I Ran to My Best Friend's Alpha Father, and His Whole Council Kept Me novel · Chapter 2 of 24
Chapter 2: The Counter
Alone with Hoyt, Dessa gets her first kiss, his mouth on her, and her legs around him against the pantry door, until Arlo's truck brings a dead calf.
It took Hoyt a full minute to say anything, and the first thing he said was to the room.
"Bed," he said.
"All of you."
Nobody argued with him.
The preacher patted my shoulder on his way past and said, "God keep you, child."
The sheriff put his hat on and muttered that he had seen stranger things at the county fair.
The cattle buyer winked at me from the door.
Dub got up last, with a hitch in his left hip.
"I'll sit the bunkhouse porch tonight," he said.
"Something is out on that pasture, and the girl sleeps out there."
"Go," said Hoyt.
Dub went, laughing silently into his fist.
The vet stopped in the doorway and looked at my feet.
I thought it was the clay.
"Goodnight, Arlo," Hoyt said, and the quiet man nodded and shut the door behind him.
Jolene kissed my cheek and went up the stairs two at a time.
Then it was the two of us, and the refrigerator, and the cold coffee.
I was still sitting across his thighs.
He had not moved his hand.
"Dessa," he said.
"I am fifty-two years old."
"I have a daughter your age, and eleven years of nothing, and I weigh two hundred and fifty pounds," he said.
"You picked the wrong lap."
"I picked yours," I said.
"The bunkhouse is made up," he said.
"The door locks from the inside, and the lock is yours."
He said it slowly, looking at the table and not at me.
"Nobody earns a chair at this table in a bed."
"That isn't how the Tarver table works," he said.
"What you give a man in one is yours to give, and yours to keep."
I looked at his mouth.
It was a good mouth, wide and dry, with deep lines on either side.
"Then I'm not earning anything," I said.
"I'm asking."
He did not answer.
His hand on my back turned a little, and the heat of his palm sank in through the torn dress.
I slid off him, and I pulled a kitchen chair over and stood up on it.
That put my face level with his.
He watched me do it with an expression I had never seen on him.
"What are you doing?" he said.
"Reaching," I said, and I kissed him.
For a moment he did nothing at all.
His lips were warm and still under mine.
Then a sound came up out of his chest, low and ragged, and his hand closed in the back of my hair.
He kissed me hard and hungry and a little clumsy, with eleven years in it.
It was slow, and then it was not.
His tongue slid over mine, and I grabbed his shirt in both fists.
He picked me off the chair with one arm.
He set me on the kitchen counter next to the sink.
His hands went around my waist, and his fingers met behind my back.
They did not just meet.
They overlapped.
"Hoyt," I said against his mouth.
"Look at you," he said hoarsely.
"You're so small I'm afraid I'll hurt you."
"I'm not breaking," I said.
"Take this off."
He took the torn dress by the neck and the hem, and it came off me in two pulls.
I had nothing on under it but a pair of cotton underwear.
He looked at all of me, the freckles and the soft belly and my full breasts.
The look on his face made me feel taller than I have ever been.
"Dessa," he said, and then, "Lord."
He went down on his knees on the linoleum.
It put his head level with my hips, even sitting as high as I was.
He hooked a finger in the underwear and drew it down my legs, and he set it aside on the counter.
He put his big hands under my thighs and opened me.
"Hoyt, you don't have to," I started.
He put his mouth on me.
I forgot the rest of the sentence.
His tongue was broad and warm and slow, and he did not hurry.
He licked me from the bottom to the top, once, and then did it again.
I put my head back against the cabinet and groaned.
His stubble scraped the insides of my thighs.
I buried a hand in his hair.
"There," I said.
"Right there."
He found it.
He circled my clit with the tip of his tongue, patient and steady.
When I moved, he moved with me and did not lose it.
"Good girl," he murmured against me.
"Let me hear you."
I let him hear me.
My heels dug into his back.
I came with my hand knotted in his hair and my mouth open, shaking all over.
He held my thighs still and did not stop until I begged him to.
He stood up with his mouth wet and his eyes dark.
"Again," he said.
"Not like that," I said.
"I want you inside me."
I put my feet on the counter and opened his belt myself.
I pushed his jeans down, and then I looked, and then I looked up at him.
He was enormous.
He was thick and long and flushed dark, bigger than I had known a man could be, and my mouth went dry.
"Dessa," he said.
"Tell me to stop."
"Don't you dare," I said.
He lifted me off the counter in one arm.
My legs went around his waist, and he carried me across the kitchen and set my back against the pantry door.
One of his arms held my whole weight.
The other hand he used to guide himself against me.
He pushed in slowly, one inch at a time, and I felt every one.
It stretched me so wide that I said his name in a voice I did not know.
He stopped, with the sweat standing on his forehead and his jaw clenched.
"More," I said.
He gave me more, a little at a time, and he held my eyes the whole way.
When he was all the way inside me, I could feel him up under my ribs.
I was pinned against the wood with my feet locked behind his back.
He was so big that I could not have moved if I wanted to.
I did not want to.
I put my hands on his face and kissed him, and I felt him tremble.
"I forgot," Hoyt said, into my mouth.
"I forgot what it was."
"Then I'll remind you," I said.
He moved.
He drew out slowly and pushed back in, deep and heavy, and each stroke lifted me against the door and set me down again.
I held on to his shoulders and cried out into his neck.
"That's it," he said.
"That's my girl."
His pace picked up.
The pantry door thudded in its frame, and a can of beans fell off a shelf somewhere inside.
Neither of us stopped.
I could feel the next one building, low and hard, and I dug my nails into his back.
"Hoyt, I'm going to."
"Do it," he said.
"Come on my cock, Dessa."
I did.
It went through me in long hard waves, and I clenched around him until he swore.
He drove into me twice more and groaned my name.
He came deep inside me with his forehead against the door above my head.
I felt every pulse of it.
For a long time we stayed like that.
His whole body shook.
Mine did too.
"Eleven years," he said into the wood.
"I thought it was gone out of me."
"It isn't gone," I said, and kissed his jaw.
He carried me out across the yard at four in the morning, wrapped in his coat, with my head on his shoulder.
The stars were enormous over the pasture.
The bunkhouse porch light was on, and Dub sat under it in a lawn chair with a shotgun across his knees.
He said nothing at all.
He only tipped his hat to me, with a wide grin.
Headlights swung into the yard behind us.
It was Arlo's truck, coming slowly up the lane, and he stopped it beside the barn and got out.
There was a tarp over something in the bed.
One corner of it had blown back, and I saw a small hoof and a bloody hide.
Arlo walked to us and stopped.
He looked at the clay on my bare feet, hanging out of Hoyt's coat.
Then he looked at Hoyt, for a long time, and said nothing at all.
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