Her Brother’s Best Friend Pt. 06

When Molly finished her shift, she had six unread texts and one missed call from her brother, three missed texts from her mother, and three missed calls from an unknown number. Crouched in the cramped, dim break room at the back of the restaurant where she picked up shifts, she scrolled through the wave of deranged messages. 

Jason's texts showed an uncharacteristic level of concern, but an expected amount of self-absorption.

Jason: Did u fck Mikey?

Jason:????

Jason: Hope ur happy, drove all the way back and ur not even here. Michael's a freak. Stay away from him.

Jason: Beat Mikey's ass, u can come home now. Text me ur ok. This is ruining my

weekend.

Jason: Literally anytime u want to let me know ur ALIVE 

Jason: CALL ME BACK. 

Her mother seemed normal, for her: chilly, irritated, and offended by the inconveniences of parenthood. 

Mom: Mrs. Furstenberg says a red pickup truck was at the house all night and Jason and Michael got into it in front of the house. What did you do?

Mom: Communicating is how you take responsibility. 

Mom: Michael called. Sorry to hear you were unwell. Gave him your number. Call me when you can.

She texted Jason first to confirm that she was, in fact, alive and was at work. She lied in a text to her mother and promised to call on Tuesday. Rubbing tiredly at the corner of her eye and wincing when she only ground mascara into it, she shoved her phone into her bag and stumbled out of the restaurant. 

The antiseptic yellow-orange of the streetlight illuminated cracked pavement and a rusted green dumpster. At this time of night, the buses weren't running and Molly would have to walk home. It was why she avoided late-night shifts on weekends, despite the bigger tips. She stumbled forward to round the restaurant and headed for the main road on leaden feet. If she'd made it through her waitressing shift, she could manage the two and a half miles home. 

When she turned the corner, a familiar pickup sat parked in front of the restaurant. She only made it three more steps before Michael was out of the truck and jogging the short distance between them. Her shoulders slumped, and she had to force her breaths past the knot in her chest. There he was, fresh and handsome as ever, ready to take on the world, while she stood in a work polo stained with dry sweat and an ugly pair of black slacks. 

"Molly, hey, I--" Michael began.

"Please leave me alone," Molly said. "You took off before and you don't get to just show up at my work out of the blue."

Michael's eyebrows snapped together. "I didn't take off. YOU took off. I went to get us breakfast."

"Oh, is that so? You just went, without telling me, and were gone for over an hour, and didn't leave a note, or send a smoke signal, or--" Molly choked off the sentence, biting back a rising sob. 

"I'm not lying," Michael insisted.

"And I'm not going to stand outside my job and litigate your shitty communication skills at 1 AM!" Molly wasn't sure when she started yelling, but she ended the sentence at top volume. "I'm going home. Do us both a favor and fuck off."

Michael was shocked. She watched the spark of anger in his eyes grow to a five-alarm fire. 

"I can see that you're very tired and upset," he bit out around gritted teeth. "I'm going to give you a ride home. We don't have to talk right now."

"I meant every word I said," she shot back.

Closing the distance between them, he grabbed her arm and tried to steer her toward his truck. Molly dug her heels in and yanked on her arm.

"I'm not going with you."

"Oh, yes, you are," Michael snapped.

"Let me go, you jerk!"

"Molly!" Michael yelled, his patience spent. "I know I fucked up! Now please get into the fucking truck so I can make sure you get home safe so you can still be mad at me over dumb shit tomorrow!"

Molly wrenched her arm out of his grasp. "Stop yanking me around!" 

Chest heaving, Michael stepped back, shoving his hands through his hair in exasperation. 

"I'm sorry," he said in a quieter voice. "Please let me give you a ride? It's late and you must be tired."

Molly crossed her arms and tried to keep the tears from rising back into her eyes. She was exhausted, wrung out. She couldn't think straight. She wanted to slap him, to fuck him, to never see him again, to erase the last 24 hours. She wished she knew how to forgive and not fight. 

"You will," she bit out, "not touch me, and not talk to me, and take me straight home. Can you do that?"

Michael sucked in a breath, ready to argue, but the tears spilled over and out of Molly's eyes, and he found himself promising to do just that. 

**************

Sunday morning found Michael in the gym, waling on a punching bag. He'd kept his promise and drove Molly home in silence, murmuring a soft good night as she climbed out of the cab. She had said nothing back, just looked at him with red-rimmed eyes that hit him straight in the gut, and climbed out. 

