Without another word, I position myself in front of the redhead. She’s wearing bright red lipstick. Upon close examination, she’s not the type of girl I would normally fuck, but hell, she’s here, and she looks like she’d be down for it. “Says she’s a model,” Lawrence teases with a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, come on baby,” the redhead urges me. She’s licking her lips already. Slowly, I undo my zipper. My massive cock is stirring to life and about to burst forth in all its glory when several things happen at once. First, the redhead leans forward, her lips open in anticipation at finally tasting a real man’s cock. I can see her tongue dart out, as if trying to catch a taste of the delicacy about to present itself to her—the way you reach for a massive ice cream cone because you’re busting to get a taste before it melts. I take a step toward the waiting mouth, ready to fulfill this girl’s dream. And then second: there’s a noise at the door. It’s a cough—not the congested kind, but the sharp, curt cough of someone with deep pockets, feeling smug about how morally offended they’re about to get. Before I can really appreciate what’s happening, the darn girl topples off her chair and lands with a loud thud. She ends up sprawled out unflatteringly on the royal blue carpet at my and my brother’s feet. Lawrence’s cock is now dangling in the free air in front of him. It looks disappointed. My own cock has gone limp. Slowly, I turn toward the door. It’s one of the most human traits there is, the need to look at a disaster as it unfolds. It’s why we slow down at accidents to make sure we don’t miss anything, and why we only shut up and pay attention to the news if they’re reporting on a tragedy. And when my gaze is directed toward the door, my blood runs cold. It’s the look in his eyes that’s the worst. Icy, cold eyes pierce my chiseled pectoral and stab me right in the heart. He’s still got it, even after all these years. The way he looks first at Lawrence and then at me instantly transports me to the age of five. I’m in trouble for some minor misdemeanor, like coming in five minutes late from my playtime outside. “Morning, Dad,” Lawrence says to him.
Me? Well, since I’ve got my dick out and a slutty redhead at my feet in front of the stodgy old men who I’m going to be answering to by the end of the week, I keep my fucking mouth shut. “Will you excuse us?” The old man’s voice is a little gravelly as he addresses Abraham Fertility’s board of directors, who are all piled into the doorway behind him, gawking at the scene. At least he’s sending the members of the board away. I’m fuming as I shove my cock back into my pants. As I do so, I glance at the portrait of our mother and mumble a silent apology. It pains me to think I was about to disappoint her. “You, uh, better get out sweetheart,” Lawrence says to the red head. “We’ll finish this later?” I see her pleading look and wonder what exactly Lawrence sees in this woman. “I’ll call you,” my brother says, delivering a little smack to her ass while she gathers her clothes. By the time our father comes all the way into the room, we’re both in our seats. No one says anything. The girl grabs her clothes and scampers out. I wonder if the board is hovering out the door, because if they are, they’ll be catching an eyeful of naked flesh. If any one of them suffers a cardiac arrest, then I suppose that’ll confirm it. None of them are that young anymore. I try not to laugh at the thought. By now, the bastard is sitting in his deep red leather chair at the head of the board table. Silence. The temperature has dropped a few degrees, and I wonder who will speak first. If I were a betting man, which I’m not, my money would be on Lawrence. Lawrence always takes on the old man. “I would have expected more of my sons,” Abraham Sr. growls, and slams his flat hand onto the table. My coffee now sloshes up and over the rim of the mug, barely missing my thigh as it slops to the ground at my feet. I glance at Lawrence. That shit-eating grin hasn’t shifted an inch.