Page 4 of The Way You Hurt Me

I have to snort."Yeah, right. Like I want that conversation with your sister. Way to get myself cockblocked."

She lets out a long sigh, clearly relieved. "I just came down for something to eat. Then I was there, and?—"

"Yeah?” I’m thoroughly entertained. “What are you hungry for, little girl?"

Bottom line is, nine people out of ten would have retreated back upstairs, and waited before trying the kitchen again. If she stayed, it’s because she liked what she saw. And she needs to hear that it’s fine. That it’s natural.

Women are all too often shamed for their sexual desires. I’ll do my best to let her know it’s no big deal, hopefully without coming across as a complete pervert.

"Something sweet. There was cake earlier, right?"

I hunt down cake leftovers, then serve her a portion while I sip the rest of my scotch. After serving myself a second glass, I have to ask,"How old are you again?"

"Seventeen in December."

I guessed right, then: sixteen-ish. To be entirely honest, I’d seen, and done, far more than what she caught Cam, Morgan, and me doing by age sixteen, but from her expression? It’s new to her.

"Seventeen," I repeat. "That's a little young to enjoy watching your sister fucking."

Not to mention, a little incestuous; though arguably, Camden is almost, sort-of family, so I’m not the best person to judge on that front.

"Didn’t mean to look, I was just?—"

"A dirty little pervert," I weigh in with a knowing smirk. "Did you like what you saw?"

She’s beet red.

"Don’t be ashamed,” I tell her, dropping the sarcasm and the teasing.

I don’t want her to think being fascinated is wrong.

The kid bites down her lower lip, eyes lowered to the ground.

"She was glowing," she breathes. "Morgan. She…seemed to like it a lot."

I pause for a beat before replying, "She did."

"Are you guys together? Like, with Camden."

I knew she’d have technical questions, given the fact that Cam and Morgan are tying the knot tomorrow, and I’m the best man.

"No, nothing like that.”

I grimace as I say it. I wouldn’t work as part of a trio, even if I were into both parties. I’m too demanding, too possessive, for any partner to belong to anyone else but me. I feel no attachment to Morgan. I’m fond of her, she’s a nice girl, but I truly could not give a single fuck about whose cock she lets in between her legs—so long as all are either wrapped or clean, because I wouldn’t want to catch anything nasty when it’s my turn to play.

A woman who was mine…that’d be a different story. I’d probably share her; I quite like watching, and there’s a certain degree of power in being able to tell a woman to spread and take whatever I want her to take. But it would be with me. On my say-so.

“Camden and Morgan are what we call swingers,” I explain. “They’re a couple, fully committed to each other. Sexually, they like to explore. I'm not going to draw you a picture, but it’s more common than you think. And swingers often stay together longer."

The chick’s big, baby blue eyes are wide like saucers. It’s adorable, really. I’m basically opening up her world to things she’s never heard of before. Have I ever been this innocent? Probably not. I knew what swingers were by age twelve.

"I want to feel what that’s like," she tells herself, more than me.

I groan, catchingthat look.

“Find a boy to show you.” She’s not exactly offering herself to me, but I’m stopping this conversation before it can head that way. “You’re a little too young to handle a man.”

"I’m not that much younger than Morgan and you fucked her," she retorts.

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