Each summer she happens to me all over again. Come autumn and winter by body craves her, in the spring my mind is out of control missing her, then summer rolls around again and she’s here.
In the library, she leans on the edge of the reading table and I feel nothing but the soft, warmth of her lips on mine. The way her breath exhales unsteadily, mixing with mine. I could kiss these lips forever. I will. We kiss, and kiss, slow and wet. So long and hot I could feel my sanity melt from my body and become this pulsing, throbbing ache. Sparks, like little blasts of fireworks ignite over my skin, and still we kiss and kiss until every muscle I’m made of is coiled tight and rigid and I teeter on the verge of eruption. I can’t touch enough of her skin at once. I want to slide my fingers everywhere. The hem of her dress is up around her waist. I’m not sure if it was me or her who pushed it there, but the smooth silky path up her legs makes my mouth water.
I lean back an inch, just to see her. Her lips are parted, her eyes are a sleepy haze of heat. She’s so damn beautiful. I slow my movements and touch a single fingertip to her underwear. There’s a swift intake of breath and I raise my eyes back up to hers. She’s breathing heavy, her chest rising and falling, and her cheeks are stained bright red. She wants this as much as I do. I give the tiniest bit of pressure and trail my finger down the center of the material. I hook my finger underneath the damp fabric and pull it to one side. My chest constricts, almost painfully. God, she’s so perfect. I want to sink to my knees and trace her pussy with my tongue.
“Vaughn,” she whispers. Her hands grip my arms, her fingers dig in.
My eyes meet hers again, and I slip my fingers inside her. She’s so warm and wet. I push in deep.
Her soft cry comes out a whimper, her fingernails leave marks in my skin.
Then her hands are at the back of my neck, hard and fast, pulling me back to her mouth. Her kiss is frantic now, my fingers slipping in and out, deeper and deeper. Closer she takes me, until there’s no space between us, until my body is pressed hard against hers, and my fingers are so deep inside her I can barely move.
Her body shifts and grinds on my hand, and I’m so hard I really don’t think I can take much more; I need more than just my fingers inside her. There’s a soft whimpering, a low pleading building up in my throat, and then she releases her hold on me and drops her hands to my waistband and rips at my pants.
The moment her hand grasps me, I almost come. The moan that comes out of me is unreal and I need to back away. I need to buy some time or this is going to be over too quickly, and I want to savor her this summer, this golden-haired goddess that takes my fucking breath away. I drop to my knees and bring my lips to the small heart-shaped birthmark that lays just above her panties. “How come I never noticed this before? You have a birthmark shaped like a heart.” I want to work my way down with my lips and tongue. I want to see what she tastes like this summer.
We jump apart because of a noise.
That’s when we find them.
Our parents.
Her motherbouncing up and down onmy father’slap like a professional porn star.
Claire keeps screaming she’s sorry.
Why is she saying that? Why does she keep repeating it over and over?
She knew what was going on, didn’t she?
She knew this whole time and she’s sorry.
She should be, I can’t believe this. I can’t believe her.She knew. She knew about this and didn’t tell me. She didn’t tell Chloe?
When the housekeepers usher us out of the room, Chloe and I push them away and listen at the door. My sister’s face is streaked with tears and nothing I could say could stop them.
Behind the thick oak door, our parents’ war begins.
“Nothing is ever enough for you, is it? Why her?” A hand slaps a face. “And here, in our home. Jesus, Silas.”
My father mumbles words I can’t hear.
“Oh my God,” Chloe says, “I think Dad’s crying.” She presses her ear to the wood of the door.
“Is this why you’ve been paying for Claire’s schooling? Is this why you offered to give Libby money tonight? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“No, Margaret, you don’t understand.”
“Oh, Silas you bastard. I understand now.Now we all understand. I can’t believe you did this to me.” Glass shatters and there’s an anguished cry. “You’re sick and perverted and disgusting. I won’t let you see her again, Silas. Ever.”
“It’s not that simple,” my father stammers. His heavy footfalls pace back and forth.
“End it!” Someone slams something down hard—or maybe it’s Mom throwing something heavy across the room. “End it or I will take you for every penny you have just so you givenoneto her.”
A prickling of heat rises in the back of my eyes, but I stamp it down. I’m not crying over this. I’m not a pussy.
My mother’s voice lowers, “Silas, I’ll go public if you even whisper the word divorce to me. I will tell everyone about your sick sexual appetites. Your fans will be disgusted by you, your entire career will go down in flames if I let everyone know who you really are. You’ll look like a fool, a sick, dirty, disgusting fool.”
