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4
The next morning, I wake up with an ache in my forehead. What did I do? I linger in my bedroom, listen to the sounds of voices out on the patio, the distant slam of screen doors and the patter of feet. I wait until I’m sure everyone is awake, Dad and Susan and Josh, so that I don’t accidentally run into Josh alone again.
If I do, I don’t trust myself to stay in control. Clearly I cannot be trusted around him—my impulses just take over. So, fine, I’ll just have to spend all summer avoiding ever being alone with him. That will be fine. Totally doable.
Right?
I hear the clatter of plates in the distance, and figure it’s safe to sneak to the bathroom now. I tiptoe through the tiny cabin and slip into the single-stall bathroom that Josh and I will be sharing all summer. I turn the shower on cold, and try not to wonder whether both of us would fit in it (it would be cramped, but I think we could make it work, especially if I press up against the glass on one side, and he grips me from behind, bends me over and…). I cut myself off by plunging my head directly under the freezing cold stream.
I managed to avoid him until I arrive at the breakfast table, and find the only open seat is right next to Josh, across from our parents, who have the newspapers spread out on the table, and have already tucked into their eggs.
“Someone slept late this morning,” Dad comments, because normally I’m the first one out of bed. I got my early-bird nature from him.
“Must still be tired from all the moving,” I say as I drop into the seat beside Josh. He quickly squeezes my knee under the table, and I plaster a wide smile on my face as I kick him for the trouble.
He grins back, only seeming egged on by that kick. Sure enough, I’ve barely helped myself to a plate of scrambled eggs before his hand is back on my knee, inching a little higher up my thigh now. I ignore him, figuring if I don’t tease back, he’ll let up. I should’ve learned better by now. He’s insatiable, and he’s not about to let me get away this easily.
He asks his mother if there’s anything interesting in the local news section, and politely nods along while she describes some local real estate battle or another, all while his hand continues to slide up my thigh, his fingers dropping between my legs, hot against my jeans. I can already feel myself starting to sweat, cold shower or no. Unbidden, memories of last night rise to my mind. The force of the orgasm that rocked through me, brought on by his tongue. The way he felt inside me, so thick and full that it almost hurt, but in the best way. If I clench my pussy, I can still feel the faint ache, the muscles strained where he fucked me.
Fuck. I want him again. And I know it can’t happen.
Can’t, but is. Because while Susan and my dad branch off into their own conversation now, talking about stocks or something that I don’t care enough to follow, Josh’s fingertips finally reach the spot where my legs meet my hips. He dips down to trace that crease, lets his fingertips slide across until he’s cupping my pussy through my jeans. His thumb circles over my clit through the thick fabric, and his fingertips squeeze against the lips of my pussy. I’m already getting wet, damn him. I shift in my seat, kick his foot again, but he catches my foot between his legs and squeezes with his calves. Pins me there while his thumb continues to work my clit slowly, lazily.
I squirm against the seat, but he follows me the whole while, a smirk on his face as he listens to our parents’ conversation, even offers up a thought or two partway through.
“What about you, Pau?” Dad asks, and I inhale sharply, because right at that moment, Josh decides to undo the clasp of my jeans.
I squirm a little, grinning probably too widely at Dad. Thank god the table is high enough to conceal what’s going on below it. I hope.
“What about me what?” I ask.
He raises an eyebrow. “What are you planning to do this summer?”
Fuck the hell out of my new step-brother, I think, then immediately tamp that down. Meanwhile, Josh has unzipped my jeans too, and he slowly works his fingers down the front of my panties.
“Probably going to try and get back into swimming,” I say. “And…” I pause, swallow a gulp of air. Josh’s fingers have grazed bare skin, tracing my smooth mound, inching closer and closer to my clit. “I, I dunno. Catch up on reading.” I’m babbling now, only half aware of what I’m saying. “I don’t have a lot of time to read at school, so…”
“How are classes going?” Susan butts in.
I bite my lip to keep from inhaling again, when Josh’s forefinger circles my clit. He keeps going, slides past, until his whole hand is down the front of my jeans, and his fingers are spreading the lips of my pussy.
I try to focus on what his mother just said, and pray that I don’t start shaking or sweating right here. “Classes are… good.”
“You just finished junior year, right? Are you ready for senior year?”
“Feels like…” I shake my head, then take a huge bite of my eggs to avoid having to talk for a second. Josh trails his fingers along my slit, back and forth, feeling the slick wet juices that have already built between my thighs. Then, without warning, he pushes one finger into me, curled, so it grazes along my front wall. “Um. Feels like it went… Very fast.”
He adds a second finger, and I clench my fist around my fork to keep from moving or reacting. It’s near-impossible—I feel like I’m going to burst or cry out. But I manage to keep my head on straight and maintain a poker face. At least for now.
“I know how that feels.” Susan laughs. “Seems like just yesterday that you both were out playing in that lake, still in high school… Now you’re almost ready to graduate college. It’s crazy, isn’t it, Josh?”
“Crazy,” he agrees, catching my eye. Staring straight at me, while he continues to finger me under the table. He curves his fingers to drag across my G-spot, strokes them in and out in slow motions. His face gives nothing away. You’d only know he was up to something by the faint spark of mischief in his eye. “Time really does fly. And yet, with everything that changes, some things stay the same…”
I clench my pussy around his fingers, my jaw tightly clamped so I don’t gasp at the same time. He just grins wider and adds his thumb now, circling over my clit.
“Some things stay the same,” I agree, and I’m proud that my voice doesn’t waver this time. “Some things really do change, though.”
Dad is glancing back and forth between us, his brow slightly furrowed. I look away from Josh just in time to avoid an inquisition, and reach across the table, leaning hard into Josh’s hand as I do, to grab a piece of toast.
Josh takes my movement in turn, speeds up his thrusts, finger-fucking me faster now, and I lose track of the conversation once more, my hands fisted so tight around the toast that the edges turn to crumbs between my fingers.
Fuck. I’m going to come. I’m going to come right here at the table, in full view of both our parents, the last people in the world who should know what’s going on beneath their noses.
I take a huge gulp of orange juice that Susan poured for me. Use that as an excuse, and grab my napkin, pulling it to my face as I pretend to cough. Josh realizes what I’m doing and pushes his fingers deeper, harder, faster, his thumb stroking my clit with every thrust now. I keep coughing, or pretending to anyway, and Josh pats my back with his other hand as the orgasm finally hits, sweeps me away, makes my pussy muscles clench and spasm around his fingers.
I drop my napkin onto the table and inhale hard, force a wide smile and nod in response to Dad and Susan both asking if I’m okay, frowning with concern. And all the while, I can feel Josh’s fingers inside me, stroking every last inch of pleasure from me.
When he finally pulls them out, they come away in a rush, my pussy soaked now with lust.
I glare sideways at him as he casually wipes his fingers on his napkin under the table, then picks up his fork and helps himself to another serving of eggs.
It’s going to be a long, long summer.
