Текст книги "ARROGANT PLAYBOY"

Автор книги: Winter Renshaw

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 43 страниц)

The warmth of her breath hits my back as she sighs. She’s not going to argue. She won’t even put up a fight.

“A life of servitude is no life at all.” I have to say it, even at the risk of pissing her off. I want to give her something to think about when she goes to bed at night. I can’t imagine what else might fill that pretty little head of hers. Puppies? Rainbows? Shit. She needs to think about real life, because real life is fucking hard. “You wait hand and foot on everybody else, you keep your opinions to yourself, and you’re giving them permission to walk all over you.”

“This is all temporary.” She flashes a knowing half-smirk. “I walk a straight line. I get to go to college in the fall.”

I knew there was more to her than meets the eye.

I keep climbing stairs until we finally reach the top. The hallway is pitch dark. I turn toward her, though I can’t make out her face—only the outline of her profile. Her body heat radiates onto me, and her sweet scent fills my lungs. And then I say something for the sole purpose of provoking her, because a girl like Waverly needs to be incited once in a while.

“I thought about you last night.” Darkness hides my smug smile as I wait for her reaction. My confession is stark and honest, unexpected and entirely inappropriate. I want her to slap me across the face so hard it makes my cheek radiate with pain. I want her to feel better when she does it. Only I’m met with nothing.

“Goddamn it, Waverly, did you hear what I just said? I thought about you last night.”

She swallows so loudly I can hear it. “I thought about you, too.”

CHAPTER 6

WAVERLY

The road to hell is paved with impure thoughts, and I just bought myself a one-way ticket. I’m lying in bed, my face burnt red and raw as I try to catch my breath.

Every part of my body came alive for the first time as we stood at the top of the stairs. Jensen’s confession nearly sent me over the edge. My body and mind fought like the mortal enemies they are until I said my piece and brushed past him like I hadn’t said it at all.

I shouldn’t have said anything. All I did was make things worse. Breakfast is going to be awkward tomorrow. Chem class, too. I cannot entertain these thoughts. I’m in the Devil’s playground right now. One misstep and I tumble and fall, and my father would refuse to let me leave for college this fall.

My head is buried face down in my pillow, the cool white pillowcase absorbing the cherry red heat of my cheeks.

I can’t believe I let temptation and lust get the best of me. I know better than to entertain frivolous emotions. This is grossly inappropriate.

I. Am. Mortified.

***

I avoid confrontation like the plague, and that’s precisely why I wake up at the crack of dawn and head to school under the guise of tutoring another student before Jensen wakes.

And it’s also why, when the first bell rings, I make a beeline for the nurse’s office, complaining of a stomach ache that coincidently subsides just in time for my Chem class to end.

I don’t see him the rest of the day, thank goodness, and I rush home after school, grateful when I don’t see his truck because it means he’s working at Uncle Rich’s shop.

I’m playing on the floor of the family room with the younger kids after dinner when I feel a presence lingering over me.

“Missed you in class this morning.” I rotate around to see Jensen standing behind me, his arms crossed, and his lips curled at the corners. He must’ve just come home from work. “Don’t worry. You can borrow my notes.”

“I wasn’t feeling well.” I swallow the enormous lump in my throat. It comes right back. My eyes trace the length of his solid body, stopping at his forearms as they flex just so. His dark hair is ruffled and he smells of diesel and bad intentions. Half a turkey sandwich rests in his hand, which he promptly shoves into his mouth. The indentation above his jaw hollows with each chew.

Bellamy is across the room playing Sorry! with the twins, unable to peel her gaze off the two of us. She knows me better than anyone else, and the fact that she picks up on whatever is happening right now sends me into a dizzied state of humiliation. It’s like my thoughts are being broadcast across my forehead for the whole family to see. My father would never let me go to college if he knew I allowed any kind of lust to creep into the corners of my mind.

I rise, force a smile onto my face, and say, “I think I just heard the buzzer in the laundry room. Better go fold those towels.”

Bellamy opens her mouth to protest. I know she folded them earlier, but I need to get out of here. I need to get away from Jensen.

Dashing down the hall to the laundry room, I don’t hear him following me. I release a relieved sigh and yank open the dryer door, thankful when I find a whole load of random white socks needing matched. This should keep me busy for a while.

“Really, Waverly?” His voice makes the room spin and my body a few degrees warmer.

I turn to face him, lifting my brows. “Can I help you?”

