There was a pinch as he pushed the tip in. He was too big. I wiggled, opening wider for him. He pushed inside and I was overwhelmed with pleasure.
Rogan’s face materialized. His light brown eyes were drilling into my very soul. I couldn’t look away. His short brown hair was mussed from where my fingers had pulled and tugged. His square jaw and the hint of a five o’clock shadow were sexy as shit. My eyes drank in the muscles and the tats that were hidden from the world. He was crafted from the gods themselves.
I jerked awake, confused and flushed. “Oh shit,” I whispered.
I rubbed my face. I couldn’t believe I’d had a sex dream about Rogan Leal. That was not cool. I blamed the situation. My emotions were all over the place. I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the arousal. There was nothing worse than getting to the brink of an orgasm and not getting to finish it.
I was not about to finish myself off. Not today. I was ashamed of myself for even having the naughty dream. It was the morning of my father’s funeral. What kind of person had a sex dream hours before they buried their father?
Me, apparently. I rolled to the side and checked the clock on my nightstand. It was just after three. The sun wasn’t up, but it would be up soon. There was no way I was going to be able to go back to sleep. I didn’t really want to try out of fear I would land in that same erotic dream or something close to it. I didn’t want to reach fulfillment. It felt wrong. I shouldn’t be feeling ecstasy on a day that was sure to be difficult and sad. Then again, a little ecstasy was a nice break from the grief.
I sighed, looking up at the ceiling in the muted light coming from the nightlight in the hallway. I wasn’t afraid of the dark, but I was afraid of the bogeyman. I wanted to see him coming. The whirring of the fan above was usually soothing. It was bothering me now. My skin was still flushed and overly sensitive. The breeze created by the fan scraped over my skin, igniting little fires inside me.
I threw off the blanket and got out of bed. I passed the black dress hanging on the closet door and kept going. I quickly washed my face, studying my image in the mirror. It didn’t seem fair to be twenty-four and an orphan. My parents would never meet their grandchildren. They wouldn’t see me get married.
When we lost Mom, it had been hard, but we had Dad. Dad was such a powerful force. He filled our lives and helped drown out the sadness that threatened to pull me and my brother down. Now, he was gone and the emptiness I felt was indescribable. I knew I was still in shock. One day, it would hit me hard. For now, I felt kind of numb.
I walked into the kitchen and started some coffee before dumping a healthy amount of vanilla-flavored creamer into the cup. I took the first sip, letting the hot liquid flow down my throat. The caffeine slowly rolled through my system.
I carried my cup outside to the balcony, walking around a few boxes that were packed. I was moving into my father’s house—temporarily. I wasn’t ready to give up my condo but there were things that needed to be done and it was easier to be in the house. Plus, I wanted to feel that connection to him.
The sun was just starting to come up. Streaks of orange and red lit up the sky. My mind drifted, thinking about the world without my daddy in it. He loved sunrises. He was a hard worker and was always up with the sun, even in the summer when the sun showed up far too early.
I choked back a sob. I missed his voice. I missed his presence in the world. I could feel the absence deep in my soul. Knowing he wasn’t at home drinking his morning cup of coffee and reading the newspaper hurt. He was too young. I was too young to lose my dad. Life was such a royal bitch. It wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t be left without my parents at such a young age.
I sipped the coffee, thinking about what the day held in store for me. I was going to be on my feet all day. I was going to have to smile through my pain. I was going to have to shake hands and take hugs from strangers. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I would do it. I would do it for him. It was the least I could do.
I was still suffering from some serious guilt. I hadn’t been there with him in his last moments. I was in my office, my door closed and doing my job. I was immersed in the numbers and had no clue my father was down the hall, taking his last breaths.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I relived the moment. I heard a commotion and looked up to see two paramedics running down the hall. I told myself it was someone else, but maybe a part of me knew the truth.
I remembered getting to my feet and walking into the hall. It felt like I was walking in a dream as I walked toward his office. His secretary was in the arms of the woman from HR. She was crying uncontrollably. I walked into the office and saw my father being loaded onto a stretcher with a paramedic pumping his chest.
I never asked what happened. I didn’t say a word. I stepped out of the way as they rushed him by me. I didn’t follow right away. I couldn’t move. Pure shock engulfed me. It paralyzed me. It was the touch of a hand on my shoulder that snapped me back into the moment.
That hand had been Rogan’s. He looked shaken but he was offering me support. When I felt my knees buckle as reality crashed in, it was Rogan’s strong arms that held me up. I blamed that moment for spawning the dream. It had felt so safe and comforting in his arms. I was feeling lost and very alone, so I was clinging to anything that brought me comfort. It was why I was going to stay at my dad’s for a bit. I wanted to be surrounded by his things, his smell, and all the things that he loved.
I needed that connection to him and our time together. When the numbness wore off, which I was counting on happening shortly after the funeral, it was going to knock me on my ass. Being in his house, our house, would hopefully make it a little easier to tolerate.
The sun was well on its way up and bringing the heat with it. I needed to get dressed and head to the church. Everything was being handled by people. I didn’t really know all the people, but I was trusting them to handle the arrangements. I wasn’t strong enough to pick out flowers or a casket.
Thankfully, most of the details had already been handled. My dad had had the foresight to create a burial plan. He didn’t want to burden us when we were already overburdened.
“I love you, Dad,” I whispered as I passed the picture of the two of us at my college graduation.
Chapter 3
Rogan
I pulled out the tired old suit from my closet. My only suit. I wore it once—maybe twice—a year. I couldn’t bring myself to buy numerous suits. It seemed frivolous. I wasn’t the same cash-strapped kid I once was, but I had learned my lesson. I saved when I could. I never knew when the next rainy day was coming my way.
I slowly dressed, not looking forward to the day. I couldn’t believe Ben was gone. My future was uncertain. I didn’t know who was taking over, and that made me nervous. I wasn’t going to worry about it now.
I tied the tie before sliding on the jacket. The dress shoes were practically new. In two years, they had been worn maybe three hours total. They went with the suit and I never wore the suit any longer than necessary. I preferred my casual slacks and mostly my jeans. I was a Texas boy through and through. I liked the simple things in life, but I liked having the money to buy those simple things as well.
I checked the time and decided to head over to the church. I wasn’t family and had no right to a position in the front row. I knew it was going to be packed and wanted to make sure I was close enough to hear the preacher.