13. Rio
thirteen
Rio
Istayed where I was because following her would do more harm than good.
I think I made my point anyways. So, I stood there in the living room listening to her door slam two floors above me, the sound echoing through the house before everything went quiet again.
I wasn’t angry if I’m being honest. If anything, I felt calmer than I had all night.
She’d looked at me like I was the worst thing that had ever happened to her, and all I could think was that she had no idea how much worse it could get.
The patio door slid open behind me.
“Everything alright in here?” Richard’s voice was more than careful.
When I turned around, my father and Vivienne were standing in the doorway, wine glasses in hand, looking at me like they were hoping to pick up more than I was willing to give.
I had to give my father props, Vivienne was really sweet and I’m happy he’s found something in life that makes him want to be more present. Truly. She’s just not my mother.
“Yeah,” I said. “All good.”
Vivienne had such a warm smile. “Dinner was lovely. I’m so glad you’re here, Rio. It means a lot to your father.”
“Thanks for having me.”
Richard stepped closer, his face softening as he closed the distance between us. “I know this is a big change for everyone. But I’m really glad you’re home.”
Home. Ha.
This isn’t my home, but I didn’t correct him.
“Me too,” I said.
Vivienne set her glass down on the counter. “We’re heading up. The guest suite should have everything you need, but if you think of anything, just let us know.”
“I will. Thanks, Vivienne.”
Richard clapped me on the shoulder, and it was brief and awkward, then followed Vivienne toward the stairs. I watched them go, heard their footsteps fade as they climbed to the second floor. A door closed somewhere above me, and then another, and the house went quiet.
I stood there for a few more minutes, letting the silence dance around me. Then I grabbed my bag from the entryway and headed downstairs to the guest suite.
The room was clean, white walls, a queen bed with a gray comforter, and a dresser I wouldn’t use. I dropped my bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, listening for a moment.
The house had its own routine at night with pipes creaking, the refrigerator two floors up with a soft hum and footsteps overhead as Richard and Vivienne moved through their bedroom getting ready for bed. I listened to the sounds without thinking, noting where everyone was.
I heard their door close finally and waited long enough to make sure I heard no movement.
Opening my door slowly so the hinges wouldn’t creak, I snuck out and made my way to the stairs and up to the third floor.
The room was dark except for the faint glow of a power strip under her desk, but my eyes adjusted quickly.
Dual monitors on a wide desk, a microphone on an adjustable arm, and a gaming chair pushed back like she’d just gotten up.
Purple and blue LED strips lined the edges of the ceiling, but they were currently off.
She had posters on the walls and her closet door half-open, clothes spilling out.
And there she was.
She was in bed, lying on her side facing away from the door. One arm tucked under her pillow, the other draped across her waist. Her breathing was slow and even which told me she was in a deep sleep.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
The room smelled like her with shampoo, lotion, and something so incredibly sweet but I couldn’t place it. I’d been watching her through screens for some time now, memorizing every frame, angle, and sound she made, but this was different because it was real.
As I moved closer, I saw her hair spread across the pillow, dark red against white fabric. She was wearing an oversized shirt, the hem riding up just enough that I could see the curve of her hip. Her legs were bare and she had one knee bent, the other stretched out.
She looked so soft like this. No attitude, no anger, no smart mouth, nothing.
I thought about all the hours I’d spent watching her without her knowing, and now she was here, three feet away, asleep in her bed while I stood in her room uninvited.
I wanted to wake her and touch her just to see how long it took for her to push me away so I stayed still, taking in the rise and fall of her chest and how her fingers curled slightly against the sheets.
I noticed the faint flutter of her eyelids like she was dreaming and I wanted to know what it was about, if it was me.
She started to move, rolling onto her back and her shirt rode up higher. I went still and didn’t make a sound. I waited until her breathing evened out and realized I couldn’t fight the urge to not touch her any longer.
I ran my finger tip up her bare thigh, over her underwear and to her exposed stomach. Once my hand grazed her nipple, her body arched into my touch and my cock immediately started to strain against my jeans.
Look at my little slut, responding to me even in her sleep. She has no idea just how bad I’m going to ruin her… yet.
I traced my finger tip up her neck and placed my hand gently against her cheek. She let out the softest little moan and all I wanted to do was put my hand around her throat.
“Soon, little sister.”
This was what I’d been waiting for. Not just to see her in person or to just fuck her. But this, standing in her space while she slept and know that I could do whatever I wanted and she wouldn’t stop me because she didn’t even know I was here.
I stayed for another few minutes, long enough to commit it all to memory. Then I turned and walked back to the door, opening it just as slowly as I’d closed it.
I stepped into the hallway and pulled it shut behind me.
The house was still quiet so I went back downstairs to the guest suite and stripped down and got into bed naked, still half-hard from standing in her room.
I wrapped my hand around my cock and applied pressure, starting slow, my mind going straight back to her two floors above me.
I thought about the shower video where she's soaking wet, water running down her body, and she's touching herself against the tile wall. Her head tipped back, eyes closed and mouth open. I'd watched that video so many times I had it memorized frame by frame.
I stroked myself harder and faster, picturing her exactly like that. Wanting to see her wet, desperate and needy in front of me.
Then the fantasy changed.
Her on her knees in front of me with those beautiful blue eyes looking up while her lips wrapped around my cock, taking me deeper and gagging slightly but not stopping. Her hands braced on my thighs, red hair falling forward. I'd fist it, pull her closer, and make her take all of me.
She'd look so fucking perfect like that.
My grip tightened on my cock and my breathing got rougher. I could see the way she'd moan around me because she couldn't help herself so clearly, because even when she hated me, her body would respond.
My hand moved faster and my hips lifted off the bed. I was close so fucking close.
All it took was the thought of touching her just now upstairs while she was sleeping and had no fucking idea, and then I was coming in my hand working through it until there was nothing left.
I grabbed a towel from the floor and cleaned myself off, tossed it aside, and lay back against the pillow.
My breathing evened out and my body finally relaxed.
She can hate me all she wants, but it won’t change a thing.
I fell asleep knowing exactly what I'd just done and that I'd do it again. Because no matter what, she'd never find out unless I wanted her to.