Michael couldn't remember when he'd given up on sleep the night before. He'd ended up pacing back and forth in the tight space offered by his one-bedroom apartment, arguing with himself about texting her or calling, wondering if she was asleep, if she was done with him, if she would talk to him in the morning. He headed to the gym when it opened at 6 AM and had been there ever since, trying to leave his phone alone until 9, so Molly could sleep.

Even after hours and hours of thinking, he still didn't know what he would say to Molly. Sure, he knew he should have left a note or something, but he wasn't totally in the wrong and she wouldn't even talk to him when he came to see her. 

At 9, the alarm on his phone chimed in his earbuds. He headed to the showers to wash up and change, then hopped into his truck. He stared at his phone. Nothing from her yet, but he couldn't wait anymore. He called her. She picked up on the first ring.

"Hey," he said into the phone. 

"Hey," she rasped.

"Did I wake you up?" he asked, wishing he'd waited longer.

"Yeah. It's okay," she mumbled.

"Can I come by, I --" 

"You can't show up at my work unannounced, Michael," she interrupted. 

He felt like all his blood was rushing down, like he might sink through his seat, like he was falling out of his own life. "I know that--"

"And you can't call my mom without telling me. Or 'settle' things with my brother. Or just, just disappear in the morning."

"I'm sorry I didn't leave a note. And the other stuff just sort of happened."

"'Sort of happened'?" 

She sounded angry. "I got back, your brother was there, then the neighbor saw, I--" 

"I will handle MY family," she said.

Michael swallowed the lump in his throat. He wanted to argue but he understood it was early between them, that this thing they had was delicate. 

"I hear you," he almost pleaded. "I won't intervene anymore."

"Good," she said. He waited to see if she would say more.

"Your family sort of sucks, you know?" 

She let out a choked laugh. "No shit."

"You deserve better," he said. 

"And are you going to be?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"Am I going to be what?" 

"Better," Molly said. "Are you going to treat me better?"

"Yeah, babe," Michael promised. "I am."

**************

Molly stared at Michael across the dining room table. She suspected he'd brought the same breakfast that he'd gone to get the day before, when circumstance had popped the sparkling bubble they'd floated in for a few brief hours. In the morning light, she felt awkward all over again. A day's separation was all it took to leave her feeling like a teenager with a crush. She didn't think he'd gotten much sleep, and he seemed withdrawn. She didn't know where to begin.

"Thanks," she started, "for bringing breakfast."

He looked back at her, sadness tugging at the corners of his eyes. "Sure," he said.

"Anytime."

The silence had her fidgeting, picking at the beds of her nails. 

"I don't--Do, um, do you still want to like...?" she mumbled. "I know things got all fucked up, but, I think we, we could--" 

When she looked up, she saw a slow smile tugging at the corner of Michael's mouth. 

"What?" she asked self-consciously, her face flushing.

Michael grabbed her hands and drew her forward to place a soft kiss on her lips. His mouth met hers like an oath, his tongue sure and familiar as it glided against hers. The joining felt both interminable and too brief to Molly, spiraling hot longing through her. Michael leaned his forehead against hers. 

"If you're asking me if I'm still interested in dating you," Michael said, "the answer is no." 

A small gasp escaped Molly, confusion filling her eyes. He continued to grasp her hands in his.

"'Dating' is not a word that can describe what I want with you, what I want for us. I think if I told you everything I want, it would be too much, too fast, Molly. We are still learning how to be comfortable with one another. But I won't lie to you or to myself. I want every little piece of you."

Molly's hands tightened on his. "I need you to answer a question for me, with the truth, the actual truth," she said, a hopeful light in her eyes, and worry tugging at their corners.

"Okay. What's the question?" Michael asked.

"Do you want me? Or do you want the fantasy of me that's living in your head?"

Molly's question dangled in the air between the two, their future poised atop it. Michael's jaw worked, and he swallowed hard.

"I think--" he said, rawly. "It's always been you, for me, you know? And I was just staying away, because you were a kid and then I walked in that night, and it all got jumbled. The fantasy and you."

Molly tried to pull her hands from his, but he tightened his grip. "I'm sorry for that, Molly Sue," Michael said. "I want YOU. And I won't get mixed up about that. Never again."

Molly's eyes softened, her gaze holding his. They breathed together, and the world paused with them, if only for a moment. 

"Uh, that was, like, a great answer," Molly Sue breathed.

A slow, sexy smile claimed Michael's face. He tipped an invisible hat toward her.

