Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
The obnoxious flash of the alarm clock reminded me it was midnight. I should be deep in slumber, but my hand was between my legs as I fingered myself, listening to my brother fuck the pretty brunette who’d been running through my mind for the last year.
My free hand bunched the pillow as I placed it on my face and screamed in frustration.
It wasn’t right to get this turned on hearing your brother fuck his girlfriend. It wasn’t acceptable to want your twin brother’s girlfriend. But God help me, I wanted Kaye Cavendish. I wanted her so badly. I stared at the ceiling, thinking about all the ways I would devour her flesh until she begged me to stop.
She thought my brother was her savior, but Larken didn’t deserve her. I saw how he treated her like a dirty secret, forcing her to climb through his window in the middle of the night and scurry out before the sun rose in the morning.
He’d once professed his undying love for Kaye and waxed poetic about their forbidden passion for each other. He’d insisted they were like Romeo and Juliet, star-crossed lovers tortured by the conventions of society. I wasn’t sure my brother had even read that play. If he had, he’d know that Romeo died for his love while Larken Hughes was petrified at the prospect of a stern lecture from his mommy if he invited his so-called love over for dinner.
They had nothing in common. Other than what sounded like mind-blowing sex. Sex I wanted to be having with her. My finger rubbed my clit as I focused on Kaye’s moans. The way her cries escalated when she was on the brink of release. The soft mews she made. I longed to hear those sounds as my tongue tasted her.
“I’m close, Larken. Don’t stop,” she begged.
I wished my parents’ room was up here and not on the main floor. A part of me wanted my mother to banish Kaye from our house and shame Larken so I didn’t have to listen to him getting what I wanted.
I closed my eyes and pictured her in my bed. Images of her fingers on my clit flooded my mind. My lips parted. I whispered her name as she moaned his, and we came in unison.
The door to the joint bathroom I shared with Larken opened, followed by the rushing tap water. She never lingered in the afterglow. It was always the same. Kaye had sex with my brother, then ran into the washroom and cried while he passed out.
Usually, I stared at the ceiling and pondered the pain that caused the sorrow escaping her lips, But at that moment, all I could think about was how she was suffering alone. It irked me in ways I didn’t understand.
Jumping out of bed, I threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top and headed to the washroom door. I didn’t bother knocking. I turned the doorknob and pushed my way in.
Kaye didn’t register that another person was in the room. She sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her legs, her entire body shaking as violent tears cascaded from her eyes.
I wanted to sit with her, put my arms around her, and give her my shoulder to mourn her sorrow. I wished I had words of comfort or a magical elixir to ease her suffering. The stabbing pain in my heart demanded I fix this, ease her pain, take her burdens, and shoulder them so she wouldn’t have to.
But I stared at her and nonchalantly blurted, “Why are you crying?”
Kaye’s head shot up, her cheeks wet, her eyes bloodshot. She didn’t answer my question. Instead, we stared at each other in silence.
I entered the bathroom barefoot, the tiles icy beneath my feet. I sat across from her, ignoring the cabinet handle digging into my spine. “Did Larken hurt you?”
She shook her head. “No. Larken would never hurt me physically.”
I moved closer so she could hear my hushed tone. “Then why are you crying?”
“It’s hard fighting to live when all you want to do is die.”
A vise gripped my heart as panic rose in every fiber of my being. It wasn’t Kaye’s words that frightened me, but the tone in which she said them—matter of fact, direct, and full of pain. Guilt wracked me, thinking about how I got myself off to the moans of the saddest person I’d ever seen.
I didn’t know what to say. My first instinct was to shake her, tell her she was being ridiculous and selfish. That she had people who cared about her and could help her. But I wasn’t sure if those were lies I’d be telling her or lies I had devised for myself. So I told her the truth.
“If you die, I’d miss you. So please stay.”