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The fuck was she trying to say? Was she threatening to snitch?
She licked her lips. “Don’t worry. I’m good at keeping secrets.”
“Thanks. Here’s the shirt.” I held it out, trying like hell not to touch her tits.
Too late.
She grabbed my hand and placed it over her left breast. “You ever touched a girl before?”
A girl? Yes. But only Lindsay Breckenridge after she’d snuck into the locker room after a football game and even then, it was through a padded bra. A grown woman old enough to be my mother? No fucking way.
When I didn’t answer, she smiled.
I really needed to get this woman the hell out of my room. The weed made me paranoid, and I just knew my mother was going to walk through the door any second. Tiny beads of sweat formed along my forehead and at the base of my spine. My heartbeat was in overdrive.
She held her hand over mine and squeezed. Not what I imagined full-grown tits should feel like. I’d always pictured them soft to the touch, like pillows of warm flesh. Hers were hard and firm like the weighted medicine balls we used in football workouts.
“You like that?” she asked. Her accented voice was low and husky.
I shouldn’t like it. I didn’twantto like it. But I was a teenage boy caught in the quicksand of puberty. Of course, I fucking liked it. Genetics didn’t give me a choice.
She lowered her other hand between our bodies and palmed my erection. “It sure feels like you like it.”
Jesus. Fuck. What the hell was she doing? Someone needed to take away the mimosas. ASAP.
I took a step back only to bump into my dresser. Now I was blocked in. “You should take the shirt and go back downstairs before they come looking for you.”
“No one’s coming.” Her lips turned up in a smirk. “Yet.”
The next thing I knew, she was on her knees with her mouth on my dick. My mind was chaos, screaming at my body that this was fucked up, so fucking wrong. Every single fucking thing about this was twisted. Wrong, wrong, wrong. But I didn’t stop her because the alternative meant suffering the wrath of my father once this woman told my mom about the weed and gambling. I’d seen the monster that lived beneath his tailored suits. I knew what he was capable of.I killed a woman because of him. Which, if I was honest, was probably why I couldn’t sleep. Two years ago, in front of a fire on the bank of Crestview Lake, I pulled the trigger and sealed my fate. I was a kid. We were all just kids. Who the fuck did that to a thirteen-year old kid? The Obsidian Brotherhood, that’s who. And this woman was married into it. Apparently, burning your morals to the ground was part of their wedding vows.
She moaned around my cock, as if she actually fucking enjoyed what she was doing.
Bile rose in my throat as I fought the desire burning in the pit of my stomach. It was like I was battling my own body, trying to shut off any emotion that wasn’t anger. This was fucked on so many levels.
I didn’t want this.
But I was nothing more than a rebellious kid trying to wage a war I knew I’d never win. It would be my word against hers. My parents would not only make sure I went down, but they’d also take down everyone who ever placed a bet with me just to prove a point. No one made money in this house without my father knowing. Being labeled a snitch at a school full of overprivileged assholes was a death sentence. Add in the fact that I wasn’t my parents’ biological child—meaning the wholeunconditional lovething didn’t apply to me. So, I stood here and took my lick. Literally.
From that moment on, my darkest hour only got darker.
Every Sunday brunch after that, British Big Tits somehow found her way to my room. I tried finding ways to get out of the house, but by some twisted hand of fate, I would end up fighting with my parents the night before and get grounded by my mother. After the first two visits, I anticipated her coming and made sure I was high enough not to give a fuck. Every visit ended with a hand job, blowjob, or finger bang. Until one Sunday—the day I lost my virginity—the quicksand consumed me.
I was taller than average with an athletic build. My looks always got attention, but for months I’d been driving myself crazy wondering what the fuck made her choose to walk into my room. Of all the above average teenage boys in the world…
“Why me?” I’d asked as she slipped her shirt back over her head after she pulled herself off my dick.
She laughed. “Oh sweetie,” she said as she made an overexaggerated pouty face and placed a hand on my cheek. “You actually think this is about you.” She stood up, pulling on her shorts. “No, love. This is about revenge. It’s about years of abuse and neglect. It’s a middle finger in the air to a life I didn’t ask for. You aren’t special…” She paused and eyed my cock with a smirk, “Well, maybe you are.” She walked to the door, halting with her hand on the knob. “You want to know why you? Why don’t you ask your mother? It was her idea.”
The blood drained from my face, leaving me ice-cold. It was a game. From the very beginning, it had all been a lie. She was never going to tell my parents shit. She used that to scare me. She usedme. And my mother let her.
For what? To piss off a piece-of-shit husband?
All the anger, pain, and anguish I’d kept on a short leash the past few years finally broke free. I snapped. Jumped off the bed—pulling up my underwear with the condom still on my dick because who the fuck cared—then bolted out of my room and down the stairs.
“You sent her?” I yelled as soon as I reached the kitchen.
My mother was sitting at the oversized island, plucking cheese off a charcuterie board and sipping her mimosa. Three other women sat around her doing the same thing. They all lifted their heads, staring at me through eyelash extensions.
