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“I don’t want a tan line where my bikini top is,” Selena says by way of explanation. “If you don’t get the lotion everywhere, I’ll get a white stripe on my back and it’ll look weird.”
I can barely contain myself, and any words would come out as a bark anyways. As a result, I go back to massaging her skin. My hands are rough on Selena’s back, and I try to ignore the way her breasts mash up against the lounger. Not only that, but she has a few silvery stretch marks along the sides of her tits, which I can now see because her bikini is halfway off. It’s too much for me to handle, and I can feel myself getting hard, progressively more so as I continue to rub the lotion into her slick skin.
At some point, this charade is going to get away from us. Selena senses it too, I can tell. She moans when I touch the small of her back again, dragging excess lotion down along her delicate spine. I’m close enough to see the goose bumps that my touch elicits on her thighs, and I feel like a male animal driven to conquer. I want to mate and rut her right here, claiming her as mine while I shoot my seed into her body.
When Selena moans again, this time near ecstasy, I realize that things have got to stop. I can no longer do this without the situation becoming totally inappropriate, and I’m not going to disrespect Rochelle this way. As a result, I jerk back and quickly brush my palms against my jeans, as if trying to lose the feel of Selena under my hands.
“I’ve got work to do,” I blurt abruptly. “I need to get back.” It’s a lame excuse and both of us know it, but it’s already been said. Selena lifts her head in confusion.
“Okay,” she says, “I’ll see you later, I guess. Thanks for the help.”
I feel embarrassed, and more than anything, I really hope that she didn’t see the obvious erection in my jeans. Regardless, I jerk away and practically run back into the penthouse like a scared rabbit. The truth is that I am scared: of myself, and what I want to do to the beautiful girl living in my house.
3
Selena
* * *
I stare in the mirror while brushing out my unruly curls. These corkscrews have been the bane of my life for as long as I can remember. More than anything, I wish they would lay flat and shiny against my head, the way my mother’s locks did. But instead, my hair is curly and full, bouncing around my shoulders no matter how I try to straighten them.
But I’m grateful to have a place to brush my hair because I’ve been living at my stepfather Clancy’s penthouse for the last few weeks, and it’s been a dream. I don’t share an apartment anymore. There are no pounding, heaving noises at night, or weird smells coming from the kitchen and bathroom. Everything is pristine, and I spend my days looking for work and sending out resumes, before amusing myself however I see fit.
But the weird part is my stepfather. I’ve hardly seen Clancy in the past few weeks, save for that time out by the pool. I didn’t want to ask him to help apply my sunblock, but there was no one else!
But after I loosened my bikini top, Clancy practically ran away like his hair was on fire. He’s obviously avoiding me now, and he’s succeeding too. It’s astonishing because we literally live in the same place and yet I haven’t seen him much. Of course, this penthouse is huge, but you can’t avoid someone forever. Regardless, he’s been working a lot, or he has to entertain clients and stay out late. I suppose that’s the life of a high-flying banker.
But tonight, I’ve decided to go out. I’m not going to wait around for Clancy like some lovesick teenager, although sometimes I feel like one given how my ears perk up when I hear his footsteps. Instead, I’m breaking my self-imposed solitude, and I’m going to a club with my friends. Hell, they don’t even know that I’m living with my stepfather. They probably think I’m in a shabby hostel somewhere, and not this palace.
I look around my bedroom again. If there’s another plus to this living situation, it’s the premises. My room is gorgeous with an enormous white four-poster bed, cream-colored walls, and a stylish yet feminine brocade couch in the corner, along with a matching ottoman. I have no idea why my stepfather has a slightly feminine room in his penthouse, but I suppose when you have six bedrooms, they can be decorated in a variety of ways.
But my favorite is the adjoining en suite bathroom that I have all to myself. There’s no one else’s gunky toothpaste on the counter, nor their damp towel in a pile on the floor. Instead, the counter is a smooth and shiny white marble, and there are two sinks, even though I’m only one person. Plus, there’s an enormous walk-in shower as well as a full-size tub perfect for bubble baths. Of course, I haven’t taken one yet because a bubble bath seems so over the top, but I’m going to one of these days.
