Page 98 of Pucking Obsessed

Eden is reading the contemporary retelling to me.

“Hatter’s hands are pinned behind him,” Eden reads, “but he licks down the center of my pussy with even strokes, never taking his gaze from mine…”

The words bleed into each other.

I’m simply enjoying lying next to Eden closely in the small space of the bottom bunk bed.

Of course, the sexy bedtime story doesn’t hurt.

Silvery moonlight gleams on the metal framed bunk beds. A closet and mirrored chest of drawers and wardrobe stand against one wall.

The twins are sharing the smallest bedroom in the mansion, when they’re not curled around me in my room.

They need their own space.

Before they arrived in America, they’d never been separated. They need to be close to function and feel safe.

Knowing their troubled past, I understand why.

Now, they’ve finally begun to feel secure enough to spend increasing amounts of time apart.

This evening, for example, Eden is up here with me in our book club, while Shay is being taught piano by D’Angelo.

It’s good to take both their minds off the diamond Rolex and the disturbing message that went with it.

It’s an escalation.

The style of the message. The tone. The way that it has turned into demands.

Wear this on Halloween…

Is this a direct reference to Dad’s Halloween annual event? Is it someone known to us? Or is it simply chance because of the PR that I’ve been doing around D’Angelo as the devil transformed to angel of the team?

Have I put him in danger?

I feel fucking guilty.

Except, hasn’t that been my job? I can’t police how people interact with the media that I put out, or if they twist it like this.

Then I’ll know that you think of me, as much as I think of you.

Does this mean that they’ll be watching?

I wince, as another discordant piano chord wafts through the open door.

Neither twin likes to stay in rooms with closed doors.

D’Angelo asked me pleadingly if his piano lessons made him agood man.

I wince again at another enthusiastic clash of notes.

Fuck yeah they do.

The only light in the room is from the moon and the glow of the small, spherical lamp on the nightstand.

It feels secret somehow being in here with Eden.

Perhaps, we should do something more illicit than read the books that we bought in the bookstore to each other.

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