“And what exactly are you going to do?”
My father took a moment, collecting all the dirty thoughts in his head, preventing any of them from slipping through his lips.
“I’m just here to supervise.” His dirty feet, dusted in the grime of this house, transported him to a corner of the room. “I won’t touch. . . just watch.”
He plumped himself down on a beanbag, and the overfilled square gave out under his weight. The foam filling dripping onto the carpet through a small rip on the side would be the reason for Nessie’s tears tomorrow.
My father adjusted but didn’t move from his new perch.
He shoved two of his fingers into the hole, holding them up in the moonshine before inserting them, as if he was showing me what the fuck to do.
I didn’t give him the time of day, or in this case, night. I dropped below the thin covers, naked and still too hot to comfortably sit in my own skin.
The buzzing of my father’s phone was an irritating distraction. He was constantly getting text messages. It baffled me why anyone in the fucking world would want to talk to him after a drink, but someone did, all hours of the fucking night.
Only because he was their boss, and they were incompetent at doing their jobs.
His attention was still on the device in his hand—his fingers moving around the touchscreen—when I forgot his presence.
Jolie shifted in the sleeper, as if she was making room for me on the lower bunk. She turned over, away from me, and she yanked the blankets higher, blocking herself from the moon’s appreciation.
I sat up, the blankets falling to my lap, creating a chill down her spine.
“The girls from—”
I had no time to finish what I was going to say about the girls I’d previously seen in this house when I was lurking in places I shouldn’t be. Girls I’d never mentioned in the diary, because knowing what my father did to them, would drive Woodrow crazier than he already was. And I had no time to wonder if a conscience was suddenly trying to creep up from the grime inside me. . .
Because my father interrupted.
“The girls you’ve seen here, have been here for a purpose. Women who aren’t your wife are nothing more than something to shove your cock into. And it’s my job to make sure they are ready for that.” My father didn’t look up.
“Some don’t like it,” I spoke, my tone uncaring. My mind curious.
“Some don’t. But it is what it is, and that’s the unfortunateness of being born female.”
I remembered all I saw in the basement. Daddy dearest breaking the mentality of many women. For a moment, I’d wondered if he’d done that with me, but then I remembered he fucking hated me being this way, and that was when the real memories came flooding back. My existence, Woody’s, too, was all down to my mother.
Seeing the girls and thinking of Woodrow’s past, made me angry, and my father had only managed to calm me down by offering me a girl of my own. Someone to love while they hated me. . . but he assured me that wouldn’t matter over time.
And here she was.
I huddled down in the bed, my arm dropping around her waist, my body moving in. My semi-hard cock pressed into the curve of her round ass. The closer I got, the harder I become.
“Ness,” her words came out in a whisper. A whisper that floated through the air, ignored by each object it glided over.
My father glanced up, checking to see if Nessie was asleep. He didn’t know she’d be out for the night, lucky to wake up by noon.
“It’s not Nessie.” My whisper was harsher, cold like her body.
“Hell. . .” another whisper.
She was groggy when she turned to me. Drugged on the wine she smelled of. Red. Its scent lingered on her lips as mine met hers, not to kiss but for her to claim the message my lips delivered.
“About earlier—”
“Are you sorry?” she asked, lips still touching.
Hope lifted her pretty features, and her body held me tighter, her leg drifting over mine.
