The next few hours were a blur as he was arrested and charged with assault. It was strange, the things he remembered. The red lights flashing in the dark of the night, casting ghostly shadows on their worn brick building in the slums of the city they called home. The feel of the rain against his skin as he was placed in the backseat of the police car. The sight of his mother’s face, filled with tears and grief. And later, the sound of the prison bars slamming shut behind him, the coldness of the cell and the faraway echo of voices. But it was the sense of desperation he remembered most. It permeated the very air and he sucked it into his lungs with every breath he took.
He kept telling himself over and over that everything would be fine. His mother came to visit often, but his father was out for vengeance. Playing the victim, the old man lied on the stand and smiled when they sentenced his son to five years in prison. They wanted to make an example of him for such a vicious assault against a parent. He was eighteen, an adult now, and would serve his term in prison.
His mother cried and screamed as his father all but dragged her from the courtroom. He knew the old man would hurt her, especially since he was no longer there to help protect her. He fought the guards, begging and pleading with them to help his mother. His father’s smile was cruel as he waved goodbye to his son.
It was the last time he’d ever see her alive. A prison guard came by his cell less than a month later to tell him his mother was dead.
He covered his ears with his hands, but her screams echoed in his head. The agony vibrated in his very soul. It was the screams that woke him.
He bolted upright in bed, his lungs working like a bellows as he gasped for air. Sweat dripped from his body as he buried his face in his hands. His heart was pounding so hard against his chest that it hurt, and he concentrated on taking one deep breath after another, trying to calm the frantic beat.
The dream was a familiar one. He’d had it many times over the past twenty-three years. It usually occurred during times of stress or when he was exhausted from work. Tonight, he knew it was because he’d been pushing himself too hard lately.
Rolling out of bed, he planted his feet on the floor and stood. Naked, he strode to the bathroom off the master bedroom, trying to shake the remnants of his dream. He twisted on the taps, cupped his hands together and sluiced the cool water over his face. Turning off the taps, he rubbed his hands over his face and raised his head, peering into the mirror above the sink.
The skylight and the small window allowed enough light to filter in from the city streets so that he could easily see himself in the mirror. The lanky eighteen-year-old youth was gone. In his place was a large, muscular man whose grim face looked tough and mean in the dim light. Lucas Squires closed his eyes against the sight. Some days he hated to look at himself, for the face he saw peering back at him was eerily like his father’s.
Swearing, he turned away and padded out of the bathroom, ignoring the bed as he passed through the bedroom and continued down the hallway. It was futile for him to try to go back to sleep. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins, and time and experience had taught him that the best way to deal with it was with physical activity. Hot, sweaty sex or a workout were the two best options. And since he was currently without a female companion, a fast and hard fuck was definitely not in the cards.
Entering his workout room, he grabbed a towel he’d hung on the bar earlier and laid it across the weight bench. He didn’t bother with lights. What little was filtering in through the window was more than adequate. Settling himself with his back on the bench, he braced his legs, hoisted the bar and began to lift. He could easily bench-press his weight of two hundred pounds and he counted off the repetitions. After he’d done three sets, he hefted the bar back into place and lay there on the bench, staring at the ceiling.
He really didn’t want to work out tonight. What he really wanted was to lose himself in the softness of a woman’s body. He wanted to hear her moans of pleasure as he stroked his hands over her smooth skin, longed to hear her cries of completion as he drove his cock into her hot, wet pussy over and over until they both came in a rush of heat.
It would be nice to have a special woman waiting for him each evening when he came home from work. He squashed that thought as quickly as it had formed. Years ago, he’d decided that he was better off alone. The incident with his father had taught him that the same violent tendencies that had existed in his father also lived inside him. The thought that he might be like his old man sickened him, and he wasn’t taking any chances. There was no way he’d risk a woman’s safety. The image of his mother’s battered and bruised body still haunted him.
He’d had several long-term relationships with women who wanted a monogamous partner without all the ties and hassle of a “real” relationship. They’d all been intelligent, perfectly nice women who’d been focused on their careers and hadn’t been looking for more in a man than a willing partner for sex. All of the relationships had eventually ended amicably as all three women had been ready to move on with their lives and he hadn’t been willing to offer more. So he lived alone, and at forty-one, he was content with his life and proud of what he’d done with it.
But none of that changed the basic fact that he had a hard-on that wasn’t going to dissipate any time soon. What he really wanted was a woman. His woman. Closing his eyes, he pictured her in his mind. She’d be curvy and soft with eyes the color of rich chocolate. She’d smile at him with her pouty cherry-pink lips as she flicked her cinnamon-colored curls over her milky-white shoulder. One corner of his mouth kicked up in a smile when he realized he was using food, specifically baking ingredients, to describe his perfect woman. But after all, they were his stock and trade.
His cock twitched and he reached down and wrapped his hand around it. Slowly, he moved it up and down the hard length, all the while imagining it was her touching his body.
Her hands would be small but eager as they grasped him, squeezing tight. She’d use her other hand to cup his scrotum and massage his balls. His breathing got deeper as he relaxed into the daydream.
Then she’d smile at him, a wicked smile that made her eyes gleam with mischief as she knelt in front of him. Lowering her head, she would lap at his cock with her tongue, swirling it around the tip. He could picture her pink lips sliding over the hard length as it disappeared into her mouth. Ever so slowly, she’d pull back, tracing her tongue over his pulsing erection.
Groaning, he pumped harder and faster as he imagined her hand working up and down his length as she continued to suck him off. Her breasts would be plump, tipped with large pink nipples, and they would sway with every movement she made. She’d moan and arch her sex against his leg, drenching it in her juices. Damn, but she’d taste fantastic too. He knew she would. A combination of sweetness and musk that would be addictive.
A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eye, but he ignored the sting. He was so close to coming. His balls drew up tight to his body as his hand continued its frantic rhythm. His cock seemed to swell even larger as he pumped harder, imagining her mouth sucking him deeper. Lucas’ whole body jerked as semen gushed from the tip of his cock and he came onto his stomach. The daydream flickered away and his dream woman disappeared back into the mists of his imagination.
As he lay there panting for breath, his hand dropped away from his cock. Physically, he felt better, but there was an emptiness inside him that yearned to be filled. Liquid began to drip down his side and he swore. Sitting up quickly, he grabbed the towel out from under his body and used it to clean himself up.