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However, I have a party to get to at the moment. It’s been weeks since I’ve been out, and I’m looking forward to letting loose. Usually, I’m pretty reserved and modest when it comes to clothing myself, but when I go out, I go all out. After painting my lips a sexy cherry red, I slip into a crimson tube top and black skirt. The outfit is scandalous and I have to wriggle and squirm to get the skirt over my wide hips, but it’s okay. No one will be able to see how tight it is because it’s going to be dark at the club, and besides, I’m feeling feisty. I want to have fun and party hard after sending out a blizzard of resumes for weeks on end.
Tall black boots with stiletto heels complete the outfit, and I scrutinize myself in the mirror. Perfect. Slutty and sassy, which is exactly how I feel tonight. Grabbing my clutch, I hum before stepping out of my room toward the living area.
To my surprise, my stepdad is sitting at the table with a drink in hand with his laptop in front of him. He must have just gotten back from work because he’s in a dark suit that highlights those broad shoulders and a white button down that makes his bronzed skin look almost golden.
“Clancy?” I ask in a nonplussed voice. “What are you doing home?”
He looks up and something flashes in his eyes, but then his expression goes smooth.
“I live here, remember?” he drawls while taking another sip of his drink. His eyes roam over my exposed curves, and a hot shiver runs down my spine unexpectedly. "Where are you going?" he drawls again as another hot shiver courses down my back. I frown.
"Just out with some friends. Nothing exciting. Why?"
He takes a deep breath, and for the first time I notice a dark flush on those high cheekbones.
“I just want to know because you look different tonight. That outfit is new, isn’t it?” he asks in a dangerously soft voice.
Why is that any of his business?
“It’s just some clothes,” I say in a hurry. “Have a good night.”
But the storm clouds on his face bode ill, and before I know it, we’re in a horrific fight that changes my life forever.
4
Clancy
* * *
When I look up from my computer to see Selena standing in the living room dressed in practically nothing, my vision goes red. At first, it started as a slow boil. My temper simmered as I looked over her luscious breasts, and the way the fabric hugged them tightly, her hard nipples visible beneath the thin material. Then my eyes slid to her narrow waist, and the way her skirt pinched in, emphasizing that hourglass figure. Then, my gaze dropped even lower, as it hungrily devoured those wide hips and long legs, encased in fuck-me boots. That’s when I lost it. The top of my head blew off and I stood up in a rage.
“What the hell are you wearing?” I demand, and Selena blinks in surprise. Her face shows obvious confusion.
“Um,” she stammers, “I’m wearing clothes to go out? Why, what’s wrong?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Out? Where? To work at a brothel?”
Her posture changes, going from startled to indignant, and she crosses her arms over her ample chest. Her top is so tight that when she crosses her arms, her cleavage lifts so that it’s hard not to stare at the creamy tops, which only makes me more lustful and angry.
“Why do you care?” she asks, her chin jutting out. “I’m going out with a friend, that’s all. Besides, it’s none of your business.”
“It is my business, because you’re living under my roof!”
“As a roommate,” she retorts with a sniff. “I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-five years old, in case you’ve forgotten, and that’s a quarter century! You can’t tell me what to do.”
I snarl at her, knowing that she’s partially right, but there’s no way I’m going to admit that. I don’t have any right to tell Selena what to do, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let her out of this house looking like a slutty tramp. Granted, Selena’s a slutty tramp that I want to fuck, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“You’re in my house. I’m the one paying for your room and board, and I forbid you from going out like this.”
The girl’s eyebrows raise almost to her forehead as her jaw drops. “You forbid me?” she sneers, her voice going up about an octave in indignation.
“Yeah, I do. I forbid you from leaving this house tonight. Absolutely.”
“You can’t do that! You have no right!”
“I’m your father, Selena, and you have to obey what I say,” I snarl once more.
At that, she explodes. “You’re not my father,” she says dangerously. “You didn’t raise me.”
