“Yeah, whatever,” she muttered with an eye roll.
“Maybe we should put a camera on your windows,” her mom said, pulling out her phone. “Just in case Rowen really did see someone.”
“No!”
Avery met my gaze, studying me through narrowed eyes.
“I was just messing around with Avery. I heard some noises and figured she might be sneaking out or sneaking someone in.” I winked playfully at my stepsister. “Just normal sibling fun, you know?” I looked back at Avery’s mom. “If I saw anyone outside, they wouldn’t have gotten away. I assure you of that.”
Avery scoffed, as if she found my words lacking validity.
Her mom slowly put down her phone. “Okay…” she drew out. “If you guys aren’t worried about it, I’ll try not to be either. But the next time I hear mention of something like this, cameras go up whether you two like it or not. I’ll sleep better knowing my kids are safe.”
Avery stood up suddenly from the table and abandoned her food. Ten seconds later, her door slammed shut.
I’ll teach you to slam doors on me, little kitty.
Eight days. Eight long fucking days.
Eight days of putting up with Rowen’s smart mouth every morning, teasing me like we’re friends.
Eight days of my mom telling me to be nice to him every time I insulted or jabbed.
Eight days of sharing my bathroom, which was starting to smell like his stupid ‘manly’ soap instead of mine.
Eight days of him deliberately eating my snacks and then offering to take me to buy more when I confronted him.
As if I’d ever spend more time than necessary with that piranha.
Eight days of hearing him blast his damn alternative music.
Worst of all, it had been eight days without Michael.
He hadn’t shown up at my window again or reached out to me, and it drove me mad with need.
I’d touched myself multiple times a day, aching for him instead, wishing he was chasing me down, fucking me with a viciousness only he could make desirable.
It drove me crazy, waiting for him to crawl through my open window.
I’d hardly slept.
I’d turned down multiple invitations to parties kicking off summer break. I was afraid to miss Michael, afraid he’d show up at my window to find me missing, terrified I’d lose out on a chance to be his again.
It was dark outside, nearly midnight, yet I was wide awake. My mind was racing with theories about my masked stalker’s absence.
My hands snaked down my body at the thought of him, fingers snagging the fabric of my underwear and shimmying them down to my ankles. My knees fell open, and one hand dipped between my thighs while the other moved up to cup my breast, pinching my nipple as my fingers strummed my clit softly.
I pressed my lips together to keep myself quiet. My back arched when I found a rhythm I liked. I closed my eyes, imagining his skull mask tilted, staring at me, while his hands explored my body. My fingers released my nipple and wrapped around my throat. I applied pressure, but it was nothing like when he did it. There was no fear, no fighting when it was my small, soft hands.
I squeezed my throat tighter and worked my fingers faster, climbing toward another mediocre climax as I fantasized about what I really wanted. My toes curled as I got close, nearly there, but then, my hand was slapped away.
The air shifted as I shot up, heart hammering in my chest, eyes wide and searching. My head was quickly returned to my pillow as a hand wrapped around my throat, forcing me down.
My rapidly beating heart nearly burst at the sight.
Him.
A moan escaped me before I could stop it.
