Page 14 of Once Upon A Small Town Secret
Inside, it’s quiet except for the ticking of the old wall clock in the living room. I toe off my boots by the door, drop my keys in the dish on the entry table, and shrug out of my jacket, draping it over the railing of the steps.
The place smells faintly of laundry detergent and the cedar from the beams overhead. The couch is the same worn leather one I bought years ago, the coffee table scarred with ring marks from pint glasses, and the TV remote is right where I left it, face-down on the arm of the chair. It’s lived-in. Comfortable.
But tonight, the emptiness weighs more heavily than usual. I make my way up the steps to the bedroom and through to the bathroom before stripping on the spot and leaving a pile of clothes on the floor to deal with later.
The shower starts with a squeak of the faucet, steam already beginning to fog the mirror as the pipes groan. I step under the spray, tilting my head back so the hot water hits full force across my shoulders. The ache in my neck eases almost instantly, the heat seeping into every sore muscle. I brace one hand against the cool tile, letting the water drum against my back, washing away the smell of beer, sweat, and fryer oil.
My mind, though, is stubborn. It keeps replaying the afternoon—the way her voice softened when she asked me not to tell Jason, how her smile hit like a sucker punch when she said the name of the bakery, the quick, almost shy way she tucked her hair behind her ear. She’s different than she used to be, but not in the way people get when time hardens them.
She’s… sharper, maybe. More confident and comfortable in her own skin. And still, there’s something in her eyes when she’s looking at that space—hope, excitement, determination—that’s rare. I let the water run hotter, until the steam curls thick around me. My eyes slip closed, and for a moment, I let myself picture her.
The image comes without effort: her standing in that dusty front room, light spilling over her hair and catching the faint flush in her cheeks when she spoke about the outdoor tables.
My hands slide over the tiles, imagining the feel of her skin, warm and smooth beneath my fingers. I could almost taste her, sweet and heady.
I open my eyes, blinking the water away. My body responds easily, eagerly.
Fuck.
I reach down and adjust myself, my cock thickening against my palm. I don’t want this—not with her. It can only lead to trouble.
But the shower is a dangerous place, and my mind is still a step ahead of me.
Her skin would be soft and pale, her eyes bright as she looked up at me. Her hands would find the planes of my chest.
I give in, closing my hand around my shaft. It swells fully in my grip, the blood rushing there making the sensation electric. Thewater echoes, the sound like rain. I stroke up, then down, my breath speeding up.
No. No, fuck! Stop!
In my mind, I press her back, her spine hitting the wall with a soft thud. My palm slides over her hip, up the dip of her waist, her body calling to me. I imagine her skin, the feel of it under my tongue as I lick her neck, tasting the salt of her skin and the hint of sweetness that clings to her.
A soft groan leaves me, echoing in the shower, and I grit my teeth, trying to stop it. But it won’t stop.
She lifts her face to mine, her lips parted. My cock throbs. I need her, need to be inside her, need to lose myself in her.
The sound of my own breathing fills the shower. It shouldn't be her. It shouldn’t.
She's Jason's sister.
At that, my eyes pop open.
Jason's sister. She's Jason's fucking sister.
What am I doing?
The fantasy slips away. I release myself, and my cock aches. My whole body is tight, coiled with the need to touch and taste and fuck, and I know there's only one way to take care of it.
I turn and brace both arms against the shower wall, letting the cold tile bring me back.
No. I'm not going to jerk off thinking about Jason's sister.
I cut the water abruptly, stepping out and grabbing a towel to wrap around my hips. The sudden rush of cooler air makes me shiver, and I grab another towel, drying off and running it briskly over my hair.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I say out loud.
My towel is rough against my skin as I drag it over my shoulders, but it’s nothing compared to the friction in my head. I’m still keyed up, pulse racing beneath my skin.
“Jesus, Ben,” I mutter under my breath, rubbing the towel over my hair until it sticks up in every direction.