He charges into the small confines of the laundry room, shutting the door behind him and invading my space like he owns it. His eyes are dark, darker than before, and his brows are arched. He licks his soft lips, the ones I’ve thought about more times than I would ever admit, and leans into me.

“You can’t just say what you said last night and then run away.” His voice is low, throaty, almost. “Every confession has a consequence.”

“I know.” I try to speak, but my words come out thin and breathless.

“What did you think about when you thought about me?” His voice is a command, and I am trained to obey. He steps closer, his hand lifts to a space just under my jaw. I press my lips together in response to his touch, ensuring my words never see the light of day.

Everything about this is wrong.

And yet everything about this feels like it has the potential to be amazing.

“Why are you shaking?” His eyes crease. “Are you afraid of me, Waverly?”

Our stares lock. I don’t say a word. I keep my opinions to myself the way I always have and hope he grows bored of me and walks away.

His hand still holds my face, demanding my attention. “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

My stomach hardens. My legs turn to Jell-O. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He traces my bottom lip with his thumb and I release a harbored breath. My lips have never been kissed. Not by another man and not in that way. They’re supposed to be saved for my future husband. My first gift to him on our wedding day, followed by the rest of me on our wedding night…

“You’re not my sister,” he says with a huff.

“I am,” I say. He doesn’t understand how sealing works. I can’t fault him for that. I can only teach him. “I am your sister.”

My heart thrums hard against my chest. Blood whooshes in my ears. Jensen still cups my face and his eyes refuse to release mine.

“What do you want from me?” My voice is a hair below audible, but he hears me loud and clear.

His lips turn up halfway, giving a small glimpse of his perfect white teeth. “I told you before. I want to save you.”

“And I told you, I don’t need to be saved.” If anything, I need to be protected from temptation—from him.

“I want to teach you about choices.”

I scrunch my face. “What about choices?”

“Just that you have them.”

“I know that.” I’m not following.

“You don’t. You have no control over anything. You have the illusion of it, and that could be very dangerous for you.” His hand leaves my chin and traces down my neck. My breath suspends. “Your body. Your heart. Your soul. Those things all belong to you.”

“Obviously.”

“But you’re trained to believe you can only use them a certain way. You’re told you can only give them away when the time is right, and that you have no choice as to when that is. You’re forced to wait until someone else thinks you’re ready.” Jensen’s voice vibrates through his solid chest and into the tight space between us.

“Get over yourself,” I spit. “You don’t know me. You don’t know our family.  You think you have everyone pegged. You go around saying whatever you want. You can’t just do that.”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want to, kid.” His hand slides down my arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps. “You know why? Because I have choices. I have control.”

His words wash over me, sinking into my bones and wrapping around my heart. The deepest part of me know his words to be true, but acknowledging them could be very dangerous, especially in this house.

“I can think of something you don’t have control over.” I fold my arms and pull my shoulders tight.

“What’s that?”

“Me.”

My words are a challenge—a dare, perhaps. I’m playing with fire, and I’m two seconds from being burned, but I don’t care. My body braces itself, fully expecting him to declare I’m wrong—to take my lips and to slide his hands all over my body in places no one else has ever been. My mind would fight it like hell, but my body would surrender. And maybe then it wouldn’t entirely be my fault, not if he forces himself on me.

Only he does none of that.

“You’re right, Waverly. I don’t have any control over you.”

My jaw slackens. He’s screwing with me. Playing mind games. I’m not sure what his end goal is, but I’m not going to keep feeding into it, and I’m certainly not going to stick around to find out.

“I’m leaving.” I pull away from him and push past, our shoulders grazing as I make a beeline for the door.

But he grabs the crook of my elbow, stopping me in my tracks. He forces me against the wall and invades my space all over again. Without warning he leans down, his lips nearly brushing mine. I receive their warmth but not their pressure. We’re separated by no more than a single, dangerous millimeter.

“If you want me, Waverly—and I kind of think you do,” he whispers, “—you can have me. The choice is yours. You get to decide.”

A long, slow breath drags past my lips. I’d close my eyes, but I’m hypnotized by the intensity of his champagne stare.

“But if you kiss me,” he continues, “I won’t be held responsible for what happens after that. I might be the best thing that ever happens to you. I might destroy you. I might make you feel all kinds of terrifying things. You might hate me when we’re done. You might fall in love with me. I’m not promising you a damn thing except you’ll be a better person when you come out the other side.”

