Page 3 of Peaches & Cream


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He has that power because I fucking give it to him.

And suddenly, I’m done.

I’m done giving everything I have, only to get nothing in return. Worse than nothing. I’m being left in deficit. Drained.Robbed.

I support other people all the time, but there’s nobody supporting me. The one person who claims to love me, intentionally denies my needs and reinforces a narrative of charitable expectations, to keep me trapped in a never-ending cycle of giving, and it’s chewing through years of the life I should be out enjoying.

Well, no more.

I’m breaking out, and I know exactly who I want to help me do it. Daryl- the-horndog-ass-fucking-Winters, you had better be ready to swing your big-dick energy my way when you come to the library today.

2

DARYL

Irinse my hands under the faucet, inspect them, and then scrub at my nails again. My morning grooming routine has become more stringent by the day. I may actually be bordering on OCD with this shit, and it may going to get worse, because no matter how hard I try, this dirty old man may never feel clean enough to be in the presence of Cadence Malone — aka theuntouchableMiss Malone, Beaumont City’s poster child for virtue and grace.

Sweeter than fresh strawberries still warm from the sun, she caught my interest in a heartbeat, and I’ve been trying to curb my obsession ever since. Young and beautiful and far too sweet for a roughed-up, roguish son of a bitch like me, I knew she couldn’t be more than a guilty pleasure, but she quickly became myonlypleasure. My entire routine is now based around the times I’m able to see her, and I know that seems unhealthy, but every time I’m in her presence, I feel like my best self, and it’s a potent drug. In those brief moments of bliss, I’m wrapped in her warm glow of acceptance, where I’m both free from my past and wide open to the infinite potential of my future. She’s like crack mixed with warm cocoa. Medicine for my soul. And my heart never stops pounding when I see her.

I’m in love. It’s the truth. And there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve tried to look the other way — to find love in more appropriate places, but out-shone by Cady’s radiance, other women have become invisible to me now. I haven’t evenbeenwith a woman since I properly fell in love with her.

Which is an issue in itself. It goes against everything people assume about me, and I’m paranoid people will find out I’ve gone cold turkey and wonder why. What could possibly be the reason DarylHorndogWinters would swear off women? Diseases, homosexuality, or involvement in a secret affair are the only three I can think of, and all three would fuel rumors that leave me in a worse position than being the town’s resident ass-fucker of women.

So what can I do? I keep appearances up and suspicions low. I travel out of town for short stints and brag a big game about what I did while I was gone —fuck, I’ve even lied to my friends about it, so they don’t worry about me throwing my life away on a woman I can’t be with. But the truth is, I’m smitten as fuck and fixated beyond return. I know I’m not good enough for Cady, but I’ll never stop striving to be. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her and wonder how I can bring the same kind of joy to her life that she brings to mine.

I’ve drawn cautiously closer over time, hoping to learn all there is to know about the woman who lives rent-free in my head, where she sits on the throne I’ve built her, surrounded by offerings I’d set at her feet in real life if it only felt right to do it. But the more I learn, the more I love, and it’s torturous to feel so secure in the knowledge that she’sThe One, when the barriers between us seem insurmountable, but I’m invested now. I’m a man on a mission to be who she needs, and now that I’m close enough to study the intricacies of the masterpiece, I can see through the layers of illusions that have been painted overthe original, to portray an image of Cadence Malone that serves everyone else but her.

It’s not all true what they say about her.

She’s a good girl, for sure. And I’d bet my eye teeth that she’s a virgin to boot. I’m not sure if she’s ever even beenkissed.She dresses like a nun, is spoken of in revered tones as if she’s a saint, and if you ask anyone in town, they’ll tell you their librarian is an angel — a literalgodsend. A local icon and treasure, who is to be protected at all costs. She loves her family, dedicates her time to helping others and giving back to her community, and doesn’t have a selfish bone in her body. From the outside looking in, she may well be the purest twenty-six-year-old anyone has ever met.

But her cheeky smiles, twinkling eyes, and increasingly smutty book recommendations suggest there are deeper, darker, and far more saucy layers hidden beneath the innocent facade she’s been coated in — layers that keep me up all night wondering if she’d like to experience some of the carnal acts from those same erotic stories.

