Page 12 of Salace

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Iwake with sweat between my breasts, a throw pillow between my knees. I'm wet and bothered and yearning. My hand slips between my legs, Kasey on the brain. I begin slowly. Circling my clit gently. I imagine it’s Kasey’s finger. Soft and long, stroking me. I circle faster. Harder. My orgasm builds until my legs are shaking and my back is arching. I can picture his smirk. The feel of his skin against mine. My belly tightens, coils. God, I want to feel him—all of him. The daydream is too much and not enough. He’s young and strong and inexperienced. He does whatever I instruct. Whatever I desire. And he does it with enthusiasm. More, Kasey. I need more. I squeeze my eyes shut and focus.

When I come, I come hard and groan out, “Kasey.”

A pang of guilt follows. He’s a boy. The idea of being alone with him, of his hands and mouth on my breasts, my mouth, between my legs, thrills me. But he’s a teenage boy. My body shudders with tiny aftershocks. I slide my hand from between my legs and glance at the clock.

Eleven p.m.

KASEY

Ipush my dinner around unhappily on the plate set in front of me.

Mom notices but Dad doesn’t.

Hell, he doesn’t seem to notice much about anything these days unless it’s one of the ladies at his firm.

But if Mom noticesthat, she refuses to acknowledge it where either of us can see.

I sigh as I drop a cheek against my fist and stab at one pea, then a second, then a third. Digging the prongs of the fork slightly into the plate, I tap them into a neat line, before I open my mouth and pop them in.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Mom asks me quietly.

“Nothing,” I mumble, as I set my fork down.

“It’s that girl again, isn’t it?” Dad speaks up, knowingly. I give him a dirty look. The only time hedoesseem to spend at home anymore these days, is parked outside of my bedroom door and eavesdropping on my calls with Eden.

“Which one?” I ask him testily, as I pick up my fork again. “One of your many, or just mine?”

Dad’s fork clangs angrily against his plate as he drops it. Mom leans over and places a hand on his forearm, trying to calm his temper before it reaches a boiling point that neither of us will be able to stand.

“Listen, you little shit,” he begins, shaking Mom’s hand off his arm and pointing a finger at me, “I’mthe adult here, not you. You better learn that sooner rather than later. And for thatlittle outburst, you’re excused from the dinner table. If you leave your room other than to go to school for the next week, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” I ask defiantly, as I get to my feet so quickly that my chair topples over. “Hit me? I’m used to that. Try something new.”

Before he has a chance to say anything else, I spin on my heel and stalk out of the living room wondering when the hell life suddenly came crashing down around me so quickly.

* * *

My phone keeps pinging, ringing, and buzzing. I refuse to answer Eden’s call since she’s the one that put me in this mood. She came so close to getting me knocked out by my father and would more than likely put the blame squarely on my shoulders if I tried to mention it to her.

It's strange.

It’s like she has some kind of weird crush on him. Every time she sees him, her demeanor shifts. She becomes the picture of demure perfection, and he amuses her by sitting down to talk to her for a little bit.

Truthfully, I think the reason he really does it is to piss me off. And it used to work until I started to focus more on Aimee.And Mrs. H. There’s no way I can forget about that sexy piece.

I let out a frustrated grunt as I run my hands down my face irritably.

I almost feel shitty for sticking myself into Aimee’s home situation. She seems so miserable when she’s there, and I guess I can understand, especially since she’s told me all about her mother’s drinking problem. Though I have to wonder how much of a problem it really is.I wonder if her father drinks too. Maybe it’s too much to have both of them getting loaded?

I grind my teeth together as the phone starts its ritual.Ping, ring, buzz. Ping, ring, buzz.

Leaning over, I slap it off the nightstand, then throw myself back onto my bed in a huff.

I should have pushed Dad harder. If I can get him to admit it, then maybe Mom will finally leave him. I can get a job after school to help out with the bills. And if all else fails, I’m sure being a thief isn’t too hard once you get the hang of it.

I scratch my chin as I mull over all of the pros and cons of getting Dad out of the house. Mom would probably be lonely even with me around, but I don’t think it’s possible for her to get any lonelier than she is when she sits by the kitchen window waiting for him to come home.

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