With that, he’s gone, leaving a gush of cool air where his body had been. My hands tremble. I’m swallowing breaths as if I’d been drowning. Minutes blur together until I gather my composure and peek out to the hallway.

He’s gone.

He meant what he said.

The choice is mine.

And I choose…

CHAPTER 7

JENSEN

What the fuck am I doing?

I’m standing naked, taking a cold shower because it’s the only thing that can remedy the burden between my legs.

I crossed the line with Waverly. I meant to provoke her. I meant to make her think. Instead I took it a step too far.

That soft, fuckable, virgin mouth.

Those big, clear blue eyes.

Her long, sandy hair that cascades down those grip-able shoulders and grazes the top of her cleavage.

Sigh.

She’s a good girl.

I need to leave her alone, because at the end of the day, she’s not my problem. In a few short months I’ll be out of here, and I won’t think about her twice.

I need to let her grow up with her back-assward belief system. Let her wear her purity ring and sacred temple garments and be married off as the fifth or sixth wife to some fifty-year-old bastard that Mark will inevitably set her up with.

I pound my fist into the acrylic of the shower, followed by my forehead.

She’s not my fucking problem.

But this whole world she lives in is nothing but abuse.

Watching Bellamy and Waverly being raised to believe their worth is boiled down to sharing a husband with a group of other brainwashed women, birthing as many babies as their bodies can handle, and cooking and cleaning infuriates me.

Especially when it’s tied into religion, as if God wants them to be second-fucking-class citizens.

I slap a fistful of shampoo into my hair and lather. Hard. My fingers dig into my scalp.

“You’re never going to be good enough for one of those girls,” my father would say after church whenever he caught me checking out the deacon’s daughters. “Don’t even try. They need real men are the ones who make their fathers proud. Not some promiscuous pencil-dick like you.”

Religion and modern-day human sexuality are a dangerous mix. I told that once to my sex-ed teacher, which prompted a phone call to my father, which resulted in a belt beating that night before dinner.

I jerk the water to warm, unable to tolerate the cold a moment longer, and think of Waverly again. My cock hardens in an instant and I grip it with my left hand, rubbing and tugging as water beads down my body. When I’m fully erect, my balls tighten and swell.

I shut my eyes tight as I imagine Waverly’s pink tongue tasting the tip of my dick before her mouth takes the rest. I imagine looking down, my eyes getting lost in hers as she moans with each lick and stroke. My free hand clenches as I envision a handful of her silky hair threading through my fingers.

Everything becomes clear as day for a second.

Waverly needs me.

She needs me and she doesn’t even know it.

I’m the only one who can save her. I’m the only one who can teach her that sins of the flesh are perfectly normal—dangerous to ignore, even. Something tells me she’s saving herself for some polygamous husband who sees her as nothing but a vessel in which to plant his delusional seed.

My moment of clarity comes to a grinding halt when my mind goes blank, my body goes numb, and I cum all over the wall of the acrylic shower I share with my two “sisters.”

I twist the water off and wrap a towel around my waist before heading down the hall to my room. I don’t feel guilty. I feel clearheaded. I know what I need to do.

I’m walking with purpose now.

I strut down the hall like a goddamned peacock, gazing into Waverly’s room as I pass by. She’s not in there. She’s probably hiding from me. Shit. I’ve probably traumatized her.

Waverly makes me want sex like Beyoncé makes me want to put a ring on it.

I remind myself not everyone lost their virginity at fourteen or screwed their father’s girlfriend multiple times a week since the day they got their driver’s license. Some might say I’m oversexed. I say I’m liberated. My cock, my sexuality, is the only part of me I’ve ever been able to control.

But I’m not in it to fuck her. Unless she wants it. I’m not a predator. I’m a beacon of change. A catalyst. I’m here to bring about a longitudinal shift that will open her eyes in ways she’s only ever dreamed of.

If she chooses to accept it.

I twist the handle to my room, dropping my towel at the same time.

Only I’m not alone.

Found her.

CHAPTER 8

WAVERLY

So that’s what a penis looks like in real life.

“What are you doing in here?” He scrambles for the towel he’s just dropped, covering up as fast as he can. I’m shocked. I fully expect him to flaunt it in my face. Wag it around a little. Make a show of it.

I’m not sure if it’s big or small. I’ve nothing to compare it to. I only look at it for half a second because it’s kind of funny-looking, this situation is weird, and I’m trying my hardest to act like none of this fazes me.