When she first questioned my borrowing of romance novels, I told her — tongue in cheek — I enjoyed the happy endings. Her eyes had lit up.Me too, she’d said, and she soon began setting her favorites aside for me. While I don’t think she’d meant it in the same way I had, I haven’t been able to stop wondering about it since. I started visiting the library more often, and now I’m hooked on going every day I can, for a little banter, a few smiles, and another gem for my eroticTo Be Readpile.

The first few love stories she recommended were fairly tame, but over time, she’s really come out of her shell, and the heat levels in the romance books she’s currently endorsing have climbed into the thermosphere. It’s almost as if she’s flirting with me through the pages, and I’ll consume each of them in one sitting, while I stroke my cock, and wonder which bit of the action she enjoyed reading most. And then I spend the rest ofthe day berating myself for being a filthy fucking pervert who’s obsessed with a woman half my age, and I do my best to focus onnon-sexual thoughts about Cadence Malone.

Which is also an issue.

The more I observe of her life, the more enraged I become at the injustices she willingly endures.

It feels less like her cockblocking father and the other townspeople are preserving her virtue and more like they’re holding her hostage. Every time she sneaks a foot outside the box she’s been put in, she’s met with resistance, judgment, and isolation. I remember the day when she swapped her long skirts for a pair of jeans that hugged her curves, there was no end to the questions she faced — even though the jeans were more appropriate attire for the situation — and she’s never worn them since.

On the rare occasions I’ve seen her around town on her own, she’s not praised for the excessive hours she’s spent taking care of her mom, she’s told how good her father is for allowing her somefree time. Desperate for connection, her eyes always light up when anyone talk to her, but too often she’s let down. Her eyes sparkle when I talk with her, but this town has her earmarked and destined for spinsterhood, because the minute I, or any other single man, goes near her, someGood Samaritanshows up to make sure nothing untoward is happening. In a public place, there are eyes on her constantly, so she’s never left alone in the company of a man. In less populated areas, it’s easier to talk to her alone, but an interruption is inevitable, and so predictable it can be timed. If there’s nobody in the library when I arrive, I usually have no more than seven minutes before someone shows up.

It’s fucking weird — and clearly a conspiracy. One she clearly doesn’t enjoy being forced to live, if her regular jokes about packing her favorite books into a suitcase and escaping to someanonymous city or a cabin in the woods are anything to go by. People have been boxing her in and isolating her for so long, she’s started to do it herself. She wants to be free, but with the world seemingly pitched against her, she can’t quite reach the key to escape her captivity. She’s tired. And I know why.

Her dad’s an asshole.

He’s got her trapped in a cycle of servitude and people pleasing, day in and day out, and it’s taking a toll on her spirit. She’d have been a child when it started, so that cycle is ingrained too. He’s raised her to be his doormat, and she’s become like a creature conditioned to obey its master — but I’ve seen her gaze wistfully beyond the bars of that prison to where freedom lies. She’s thought about what it’d be like, but she’s drained, alone, and afraid to leave the devil she knows.

I’m not sure anyone else even sees her struggling with the weight of her loneliness as she carries the lion’s share of her family’s obligatory load. If they do see, they’re either pretending not to or they don’t care. It could be that they’re blind to the whole Malone Family charade. I’m certainly not. I’ve seen this kind of thing before. Hell, I’velivedit. Despite every effort of my father, I survived to tell the tale. I can’t unlearn all the valuable life lessons his abuse pounded into me, so I’m wise enough to know a narcissist when I meet one, and Vander James Malone is most definitely that brand of devil. Which is why I’ve made it my mission to keep an eye on Cadence and give her spirit a boost when I can see she needs it.

It’s not like I can offer her assistance in any other way. I can’t touch her, and I doubt she’d want me too. She’s perfect and pristine and half my age…

I grip the edge of the countertop and hang my head. There are few things in this world more torturous than an unending desire for forbidden fruit. Itching powder on a body with no arms, perhaps? The image of a bear scratching himself on a treecomes to mind, and I sigh. At least an armless person could relieve themselves that way.

Where is my relief? Death?Ugh. Though, if I can outlast Vander, there’ll be no real barrier to declare my love for her after that. We’re practically the same age.How’s his health?I’ve vowed to keep myself in good shape so I can be around longer for Cady. I’m definitely fitter than him.