"There's more where that came from, ma'am," he drawled. Molly rolled her eyes, giggling.

"Well, what now?" Molly asked.

"Now? Now, we both have some frustration to work out," he replied.

She chewed the corner of her lip, eyes anywhere but his.

"Molly?" Michael asked. "Would you like that?" 

"Yeah," she breathed. 

"You need to remember what you call me when we're alone, Molly Sue. Do you remember?" Michael inquired, his gaze turning predatory.

Molly's eyes widened. "Sir?" she squeaked.

"That's right," Michael said, his voice silken. "And you, little Molly, are my desperate little slut, aren't you?" 

"Y-yes?" Molly stuttered.

"Good," Michael replied. "Now tell me about my pussy. Is it still sore from being used?"

"Uh, maybe a little, but not too bad," she said.

His eyes sharpened. "Did you play with my pussy while I was away, Molly Sue?" 

"Well--I couldn't sleep because I was upset, and it's the only thing that relaxes--"

"Quiet," Michael ordered. Molly Sue bit her lip. Michael relished the sight of her teeth catching on her plump pink lips. "I think you need a reminder that you GAVE yourself to me, Molly Sue." With an abrupt shove of his feet, he pushed his chair back from the table. "Come stand in front of me. Now." 

Molly got up and came to stand in between Michael's dominantly spread, muscular thighs, hands toying with her loose sleep shirt. She felt her pussy clench at Michael's display of control. Her trepidation only enhanced her anticipation of what was to come.

Michael looked her up and down, taking his time looking at her as she quivered in

front of him. 

"Take it off," he said, nodding at her pjs. "Clothing is a privilege that disobedient sluts don't deserve." 

Licking her lips, Molly drew her sleep shirt upward, drawing out the reveal of her naked body. She pulled the shirt tight across her breasts, jiggling them beneath the fabric before revealing them in one quick yank. Molly pulled the garment over her head and then dropped it to the floor, pulling her shoulders back. She wanted his eyes on her. 

Michael continued to regard her coolly, despite her efforts to please him. He placed his hand on his leg with his palm up, and two fingers pointed straight up, perpendicular to his leg. 

"You said your cunt was mine, but you haven't behaved that way. Why don't you make it up to your master by putting your pussy in the palm of my hand, hm?"

Molly Sue looked at his hand with wide eyes. She shuffled forward, unsure about the logistics of her master's command. Facing him, she put one leg on either side of his and then lowered herself down until his fingers slipped between her wet outer lips and sat against her weeping pussy. Here, she paused, unsure of how to proceed. 

"All the way," he insisted.

She continued down, pushing herself onto his fingers with a wanton little moan, and put her hands on Michael's shoulders to steady herself on her perch. Michael looked at Molly's flushed face as she waited for instruction. With a wicked smirk, he slid his thumb up between her lips to find her hot, wet clit. She breathed out a high, desperate sound, her hips jerking forward.

"Your slut-hole is drenched for me, pet," Michael observed. 

"Yes, sir," she gasped.

He reached up and pinched her left nipple with his un-occupied hand, before using his grip to bounce her fun-bag. Its jiggling pleased him, but the rolling of Molly's hips pleased him more. 

"Uh-uh!" he said, moving his hand to grab Molly by her hair and give it a quick tug.

"You need permission for that."

"Please, sir," she said.

"What would you like, little one?"

"May I please fuck my pussy on your hand, sir?" 

Michael closed his eyes and thought of England, desperate to avoid coming in his pants.

"What a pretty request, slut. You will bounce on my hand until you come. You may begin now," Michael said. 

"Thank you, sir, thank you," Molly gasped as she started bouncing on Michael's fingers. 

He opened his eyes to the sight of her dancing tits, tipped by rosy, distended nipples. He flicked his thumb back and forth, stimulating her clit, until she keened as she writhed on his hand. Michael pulled his hand back and slapped one breast and then the other, keeping rhythm with Molly's pace. 

He relished the moment- her naked on his lap, desperate for relief. As her hips hitched, hinting that she was close to orgasm, he stopped abusing her breasts and wrapped his hand around her throat. His eyes locked with his as he began squeezing, cutting off her air flow. 

It was the final act of domination Molly needed. She exploded on Michael's hand as he relaxed his grip on her throat. She tipped forward with a soft cry, gasping for breath with her face buried in his neck. The orangey cedar wood scent of his cologne soothed her as he held her close, stroking her back. 

