do it." She nodded, but soon regretted her proposal. "Actually, I forgot there’s a thing I need to do."
He had the right to be upset. A hint of disappointment came through his face, although he uttered the opposite.
"No problem. Any time." He brushed his hair behind his ear.
"Sorry to waste your time. Thank you." Pudica clutched her palms. She leaned some degrees for a bow, then she exited into the hallway.
"No, thank you." His hand seemed hesitant, then finally showed her thumbs-up.
Pudica ran as if a lion preyed after her. A lion with a misty-brown mane.
Not to put her aunt at notice, she composed herself before she got to the living room.
"I've been all over the place lately, Aunt Betsy." She tittered. "I'm afraid I must beg you to show me where my bedroom is one more time."
The middle-aged woman was tall and slender, just like her sister, Pudica's mother, but other than that, they shared no features. There weren't even traces of them in Pudica, who was a shorter version of her father.
Aunt Betsy gave her a dejected look. "Cutie pie, with all you've been through these past weeks, I'm not surprised. Confusion is a normal state of grief. Let me walk you there."
The woman was right. The past three weeks steamed in a fog of perplexity. One day Pudica had a home, the next she didn't. She followed her aunt down the hallway, expecting her to reach for a different door knob. Instead, they stopped in front of the room where she encountered the stranger.
"Aunt Betsy." The door opened, startling both women. The nameless man wore pants, thank God.
"Oliver." Aunt Betsy pressed her palm against her chest, "what are you doing here?"
The man didn't respond. His eyes fixed intensely on Pudica.
With furrowed brows, Aunt Betsy looked at her niece. "Ah, I've not introduced you. How rude of me. Oliver, meet Pudica Alma, my niece. Pudica, meet Oliver Darling, my godson."
"You never told me you or Robert had siblings," Oliver ignored Pudica to address her aunt.
"My sister. It never came up," said Betsy.
Oliver nodded after a prolonged awkward silence.
“You slept here last night?" added Betsy.
"It was a rushed decision. Is that okay?"
“Yes, but I offered this room to my niece because it connects to the bathroom."
At the mere mention of her, Pudica shrank further. Her aunt knew the strange guy in the bedroom. He didn’t pop out of nowhere. To her misfortune, she had to see him more than once. An icy breeze swept her stomach tormented by the image of him sitting at the table and eating dinner with them. He'd probably stare into her eyes and think, "That's the whore who wanted to suck my dick." Outrageous.
A deep voice pulled her from her thoughts. Uncle Robert, her aunt's husband stood behind them. "Your father's lawyer's here. Should I ask him to return another day?"
"Huh?" she responded, not understanding with a scrambled brain.
"He wants to read the Will," Uncle Robert whispered the last word.
Not her priority at the moment, but she welcomed anything that dragged her away from the current situation.
Pudica had to be the strangest name Oliver encountered. With her blonde hair and pale skin, Emma, Mary, Elizabeth, or anything European was more fitting. Pudica sounded like a stripper's name. Surely, a pole dancer; the kind who performed extra services for men. She so easily agreed to oral sex, undoubtedly it was part of her nature.
He would have covered up, but not every day a striking beauty with a voluminous rear walked inside a man's bedroom and offered her throat. Horny and in shock, he would have accepted if she were ill-favored. A porno came true. Almost.
That's when he recognized something deranged her because she abandoned ship, leaving him dumbfounded. And now, he just wanted one thing: to fuck her dry. No dates, no pursuing, no cuddling, but an effortless way of relief.
Don't get him wrong. He knew he wanted to marry and settle, and have a million kids, but while he awaited for his future wife, celibacy was impracticable.
After she left his bedroom, he couldn't finish what he started. He cleaned up as fast as his brain pondered with questions about her. Then, learning she was Aunt Betsy's niece, he understood why Aunt Betsy never mentioned that she had a sister, and that that sister gave birth to the hottest piece of ass he had ever seen.
As he found Aunt Betsy in the hallway, he predicted a scolding. Her niece possibly complained to her about the scene. However, Aunt Betsy looked more confused about his presence than anything else.
“I did not see you last night," said Aunt Betsy. "Did you message me?"
“I drove here last-minute," Uncle Robert jumped into the conversation. "Sorry, Betsy. I forgot to tell you about it."
"Uncle Robert helped me carry my bags inside," Oliver affirmed.
"Well, I'm sure Pudica can use another room." Aunt Betsy turned to her niece. "Sorry for the confusion."
Pudica shook her head rapidly. Her neck slightly bent. "It's okay. I have to talk to the lawyer. Excuse me." Her words came out slowly, making pauses in the middle of sentences. The red splotches on her cheeks gave Oliver clues of her embarrassment. They looked winsome under her hazel eyes.
"He's in my study," Uncle Robert said as she scooted down the hallway.
Oh, my God!
Pudica had to sleep under the same roof as Betsy’s godson which made it impossible to hide from him. If he slept there for the weekend, it was an eternity, so she needed to avoid him. No lady wanted a man to see her as a loose snack. How could she explain her behavior? "I was just playing," sounded absurd. She wasn't playing. She was serious. And overwhelmed with thoughts, she had already sat down, greeted her father's lawyer, and missed Lord knows what part of the conversation.
"Do you understand that second paragraph?" Mr. Richter placed a sheet of paper on the coffee stand and slid it in her direction.
"The—uh—one about." Pudica leaned forward, pretending to read lawyer gibberish.
"I don't mind explaining it to you again, Ms. Alma," the lawyer said complaisantly. His experience being summoned after the death of his clients prepared him for angry sons, confused mothers, sobbing wives, and unbalanced daughters.
Pudica raised her brows, adding to her lackadaisical expression. The sunrays coming from the window illuminated the man's dark brown skin like a heavenly messenger.
"Mr. Francisco Fanjul, your father, left most of his assets to you," he explained. "However, God forbid, you leave this earth, Ms. Alma, if you are not married or have any children, your father's inheritance will go to your half-sister, Ninel Fanjul."
To make sense of the news, the girl lowered her back on her chair. "You mean to tell me, Ninel got nothing?"
"Ms. Fanjul inherited one of his Florida estates as did other relatives, but everything else is yours. The account numbers and how to access them are on page fifty."
It occurred to her that her father made his fortune through a business she knew nothing about. That money had obstacles and responsibilities. "But I can't suddenly manage a corporation."
"You have nothing to worry about. Mr. Fanjul retired five years ago. You'd only be cashing his checks."
Pudica swallowed. Her eyelids disappearing under their sockets. Her hand playing with the v-neck of her blouse.
"Well, if you don't have questions for me, you'll excuse me, I have a plane to catch back to Florida." Mr. Ritcher buttoned his suit jacket.
"Right, thank you for coming, Mr. Ritcher." She stood up and gave him a handshake.
Seeing him leave, Pudica read the balderdash on the coffee table again. She could not get around her father leaving her something as she was his mistress's daughter. The year she met her sister, Ninel celebrated her fifteenth birthday party. Pudica didn’t recall much of that period as she was six years old. Her father Francisco dragged her and her mother out of the formal venue. He towered Pudica with the same hazel eyes and repeated, "I can't be your father."
In her innocence, she only remembered her response. "Oh, okay, later." He never contacted her before his death three days ago.