“Embarrassed?” I tease.

How does he like his space invaded?

“You have virgin eyes, Waverly,” he mocks back. A system of black, tribal tattoos cover his right shoulder, snaking down his biceps, which flex as he grips his towel with his fist. “I’m being a gentleman.”

“First time for everything, I suppose.”

“Why are you in my room?” He shuts the door behind him and keeps a careful distance from me. He’s staring at me like I’m a stranger. Like he doesn’t recognize me.

Good.

I’m going to beat him at his own game, only he doesn’t know it yet. The second he walked out of the laundry room earlier, I decided then and there that there was only one way to beat him at his mind games. He wants to teach me a lesson about choices and control? I’ll show him I’m fully in control. He thinks he has me pegged? He’ll have to guess again.

I’ll teach him to take me at face value.

I was raised to be a good and faithful, virtuous and upright. I have patience a mile long and a soft spot a mile wide.

But there’s a part of me, deep inside where no one can see, that can outfox the most cunning of foxes and outsmart the smartest of smartasses. There’s rebellion in my marrow. We all have it. Most of us, if we’ve any wits about us, keep it hidden from the rest of the world. We ignore the way it calls our name when no one’s around, and then every so often, it asks us to dance when it’s sure no one’s watching.

Jensen Mackey has messed with the wrong Miller. From here on out, I’m dancing with rebellion if only to teach him a lesson.

“I thought about what you said.” I cross my legs and sit up straight, batting my lashes. I drag my hand across his comforter before scooting back.

“That quick? Don’t need a night to sleep on it?” He’s testing me, but I think he’s scared. I’m about to call his bluff.

My throat constricts. My face heats. I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once. I unbutton my cardigan one pearl button at a time. I may as well be undressing in slow motion, but it’s absolutely intentional. Jensen stands by his dresser, his golden eyes wide as saucers and nothing coming from his rarely silent lips. The room spins like the bed is some sort of merry-go-round, but I don’t stop.

Two buttons…

Three buttons…

Four…

My cleavage peeks out from my white camisole, drawing his eyes to my milky flesh like bees to honey.

“I know you want to touch them,” I say, having absolutely no intention of letting him come anywhere near them.

This is all a bit of an experiment that will hopefully turn into a deterrent. The constant provocation since the day we met needs to stop. It ends now. Here. With me calling his bluff.

“Waverly.” My name is a low rumble in his throat. He swallows, daring my eyes to travel down to where his fist still clenches his towel around his waist. There’s clearly a pitched tent thing going on. It’s much bigger than it was before and much bigger than I expected a penis to be.

Do they get that big?

I smile and hope he can’t see me gradually losing my cool. I summon the strength of the Harlequin heroine resting on the pages between my mattress and box spring and slap a smoldering expression on my face.

What’s happening right now is a highly strategic game, not unlike chess.

Your move, Jensen.

His lips form a straight line. His eyes search mine. “You sure this is what you want?”

I could slap him. He’s should be taking the bait, not calling my bluff. Where’s the lusty gaze he threw my way earlier? Where are his needy hands? His greedy intrusion? What happened to Jensen from the laundry room?

“No, I’m just undressing in front of you for no reason.” I roll my eyes.

“I’d hardly call it undressing. You wear more layers than an Eskimo, and you haven’t even taken your sweater off yet.” He leans against his dresser like we’ve got all the time in the world.

News flash: our entire family is downstairs and it’s only a matter of time before they notice we’re the only two missing.

I swallow the anger swelling in my chest and let his words bounce right off me. I’m not losing this game. I’m playing to win.

“You clearly didn’t understand a word of what I said to you earlier.” He still hasn’t moved from his perch by the dresser.

My face pinches. Once again, Jensen has found a way to burrow himself right beneath my skin. I resist the urge to scratch.

“What didn’t I understand?” I brush my hair over my shoulder.

“You’re doing all this…” His eyes fall to my cleavage and then lift up to my gaze. “Because you think it’s what I want. Because I planted the seed. Because I told you I thought about you. You’re doing it all for me. The control is still mine, Waverly. You’re a smart girl. How can you not understand that?”

No, no. This isn’t going the way I planned.

He ambles across the room to the side of the bed. The grip on his towel loosens, threatening to let go altogether any second now. My heart pounds hard in my ears.

Think fast.

“Nice try.” His full mouth turns into a half-smirk. I want to slap it off his face. “But I think you should go. I bet they’re looking for you downstairs.”