Long minutes passed. In the white space of her mind, Molly wondered if she'd ever felt so peaceful before. 

"Little one?" Michael murmured.

"Hm?"

"Much as I enjoy having my fingers buried in this pussy, my wrist needs a break."

"Oh!" Molly Sue blushed, trying to get off his leg and onto her feet.

He stood as she did, working his wrist back and forth, chuckling at the wet stain on his pants. Wrapping a casual arm around her, he steered her towards the bedroom. 

"What about...?" she asked, glancing at the tented crotch of his pants.

"Finish the sentence."

"What about your, um, hard-on?" she asked.

"Such a cock-hungry slut, you are, Molly Sue," he whispered in her ear, nipping at the lobe with his teeth as they sauntered up the stairs. "Do you want to ride it? Get fucked with it? Feel it hit the back of your throat?" 

"I want you to fuck me with it, sir," she replied, voice soft and hesitant. 

"I would love to, pet. But you have been a bad girl, playing with my pussy without permission, hm? And my wrist is too sore from you fucking yourself on my hand to spank you. I think I'll have to get creative about punishing you."

"Please, sir, I'll make it up to you," Molly promised as they entered the bedroom.

"Oh, you will, Molly Sue, I'll make sure of it. Now bring me the toy you used when you played with my pussy. I think my slut needs a demonstration, so she won't forget this rule in the future."

Molly stumbled over to her bedside table, trying to find her vibrator in the toy-cluttered drawer while watching Michael undressed. His abs flexed as he yanked his shirt over his head. Her eyes slid across his wide shoulders and developed pecs. As his hands lingered over his belt, he glanced up and smirked when he found her watching. 

"If you don't bring me that toy by the time I take my pants off-" he paused, unbuckling his belt and sliding it out through the loops, "I'll tie your hands together and use three of the toys in that drawer on you at once. I'll let you guess which holes they'll go in."

Molly whipped around, scrambling for the g-spot vibrator she'd used only a couple of hours before. Michael laughed, relishing her desperation as he unbuttoned his pants and shoved them down his legs with his briefs. Molly Sue turned as he was kicking the pants off his feet, brandishing a finger-width, ridged pink silicone wand with a flexible, oval head. 

"In the nick of time, slut," he acknowledged. 

With magnetic force, Molly Sue's eyes clung to the erect length of his dick. He approached her casually, confident in his dominance. Her breathing erratic, she sank to her knees in front of him, assuming the position he demanded from her on their first night in the kitchen, bent legs spread, weight on her heels, straight back, thrusting her tits out. 

Michael's cock throbbed. A tornado took up residence in his chest as he looked down on his innocent Molly Sue, performing the nadu with no inkling of its significance. Silently he held out his hand. She placed the vibrator in his wide palm. He set it aside, on the bed. 

He sidled closer, waiting. She'd been so good for him. He waited to see what other manners she might remember from their earlier play. He hoped she would beg for his cock in her mouth. She disappointed him, remaining silent and unmoving. 

Nodding to himself, he acknowledged she couldn't be expected to obey a rule not explained to her. On the other hand... he smirked, and moved until his dick was a centimeter from the tip of her nose. Grasping the base of his cock, he slapped it across her face. 

Molly startled, trying to pull her face back, but his other hand latched onto the hair at the base of her neck, keeping her still.

"You've been a bad girl," he rasped, slapping her other cheek with his dick, relishing the pain in his appendage and her increasing resistance. "And now you don't properly greet me." 

He rubbed the tip of his cock against her lips, pulling back when she opened her mouth. He hit her face with his cock again. A frustrated vocalization slipped out of Molly. Again, he drew back, dick aligned with her mouth, and waited. She gazed forward, brow creasing. He expected her to speak. 

Instead, her eyes sliding up his body to lock with his, she opened her mouth and slid her tongue out, presenting him with a warm, wet target for his cock. Not what he wanted, but, Michael admitted to himself, more than sufficient.

He leaned forward and ran the tip of his cock across the surface of her tongue, depositing pre-cum on the pink pad, fascinated. When he stood on the cliff's edge of his patience, he eased his cock into the wet cave of her mouth, stretching her lips wide. He entered incrementally, a methodical probe that tapped the opening of her throat without triggering a gag. 

She sucked, working her tongue. He forced his hips to remain still, watching as her eyes slid shut and her head bobbed with his fingers still threaded in her hair. He held himself still until her hips wiggled in time with her sucking.