CHAPTER ELEVEN
SHAY
I close Blair’s door quietly behind me, careful not to make much noise. Her words are still ringing in my ears, echoing louder than my own for once. “ My dad is dead too. You’re not the only one hurting. ”
I didn’t know her dad had died. That’s not the type of thing people forget to mention, and I feel a pang of guilt. I’ve been so wrapped up in hating her and my own shit I never stopped to think about anything she may be going through. Maybe she’s just trying to find her footing, like I am.
I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. I don’t want to feel sorry for her. I don’t want to think about losing a parent either, but I do. I know what that’s like, and now that I know she does too, it’s harder to hate her. Harder to push her away.
Then there’s the way she felt when I carried her out of the party.
Her body pressed against mine, her warmth seeping through my skin.
I shouldn’t like it—shouldn’t be thinking about it now, but I am.
The memory of her softness, her scent—a mix of vanilla and lavender—lingers in my mind. And the fact she’s a virgin…
Leaning my head against her door, I close my eyes.
This is messed up. I’m supposed to be angry, supposed to be keeping her at arm’s length, but every time I’m near her, it’s like I’m drawn to her, like I can’t help but get closer.
She’s my almost stepsister, for fuck’s sake.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.
But damn if I don’t.
A part of me wants to shake her, to tell her to just fucking leave and stop making shit so complicated. Another part wants to touch her, though. To press into her, smell her, dominate her.
Shaking my head, I open my eyes and unravel the pair of balled-up panties I swiped from her dresser. They’re all lace and cotton, delicate and dainty. Red roses paint the small white triangle of the front, and a bigger, lacy rose makes up the back above the string of the thong.
I can’t help but imagine what they look like on her. How they get to hug her hips and touch all of the delicious places I can’t. Bringing them to my nose, I inhale. Her scent fills my nose, and something in my chest growls.
I’m not sure why I swiped them. Honestly, it’s a bit creepy, but at the same time, I needed to be close to her in some way.
And a way I don’t have to face her is probably best. I almost went fucking feral when she blurted out she’s a virgin.
No one has ever touched her… never marked her or made her moan.
Unless it was herself, and that image dancing in my mind is enough to have my cock throbbing.
I slide my free hand down the front of myself and mimic the picture I’m painting in my head—her small hands dragging down her chest, all the way to her stomach, then dipping into the front of her panties.
I slip my hand into my jeans and shiver with the light touch against myself. The muscles in my stomach flex as I wrap my palm around my length. Slowly, I stroke myself, never letting the image of Blair playing with herself fade.
I think about the look on her face as she strums her pussy. How her mouth falls open and the corner of her eyes scrunch in an almost frightful way.
Base to tip, base to tip—my strokes are steady and easy. I’m thick and heavy in my own hand, and it makes me wonder how I would ever fit inside her. She’s so small compared to me.
Fuck .
The image shifts, and instead of her alone, now I’m on top of her, thrusting into her virgin cunt and pinning her arms above her head. Her pert tits bob with every movement and beg to be tasted. I look down and watch where her pussy takes every last inch of me, hungry and wet.
Sounds from the made-up delusion in my mind start to play. Wet skin slapping, exhausted moans, my name tumbling from her lips. It’s almost too much, but not enough at the same time.
I move back to the present and focus on my own pace. Running my thumb over the top part of my shaft, I shudder. Precum spills from my tip, and I use it to lubricate my hand. It’s sticky and warm, coating my hand just enough to make my strokes a little less abrasive.
Moving the hand gripping her panties, I shove it into my pants too.
Quickly, I wrap the fabric around my cock and continue tugging.
Her panties are soft and cocoon my length with a new kind of warmth—one that sends me over the edge.
My body tenses, and stars dance behind my lids.
I come hard and fast, spilling my seed into the front of her panties.
My breath comes out in quick, ragged puffs, but I still don’t make a sound. Not enough to wake Blair, anyway. Removing my hands from my jeans, I hold her panties in front of my face. My cum clings to them, staining them, and it makes me smile.
The post-nut clarity comes, and I realize how fucking weird all of this is. But if I have to fantasize about her, I’ll make her do the same.
I hang the delicate thong marred with me on her handle, then head to my room.
Sleep tight, Dollface.