Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
I hate myself for wondering if their young bodies would shake during an orgasm. If they could handle my weight on top of them. If they’re too innocent to be fucked hard, the way I’ve always liked it, or if I’d need to go easy. I’ve never been plagued by these kinds of obsessive thoughts before. My marriage to their mother was short-lived and more of a friendship. A convenience for both of us. At least, that’s how I’m remembering my relationship with Aileen now, because I never had this deep, dirty lust for her.
Not like I have for them.
It's sickening.
“Mrs. Wilson,” I say, a little louder than I intended, hands on my belt. “You forgot your pants again, ma’am.”
She smiles and waves back at me, obviously unable to hear me over the lawn mower. Christ, she’s going to make me walk all the way over there. Right up to the beaver.
A Netflix binge sounds pretty good right about now.
Except they would be there. Snuggled up on the couch in oversized sweatshirts and panties. Tanned thighs stretched out. Golden highways leading to those tight, ripe pussies.
Fuck.
Hastily, I wipe a bead of sweat where it rolls down the side of my face. “Mrs. Wil—”
“Uh, Sheriff?” It’s my two-way radio, crackling with life inside of my car. “We’ve got a bigger problem than Mrs. Wilson’s naked mole rat.”
Dread sinks in my stomach. “It’s the girls again, isn’t it?”
“Afraid so, Sheriff.”
2
Bella
Oh my God. Whatever.
We go skinny dipping in the mayor’s pool one time.
“You’re not going to put handcuffs on us, are you?” Over my shoulder, I bat my eyelashes at Portsmith’s newest deputy, Wendy, but her grimace doesn’t budge an inch. She’s not amused by our antics, as evidenced by the fact that she is leaving us standing here in nothing but towels, instead of offering to retrieve our clothes where we left them by the pool. “You know our stepdad is the sheriff, right?”
Finally, her lips change position, but only a smidge. In order to smile. “He’s the one that told us to handcuff you.”
“Wendy, I didn’t take you for a liar,” Charlie, my sister, deadpans. “Joe would never.”
“The hell I wouldn’t,” booms a familiar voice behind us. “Put them on tight, deputy.”
My mouth falls open at the same time as my sister’s. No way.
“Joe, why would you betray us like this?” I say, my tone giving way to panic. “It was just some harmless fun.”
“The mayor doesn’t seem to think so,” my stepdad says, phone up against his ear now. “He’s seriously considering pressing trespassing charges.”
Charlie winces as the cuffs clink close around her wrists, followed by mine. “You won’t let him, though, right?”
“Daddy?”
“Come on, Daddy.”
“Zip it, you two.” He gives us both a hard look. “I mean it.”
He turns around and strides away to take his phone call. Charlie and I wait until his back is turned before passing each other a secret smile.
“Finally got his attention,” murmurs my sister.
“It only took a little breaking and entering.”
Charlie bites her lip to sedate her smile. “He’s really mad this time.”
“This lecture could go for hours.”
“Hours,” she sighs happily, hip bumping me.
We’ve never really talked about our fascination with our stepfather, Joe, out loud. We’ve never needed to. The day my mother brought him home for dinner, me and Charlie communicated everything with a single breathless glance. Our mother had introduced us to a handful of men since her divorce from our father, but there was something special about Joe. Something real and flawed and honest.
We did everything in our power to make sure Joe stuck around, including being on our best behavior during his courtship with our mother. We planned date nights, cooked for them, pretended to be perfect angels—and we snagged ourselves the best stepfather two girls could ever hope for. He’s the big, strong, silent type. Protective. Honest.
Hot. As. Sin.
Might as well admit it. I’ve always had a little crush. But as we’ve gotten closer over the last difficult year, I’ve really started to notice everything about Joe. His looks, his strength, his confidence and character.
Do I have an older man fetish? Doubt it. None of the other forty-somethings walking around Portsmith make my mouth water like Joe does. He towers over me, and his body is thick in all the places. His face is grizzled and gruff, hands scarred and calloused. And he does this loose-hipped walk paired with a head tilt when he sees me coming down the hallway of our house. Almost like he’s coming down to my level to check in and see if I’m okay. Lately it has me climbing the walls.
Boys my age are weak, emotionless husks compared to him.
I’ve kissed three boys and they all made me want to brush my teeth.
Joe wouldn’t. He’d know what he was doing.
“Why are you looking at Joe like that?” Charlie asks me.