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  Raven

  Copyright © 2019 by Shantel Davis

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  The Fire- Prologue

  At sixteen, standing outside in the middle of the night, barefoot, wearing lingerie I had no business being in--with HIS cum drying between my thighs-- I watched as fire danced across the rooftop of my childhood home. “The house of horrors,” as I called it, was being blackened by flames. The heat from the fire warmed me, chasing away the frigid cold that had chilled my insides since the night I’d watched my daddy drown my mommy in the claw foot tub she’d loved so much. He’d brought me a doll the day after; as if a new toy could make up for losing a mother. I’d hated him since that day, had wished death upon him a million times and finally, my wish was coming true.

  The monster, my father was dead. There was no way he could have made it out of the house, not after I’d put the sleeping pills Lennox had given me in the drink, he’d demanded I fix for him after he’d finished violating me.

  Unsurprisingly, I felt no remorse about playing a part in his demise because he’d deserved to die. Too bad everybody else wouldn’t feel that way. They would mourn him because they didn’t know the truth.

  To the citizens of our small town my daddy had been the sheriff. An upstanding citizen. A good guy. To me…he was a murderer. A rapist. A child molester. A monster.

  I hated him. I was glad he was dead.

  The sounds of siren had just gotten close enough to hear when suddenly my body became abuzz. Lennox. I could sense him. Turning away from the fire I searched the darkness. I found him perched in his tree house two doors down. I called his name, barely above a whisper. Acting as if he’d heard me, he flicked the Zippo lighter he carried everywhere. In the brightness of the flame, his face became visible for a split second then disappeared.

  A tiny smile came to my lips. He’d done a horrible, horrible thing for me and for that he'd always have my undying devotion.

  Welcome home- Raven

  The closer I got to “home” the heavier the weight of foreboding weighed down on my shoulders.

  I hadn’t returned to my small hometown in ten years and everything in me was screaming that I should have stayed away. Nervously, I fingered my mother’s gold, heart-shaped pendant. I’d found it on the bathroom floor the day after she was murdered. Robert didn’t even notice when I started wearing it and I never took it off. Unfortunately, it didn’t help calm me like it usually did.

  My stomach was in knots, my pussy was on fire, and warning sirens sounded off in my head. Intuitively I could feel it, the impending tragedy awaiting me. I wanted to turn around and go back to my new home where I felt safe, but I kept driving. I knew I needed to reconcile the past or I would keep living in it.

  My thoughts drifted back to the period before I left. I was a fucking mess: suicidal, depressed, and spiraling. What Robert had done to me left me broken and exposed. I was one big open wound, hurting all the time. Thoughts of him and what he’d done consumed me. For months after his death, I sometimes caught myself missing him, his touch. Craving and feeling things I wasn’t supposed to. I knew those feelings were wrong and that I was sick.

  To deal with it, I started drinking and doing drugs. I used to spend more hours drunk or high than sober. Nobody noticed I was dying. Being in that town, surrounded by people who didn’t know I survived a monster, was literally killing me. Imagine having to pretend to be sad in front of everyone because your tormentor is dead, while simultaneously wishing you were the one that had killed him the first night he visited your room and touched you. This is why, when I got the opportunity to leave, I took it and hadn’t looked back

  I wanted to lie and say that after being away for ten years that I was healed and strong enough to return without it having an adverse effect on the new me. But I wasn’t. The dampness between my thighs was proof of that. Years of molestation and sexual abuse had left me hypersexual, with PTSD, trust issues, triggers and switches a-fucking-plenty. Stress, fear, anger, sadness and nearly any human emotion that wasn’t happy left me horny and wanting or anxious and panicked.

  I'd taken medications. Had been prayed over and prayed for. I even tried counseling, but I quit when my therapist said I was too nonchalant about the abuse I was subjected to. He wanted me to cry and feel, but that wasn’t me. If I was being honest, after I found out I hadn’t been fucking my actual father, I didn’t feel the need to cry about it anymore.

  Still, after everything was said and done, my affliction remained. My issue with sex was a double edge sword, a symptom of the trauma I experienced. It was also the only thing that took my mind off the trauma. Sex became my therapy instead of my burden and it worked. When I was fucking and cumming, I couldn’t be suicidal and depressed, now could I?

  My cell ringing brought me out of my thoughts. After I picked it up and checked to see who it was, I smiled when I saw my biological father’s face on the screen.

  “Hey, Daddy,” I answered cheerfully, even though I felt anything but.

  “Hey, baby girl. I was just calling to check up on you. I wanted to make sure you made it there safely. “

  Like always, his words of affection nearly brought me to tears. I was a big-ass softy when it came to my daddy. I felt like he was the only reason I was still alive. After the fire, I learned Robert wasn’t my biological father and Ricardo Valdez was. That discovery, along with a few others, sent me into a tailspin.

  I immediately searched for him. I needed to know who and where he was. After receiving help from a friend, I found him living in Brooklyn, New York. He was married with two other kids; one younger and one older than me. Both siblings were from the same woman he’d been married to for fifteen years when I was conceived. Without knowing anything about him except his name and that he was married, I concluded that he must have known about me but decided to abandon me for his real family.

