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I give her a swift once-over.
She wears a tailored, floral dress, which hugs her girlish figure and makes her look like a fashion model.
“I do, but mostly to keep my head straight.”
She laughs, a melodious sound falling from her lips.
“It does a lot of good to your body, too,” she says.
“I guess... Where is Evelyne?” I ask, my lips suddenly dry.
“They’ll fly in tomorrow. Mom and dad arrive tonight. Adele and Mark are here. Nick will be here early afternoon. I think… There are a lot of other people, but no one you know.”
“Where is Lester?”
“He’s not here. We expect him tomorrow afternoon. Business matters,” she says charmingly.
I take her in for a moment.
She sure turned out to be how my mom wanted all her girls to be. Poised and delicate at the exterior, yet showing inner strength when dealing with family affairs.
Evelyne, my older sister, is not far from the family mold either. Married to one of the most successful surgeons on Long Island, New York, a physician herself, she’s a classy woman and, undoubtedly, a go-getter.
“Let’s take a seat at the table,” she says, nudging me to the terrace.
I spend the next couple of hours with Isabel and her friends, talking about the party, fashion trends, and the gorgeous, sunny weather.
Early afternoon, they sit at the bar inside, and I stroll back to the bungalow.
The air is warm and dry, perfect for lounging on the beach.
I climb the stairs, walk inside, and glance around. The place is empty. I peer outside, scanning the porch and the beach.
Jaden is nowhere in sight.
I kick off my shoes and peel off my dress. Wearing only a G-string and a matching low-cut bra, I head to the shower.
As I saunter to the bathroom, the faint sound of the TV slips through a cracked door. I tiptoe to the back room and quietly push it open, praying it doesn’t creak like everything else in this house.
He’s here.
I zoom in on Jaden’s bare shoulder while craning my neck to get a full view of him.
He has one arm folded under his head, the other stretched along his body, his hand moving rhythmically.
I gasp.
Is he doing what I think he’s doing?
I lean forward.
Eyes closed, back lining a pillow, legs slightly parted, he raises one knee, his fingers sliding up and down his hard-on, his fist rubbing the chiseled crown.
My heart stops and then races, furiously pumping blood. I swallow a few times and lick my lips.
Pleasure rolls over his face, the long, sensual, twisting moves making his hips rock slightly.
I get warm and wet between my legs.
