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Since I’m not going to be staying long, I see no point in unpacking. But the one thing I desperately need is a shower. Having slept in my clothes, I feel grimy and probably smell awful. As I rifle through my bag for a pair of soft shorts and a clean tee shirt, Mary pops her head into the room.
“Hey,” she says. “How are you feeling?”
I shrug. She leans against the door frame, parking herself on the border of what has effectively become my space.
“The bed’s really comfy,” she says. “It used to belong to our grandma. When she died, Jonah and I divvied up her furniture. I let him keep the guest bed as long as he promised I could have it whenever I stayed over.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I don’t say anything.
“Feel free to call me anytime. If you need any groceries or toiletries, ask Jonah. He’ll be happy to help you.”
I nod, not trying very hard to hide my skepticism.
Once again, I can tell Mary wants to hug me, but she keeps her distance. She says goodnight, then leaves, and I follow ten steps behind her. At the top of the stairs, I listen as she thanks her brother again for letting me stay. Once she’s gone, I find clean towels in the closet, where Jonah said they’d be, then shut myself in the bathroom.
Stepping under the spray of the rain-head shower, I can’t help the soft moan that pours from my lips like air seeping out of a life raft. The water pressure in the group home shower was barely a trickle.
My hands glide over my body, spreading the lavender-scented soap across my skin. I linger over sensitive areas, like my chest and the back of my neck. Against my will, my mind drifts back to the man who owns this shower. He probably picked out this soap, and the luxurious shampoo and conditioner. To think that the products he chose are now lathered all over my body sends a warm shiver down my spine.
I don’t get crushes. I don’t date and I don’t hook up. But for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about how big and handsome Jonah is. You’d think knowing he doesn’t want me here would make a difference, but it doesn’t.
The fact that he’s old enough to be my dad doesn’t bother me either.
I like that he’s sturdy and solid, like his house. He walks with a slight limp, one I might’ve missed had I not been paying such close attention. I wonder how he got it. I almost care enough to ask—and Ineverask. I learned the hard way that it’s best to keep your head down in a new environment, at least until you know where you stand.
I thought I knew where I stood with Jonah when he made me a sandwich, but apparently I was mistaken.
Closing my eyes, I pretend that my hands aren’t mine, that they belong to someone else. Someone who wouldn’t hurt me. It’s not that I hate being touched. I’m just used to keeping my distance, so much so that now, when people try to touch me, it feels like a carpet shock.
I cradle my breasts and flutter my fingertips over my nipples. It feels good. I haven’t felt comfortable enough to let myself feel this good in a long time, and even though I’m standing in a strange shower in a strange house with a strange man, who could definitely bench press me, I feel safe enough to let my guard down.
How crazy is that?
What’s even crazier is the realization that if Jonah wanted to touch me like this, I would let him.
I open my mouth to the water and let it fill me up as I glide a soapy hand between my thighs. Little jolts of pleasure zip through me as I rock my palm against my pussy. Usually, when I feel safe enough to masturbate, I imagine a faceless man, but tonight, the man is wearing Jonah’s face.
Jonah’s lips on mine, his hand in my hair, his fingers stroking my clit.
I can’t say I’ve ever fantasized about my foster dads or brothers, and while there were a few guys who would’ve eagerly fooled around with me at the group home, I never wanted any of them. This longing for Jonah is new and different and, honestly, kind of scary. I mean, how am I supposed to face him in the morning? I’ll be sitting across from him at breakfast trying not to think about how damnbighe is.
So much bigger than me.
Big enough to pull me onto his lap and rock me to sleep like a baby.
I don’t know why, but that image and the feeling of being cherished, makes my clit flutter. It isn’t sexual, but it’s the sexiest thing I’ve dared to imagine. I picture myself on Jonah’s lap, dressed like a little girl in a pretty pink dress, bouncing on his knee.
I picture Jonah’s hands petting and stroking me everywhere. His fingers skimming down my cheek to wrap around my neck, as his free hand reaches under my dress to pet my pussy.
He asks if I’ve been a good girl, tells me to spread my legs and show him my private places. I do what he asks, and as I do, I feel my pussy tightening.
I moan softly and pray the noise is drowned out by the shower. My legs shake as my pussy throbs.
I’m coming.Hard. Harder than I have in a long, long time.
“Ahhh...” I ride out the residual tremors and take a second to catch my breath. Sure enough, the regret begins to pour in as soon as I float back to earth.
Jonah might seem different from the others, but he’s not. How could he be? This is just another placement, and I’ve been bounced from place to place enough times to know that nothing is ever permanent. The sooner I remember that, the better, because I could get used to taking showers like these, and that would lead to nothing but disappointment.