  After I found him, I got belligerently drunk and wasn’t thinking straight. I called his home at three in the morning, and when he answered, I proceeded to curse him the fuck out. I told him everything that happened to me since my mother had died and blamed him for it all, before passing out. I woke up two days later in the hospital with alcohol poisoning and a strange man sitting at my bedside. The moment my vision cleared enough to see him; I knew he was my father. We shared the same dark mahogany complexion, the same expressive whiskey-colored eyes, and my face was a carbon copy of his face only rounder and softer.

  Tears came to both of our eyes. I didn’t even know I could cry anymore. I had become use to hiding my emotions. Robert had enjoyed making me cry, so I was like, fuck him, I stopped crying.

  With the help of my father, my siblings and even his wife—who had been surprisingly welcoming to me— I’d gotten better. The only point of contention between my father and I in ten years was the fact that he still wouldn’t tell me about his relationship with my mother. Eventually I stopped asking because I saw the pain in his eyes every time I talked about her, especially after I told him about what Robert did to her.

  “So, you’ve made it back. Now what, daughter?” he asked.

  It sounded like a simple question, but I knew Daddy was worried that my return to Florida would send me b
ack to the mental hospital. I tried to assure him it wouldn’t. I was going to do whatever it took not to lose my mind.

  “I’m going to see Mrs. D to make sure she’s alright, sign the papers to sell Robert’s land, and then I’m coming home,” I reassured, more to myself than him. “I’ll be here a week or two, tops.”

  “Hmm,” he hummed. His deep baritone made it sound like he was singing, “And what about that boy Lennox?”

  My heart sped up at the mention of his name. I was about to see Lennox for the first time in ten years, and I didn’t know how to feel about that or how I was going to react. If my PTSD acted up only the Lord knew what I would do. His rejection still hurt.

  Sighing, I tugged at one of my locs. Then pressed my thick thighs tightly together, hoping the pain coupled with the friction against my clit would calm me down enough, so I that I wouldn’t have a full-blown panic attack my first day back.

  “I don’t know, Daddy.”

  “Well, you’ve been talking about this young man and how he saved you since you woke up in the hospital. Maybe talking to him will finally give you some closure and help you with your health issues. Do you want to be with him?”

  I’d told Daddy everything about Lennox. Well, everything except the part about him being the reason Robert was dead. I kept that to myself and would carry that to my grave. For all intents and purposes, Robert died in an accidental house fire. We lived in Robert’s momma’s old house and there were all kinds of things wrong with it, so it was believable.

  “I don’t know if speaking to him is going to solve anything, but I’ll try.”

  I didn’t know the answer to his second question either. There was a part of me that still held out hope for a happily-ever-after and Lennox was the only person I could imagine that with after what he’d done for me. Well, there was another man I could see myself being happy with, but that was a whole other story.

  Daddy continued talking, but I no longer heard him. My attention shifted to the cop car following me. Groaning, I cursed when the lights flashed, and sirens rang out. Out of my rearview I saw the cop gesture with his hand for me to pull over.

  “Are you being stopped by the police, Raven? Were you speeding again?”

  Daddy’s voice sounded off in my ear and startled me. I had momentarily forgot he was on the phone.

  “Yes, Daddy,” I answered him absentmindedly. “Let me call you back.” He was still talking when I hung up.

  Sucking my teeth, I pulled over. I was still outside of town so there was nothing for miles, just swampland and that made me nervous. I tried not to fidget as I watched in my side mirror. The officer stepped out of his car and approached mine. He tapped at my window. I hesitated to roll it down but did eventually.

  “Good evening ma’am,” he drawled, his voice thick like honey. His southern accent caused my heart rate to spike. I shifted in my seat to get a better look at him. Damn.

  “Did you know the speed limit is fifty and you were going twenty-five?” I kissed my teeth because he was lying but didn’t argue. “Do you need my license and registration or my insurance?” I tried to hurry him along. My nerves were on edge because he had this weird lopsided grin on his face.

  “No ma’am. I need you to turn off the vehicle and step out of the car, slowly.”

  “Why? Shouldn’t you just be writing me a ticket?”

  “Once you step out of the car, I’ll explain everything, ma’am.”

  “Fine.”

  Reluctantly, I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door. It was so hot the mini skirt and thin t-shirt I wore felt like I had on jeans and a sweater.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them,” he warned.

  Before I could right myself the officer was grabbing my elbow and aggressively leading me to the front of the car.

  “I need to search you for weapons.”

  “Weapons?” I gawked at him like he was crazy. Throwing my hands up, I spun so he could get a good look at what I was wearing. “Where in the fuck on my person would I hide them, officer?”

  Quickly and efficiently his brown eyes trailed from my toes up to my breasts. I noticed his already deep voice had lowered an octave when he bit his bottom lip then said, “No need to get loud, ma’am, just spread your legs and place your hands on the hood of the car. The quicker you cooperate the quicker you can be on your way.”