No.

Just… no.

He doesn’t get to do this.

He doesn’t get to knock down everything I’ve built up in one fell swoop.

“I want you to touch me.” The words make my lips feel wavy and foreign, like they belong to someone else. I’ve never spoken that way before, not even in my fantasies. Those are dirty words, and they taste wrong and delicious coming from my clean lips.

I tug away at the top of my sweater and pop my chest out a little more. The man must have more self-control than God. He’s still not taking the bait. “I want it, Jensen. You told me the choice was mine. I’m not doing this for you.”

Why won’t you try to touch me?

He licks his lips, but his body is still. Frozen. He’s reading me like an open book, the upper hand slipping from my tight little grasp straight into his second by second.

“Take off your top,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“You want me so bad, show me. I want you naked and sprawled across my bed. Give yourself to me. You know, if that’s what you want to do.”

I could smack him.

He leans into my space, his energy saturating mine. I’m trying to calculate my next move, but I can’t think straight when his warm soapy scent is infiltrating the air I breathe and his hardness is making itself known from behind his thin towel.

My thoughts don’t make sense and my body isn’t making things any easier. There’s a slick heat between my thighs I wasn’t anticipating, an uninvited arousal.

Knock, knock.

“Go,” he whispers. He points to the far side of his bed, motioning for me to hide behind it.

“Waverly in here?” It’s my dad.

This is bad.

Very, very bad.

“Nope. Just got out of the shower. Haven’t seen her.” Jensen is cool as a cucumber, like he’s covered this sort of thing up a thousand times before.

I capture a lungful of air; afraid if I so much as exhale my father will hear it. I’ve seen him come unglued before, and it isn’t pretty. There are two distinct sides to Mark Miller: his everyday side and the side that emerges when you cross him. Jensen standing half-naked in front of his virgin daughter would definitely fall into the latter category.

It’s silent. I picture my father scanning the perimeter, looking for a single out of place item or a foot sticking out from under the bed. He never misses a thing.

My heart pounds hard in my ears. We’re seconds away from a catastrophic event.

Please, please, please…

“Hm. If you see her around, tell her I’m looking for her.” I pick up a slight suspicion in my father’s voice.

My lungs plead for oxygen, yet I’m still afraid to breathe. We’re almost in the clear.

“Will do.” Jensen’s ability to remain calm around my father is nothing short of impressive.

The door clicks shut two seconds later. I wait for the ping of the lock to fill the quiet room, then I remember his door has no lock.

“You can come out now,” Jensen whispers.

I rise gently, fearful that my father will come bursting back through the door if he hears so much as an extra floorboard creak coming from Jensen’s room.

That was close.

My cardigan is disheveled, my face flushed. Jensen’s eyes travel from my chest to my mouth before settling on my eyes.

“Come on,” he says. “No more playing around.”

I push past him, invading his space the way he invades mine. “I wasn’t playing. I was offering myself to you on a silver platter. I chose you, Jensen. And now I choose to leave.”

He grips my wrist but not too tight. Just enough to let me know the balance of power is shifting in his favor once more.

“Coming in here and teasing me with that church mouse striptease of yours isn’t offering yourself to me on a silver platter,” he whispers into my ear. “Come back with a little more dignity next time. I don’t want an AUB wife. I want a girl in charge of her own sexuality.”

I jerk my wrist from his grip. “Oh, I’m in charge, Jensen.”

“Yeah, for some reason, I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t need to prove myself to you.” My arms lock tight across my chest.

“Yeah, you do.” He leans into my ear once again. “You want me to take you seriously? Fine. Tonight, when you go to sleep, I want you to finger yourself as you think about me. I want you to come all over those delicate fingers of yours as you think about my cock inside you.”

My body quivers against my wishes, betraying me like a willful criminal. The warmth between my thighs spreads into a euphoric high I’ve never experienced before. Even the thought of being bad feels good.

“That is,” he adds, “if you want to. Your choice. Obviously.”

 “I don’t need to think about you to get off.”

“Sure. Just like I don’t need to think about you, but I do it anyway. I control what dirty thoughts lurk in the corners of my warped little mind.”

“How many times?”

“Twice.” He smirks. “How many times have you…? Wait. Have you ever pleasured yourself, Waverly?”

