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I don’t have half of that.
Even if I cashed everything out, let the business fail, and moved back in with Dad, I wouldn’t have that kind of money. And I know he doesn’t either.
The worst part is that if I did, if I found that money, no matter how much I beg and plead for this to be the last time, he won’t stop. It's a sickness that’s taken over. Part of me thinks he managed it for long enough to get Lilah out of the house, and now that we’re all grown and free, he’s snapped. The void that was left with the loss of Mom is now filled with numbers and bets and the promise of something big.
The walls creak and I jump, my eyes moving to the window where a storm is blowing the ocean, rain pelting my window.
Every noise in this place has me on edge.
I need a distraction.
Standing, I check the locks on the door and windows again, grabbing the small white case that holds my Bluetooth headphones before lying back in my bed. I pop in the earphones, trying to shut out the noises.
I close my eyes and toss and turn in the bed for another twenty minutes, listening to soft music, instrumental versions of my favorite songs, but it’s no use.
I need something more.
Then I remember my sister and me talking a few weeks ago.
“I sleep like shit,” I’d said when she mentioned l looked tired. “Have since I was a kid.”
“Not me.”
“No?”
“Nope.”
“What about if you’re stressed? Doesn’t it keep you up?”
“Nope. I give myself a nice little orgasm, then I’m out like a light.”I’d laughed but right now, after a week of shitty sleep and knowing I have to be up early, I’m desperate.
What could it hurt?I think, and with desperation strong, I decide to go for it.
Sighing to myself, I move my phone to the nightstand and lie in bed, music still playing in my ears quietly. I’m wearing a sleep shirt and a pair of loose shorts, but that’s fine. As my hand moves down my body, I try to picture it as a man’s hand. Calloused and strong, warm, bigger than mine. Spanning my belly, stretching from thumb to finger, and nearly covering the expanse. My mind fills in the blanks that physically aren’t there, creating a shadow of a man beside me. My fingertips slip beneath the waistband, and I sigh, fingering my close-cut curls, then moving down. My breathing is already starting to quicken as my ring finger hits the very top of my slit, pressing in to quickly graze my clit.
A quick intake of breath.
Shit.
It’s been a while.
In my mind, I can almost feel hot breath on my neck, the breath of a man, a body larger than mine taking up the space next to me.
My hand dips down farther, my middle finger dipping into my already wet center, and I moan.
Shit, it feels good.
The wet finger comes back up as my free hand moves beneath my shirt, grazing nipples that have already tightened.
My fingers come together on one, pinching hard as I move a finger back into my wet pussy, and I moan louder this time.
My back arches, the top of my head staying on my pillow as I continue pumping, adding another finger.
I’m not full enough.
In my imagination, the mystery man in my mind would have thick fingers, would fill me easily.
Still, my thumb moves to my clit, rubbing hard, and a near animalistic sound comes from deep in my chest, one of frustration and ecstasy and possibly a hint of confusion.