  His authoritative tone was back. The way his voice boomed made my nipples pebble. I’d always had a thing for bullies and aggressive men. Unfortunately, those were the ones with the best dick.

  When I was in position, with booted feet he kicked my legs further apart. Heat spread from between my thighs upward, settling in the pit of my belly. Frustrated, I bit my tongue to keep my emotions and words in check while he searched me thoroughly.

  Starting at my ankles he made his way up my legs. He unnecessarily took his time touching me everywhere. His callused hands caused goosebumps to break out on my skin. My insides were going crazy, but I was somehow able to remain stock still until his fingers slipped under my skirt and tugged at my lace panties.

  I spun on him. “What the fuck are you doing? “

  A smile played at his lips. “I’m about to fuck you. Reassume the position, Raven, or I’m going to have to lock you up. In my home preferably.”

  Rolling my eyes, I threw my head back and laughed. My longtime friend, Officer Erick Banner, who was six-three, broad-shouldered, had a football player’s build, skin the color of graham crackers and eyes so dark they looked Black, did the same.

  “How long have you been sitting out at the marker waiting for me to drive by so you could roleplay?”

  “About two hours. You’re late”. He reached for me and pulled me into a hug. He held me while he ran his calloused thumb against the smooth skin at the nape of my neck. It had been two months since I’d last seen him and I had missed him more than he’d ever know because I didn’t plan on telling him. He’d read too much into it.

  “You smell so good,” I whispered into his chest.

  He always did, crisp and clean like salvation.

  “You say that every time you see me.”

  “You smell good every time I see you,” I countered.

  He smiled down at me. Fuck. My pussy got gushy wet at the sight of it.

  I don’t remember what he said after that. But I ended up with my back pressed against the warm hood of his car, with my legs pointed toward the heavens as he did a good job of catching all the cum I gave him. I was so wet I could feel juices sliding down my ass cheeks.

  I moaned as I fucked his face in a frenzied effort to reach my climax. I needed to cum. I was close to nirvana. Fireworks exploded behind my tightly closed eyelids. EB sped up, working his tongue more vigorously.

  “Cum in my mouth,” he mumbled in between licks.

  I planned to. To Help me along, he thrust three fingers inside of me, curved them and manipulated my spot.

  My thighs tightened around his head. Without missing a beat, he shoved them back open, so I didn’t suffocate him. I came and I came hard, flooding his mouth. Before my body stopped spasming from the first orgasm he ascended and filled me with ten inches of hard dick. He fucked me until I begged him to stop. His radio sounding off in his squad car was the only thing that made him finish. If not for that, I knew he would have left me with a sore pussy because he’d done it before. He knew I like to be fucked until I couldn’t think.

  After a few more ragged strokes, he came, pushing deep. “Fuck, Raven. Welcome back.” He groaned then leaned over me to shove his tongue into my mouth. I sucked it until he pulled away.

  After he pulled out of me, he righted himself. “I have to go.”

  I was too relaxed to respond with words; all my earlier tension had ebbed away and I wasn't so nervous bout being bsck anymore. I watched him turn away, heard his zipper go up as he made his way to the driver’s side of his cruiser.

  I had barely removed myself from the hood of his car and onto the damp ground
before he backed out of the wooded area he’d trapped me in. He didn't say bye, blow the horn, nothing. Just left me there. I couldn’t even be mad. EB and I had a complicated relationship. He was upset with me for returning. Then there was the whole accusation of me using him. I admit I did at times, because he let me. I knew it was because he wanted something more. More than I could give him. I was too fucked up. If we got together like he wanted, he’d end up resenting me because I didn’t know how to be normal, he wanted normal. Sometimes I wished I could let him go, make him walk away. But I was too selfish.

  Pushing myself up from the ground where I’d landed, I fixed my skirt, shoved my panties in my bra, ran my hand through my waist-length dreads, then shook my head to dislodge anything that may have clung to them. As I walked back to my car, I couldn’t help but wonder how my relationship with EB would play out now that I was back. I owed him almost as much as I owed Lennox.

  His parents had been my mother’s and Roberts’ best friends. They had known secrets that could have saved me from a fucked-up childhood, but they kept them to themselves. After Robert died in the fire, EB overheard them talking about lies I’d been told. He told me everything. Then he went a step further and used the resources his father had access to, as the newly appointed town sheriff, to find out all the pertinent information I would need. He was the one who gave me my birth certificate and my father's phone number.

  When I was better, he was the second person I’d contacted from home. Unlike Lennox, he answered the phone. That first call led to ten years of a tumultuous back and forth between us even after he married his childhood crush, who also happened to be one of my childhood tormentors. He remained in my corner, and like my father, he didn’t want me to return.

  EB knew there was a possibility of Lennox and me working out our troubles. I still cared for Lennox in my own twisted way, even after he spent years ignoring me. Though I didn’t want to hurt EB and the thought of losing him hurt me, I knew if it came down to choosing between him and Lennox, he would lose. I owed Lennox my life. I had to choose him.