Page 25 of Mistletoe Misconduct

I gather her limp body in my arms, rolling over onto my side and positioning my now semi-erect dick at her entrance. She grips my forearm. “I don't think I can handle anymore,” she whines.

My hand slips between her legs resting over her clit. I swirl my fingertips lazily, and her thighs part again. She sucks in another breath and lets her head roll back against my shoulder. “Are you sure, angel?” I whisper.

“Maybe just one m–” she groans loudly when I slip myself inside her, and my dick rapidly hardens as she clenches around me again. “You know what? Do whatever you want. Clearly, you know best,” she says, her voice snarky, and it makes me laugh.

We lay like this for a while. Neither of us particularly chasing the orgasm, just enjoying the ride to get there. When we come this time, my hand is wrapped around her thigh, pulling her knee toward my chest. Her moans are softer, and it doesn't hit us all at once this time, but small ripples of electricity tunnel through me, and when we're done, we just lie here for a while longer.

When I finally extract myself from her body, she flops back on the mattress, groaning as she does.

I get up and head to her shower to get washed off, hoping like hell she follows me in there. It only takes a few minutes to wash and dry myself, slipping back into my gray sweats as I traipse back into her room. Lea is spread out like a starfish on her bed, unmoving.

“You okay there, Leonora?” I ask, chuckling as I pass by her.

She sticks up the arm that’s not covering her face and shoots me a thumbs up.

“I’m gonna order pizza. Get your ass up and shower if you want to eat because I’m not saving you any,” I say, leaving the room for her to gather herself.

That’s another lie though.I’d save her the whole damn pizza and beg for her crumbs if I thought it’d make her happy.

Chapter seventeen

Kai

Wednesday, December 18, 2024

Isit on the edge of the couch, ready to tackle her if she reaches a point where she might hurt herself or someone else.

My mom paces her small trailer, the floor covered in trash, and her hands tremble as she speaks aimlessly.

“Mom,” I say, keeping my voice steady as I try to propel all the confidence that I’m definitelynotfeeling into the word.

She spins to face me, her wide eyes locking on mine for a split second before she shakes her head, her eyes darting around the room, and the rambling continues.

“Mom, you’ve got to take your pill. I promise it’sokay.I’ll take one too,” I tell her, hoping I can at least get a single dose in her.

Her long, matted ash brown hair hangs down her back, bouncing with each step she takes. “Pill? I will take a pill,” she says, not looking at me.

Unlike when I was a kid, there’s no hope that gets lodged in my throat, just waiting for her to crush me again when she doesn’t follow through. No,now I know better.

She starts rambling, the clang associations starting from the top. “Pill, I will take a pill, but I can’t sit still because if I sit still, my name might be Jill, and ifI’m Jill,then who would kill Will?”

She’s not going to kill anyone, but unfortunately, for whoever this “Will” fucker is, both his name and kill rhyme with pill.

Christ.I blow out a defeated lungful of air through my nose before plucking my phone from my back pocket.

I check my bank account, happy to see that things are going well with our “viewers.” After last Friday’s show, Lea and I madethree timeswhat we had the first time I joined her.

I was hoping to use the money to give myself a little financial cushion and repay some of that loan, but I think this is the last straw for me. She needs to be somewhere with trained professionals who can keep her safe, make sure she’s taking her medication, and provide the mental health services she desperately needs.

Watching my mother pace this disgusting home, unconsolable and unaware of who I am or where she’s at, has acid settling in the pit of my stomach.

My muscles cramp, and I’m having difficulty swallowing my saliva as the smell of rotten food wafts up my nose.Or maybe that’s just her.

Bile rises up my throat, but I push it down, focusing on the task ahead of me.

My thumbs work quickly on my phone screen, searching for the best way to get her help.

It looks like I have two options: I could call the police and have them admit her against her will. Calling the police doesn’t feel like a real option, though, not for me.

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