“Of course I have,” I lie. I’ve touched myself once. But brought myself to the brink of an orgasm? Never. I don’t know how. I’ve slipped a finger down there once after reading select pages from my romance novels. It was warm and wet and highly sensitive. It felt good until the guilt set in, and I quickly retrieved my hand and vowed never to do it again.

Jensen rubs the space above his temple, releasing a harsh groan.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“We just took five giant fucking steps backwards.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Make yourself come tonight,” he says. “That’s your assignment. Bring yourself to orgasm.”

“You’re telling me what to do,” I scoff. “What happened to having choices? If I touch myself, won’t that be because you told me to touch myself?”

“Forget all that,” he says, his words coarse and frustrated. “Making yourself come is the ultimate lesson in control. Relax. Trust your instincts. Do what feels good.”

His words send a shiver down my spine and heat between my legs, creating a burning itch too powerful not to scratch. My resolve, previously hardened and stiff, vanishes into thin air.

“Go.” He places his hands on my shoulders and escorts me to his door. His lips curl into the most mischievous smile I’ve ever seen. “I’ll be listening.”

I smack him across his smooth, solid chest and rush down the hall and into my room before anyone sees a thing.

***

My room is pitch dark.

And stuffy—because it’s too early in the year to turn on the air conditioning, and my father is cheap.

I’m buried under a mountain of light blankets, as if they could shield my sins from the outside world.

My fingers twitch. Anxious. Needy. They calculate their next move like criminals shielded by the cover of night.

That’s what this is—a crime. A crime so wrong, I deserve to be punished. If I go to hell, at least I know Jensen will be there to keep me company.

I don’t need my Harlequin paperback for this.

A deep breath passes through my half-parted lips and I brush my hand across my belly before slipping it under the elastic waistband of my pajama bottoms. It travels lower, possessed by a mind of its own, until it reaches the heat between my thighs.

I slip a finger between my folds. A zing of anticipation zips through my stomach. I close my eyes tight and I picture my stepbrother. His broad shoulders and warrior tattoos. His dark hair. His golden eyes. The outline of his erection hidden behind his towel.

I’m a dirty, dirty girl.

I’m going to hell.

Oh, my God. I’m going to hell.

I retrieve my fingers and open my eyes. Doing something so naughty makes me feel as if I’m being watched. They’re going to see it on my face tomorrow at breakfast.

They’ll know.

The ache between my legs intensifies. I’m pulsing down there as if it’s my body’s only way of luring me back into dangerous territory.

Good AUB girls don’t touch themselves. Good AUB girls save themselves for their husbands. Sex is not for pleasure. Sex is for creating families. I should be ignoring these urges. That’s the right thing to do.

I inhale in a full, sharp breath and close my eyes again, rolling to my stomach and slipping my hands under my pillow as if to pin them down.

Only the second my eyes are shut, all I can picture is Jensen.

He’s a thorn in my side.

He’s obnoxious and a know-it-all.

He’s annoyingly attractive.

And he commandeers my body, forcing foreign sensations throughout every inch of me every time he opens his smug mouth.

Cade… Cade makes my heart feel warm and happy. Cade gives me the butterflies. Cade makes me spend hours of valuable class time daydreaming about happily-ever-afters. Cade is the kind of guy you marry after graduating from college, the kind of guy who makes your parents proud. Or in my case, a poly version of Cade.

But Jensen? Jensen sends my nerves into overdrive. He heats my core, forces dirty thoughts into my mind, and flips all of my beliefs sideways, underneath, and in between the places they used to reside.

His words echo in my mind, right along with the words of my father. They align like two opposing views, rivaling for the big win, and contrasting. It’s almost as if my entire life, my father has taught me the sky is one shade of blue, and then Jensen comes along and tells me the sky can be whatever shade I want it to be.

Choices.

That’s the real issue here.

Jensen thinks I have no choice in regards to what I do with my body. I have to prove him wrong.

I’m wet. My panties are soaked.

But maybe he’s not wrong?

I’m an eighteen-year-old woman, and I’m afraid to pleasure myself because my entire life I’ve been told it’s wrong.

My nipples harden, becoming so sensitive that the mere sensation of the lining of my bra cups against them is painful.

Is it wrong?

Am I afraid to think for myself? Is that what’s happening?

I bury my face head down in my pillow and scrunch my face. The ache between my legs hasn’t subsided yet. If anything, it has deepened, becoming more pronounced than before. My right hand pulls from beneath the pillow and travels down the length of my side until it wedges beneath my hips. My fingers slip below my waistband once more.