Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Bart reaches across the table and seizes my hand.
“Sweetheart,” he vows in a throaty tone. “Tootsie’s is just a way station, I promise. I’m going to find a job asap, and get you out of there. I don’t want you on your feet eight hours a day, and I hate the fact that you’re working for John Elliston. Now that dude is an asshole,” my stepdad practically spits.
I merely laugh before giving Bart’s hand a squeeze and pulling away.
“No, it’s fine. John is fine. Most days, at least,” I add in a wry tone. The look on my stepfather’s face is ominous.
“You’re going to have to tell me more about that,” he says in a tight voice. “But first, tonight: your date with this football guy. When are you leaving?”
I glance at the clock on the wall, a little surprised at Bart’s curiosity. After all, when I was in high school, I went on a couple dates with different boys, but he didn’t seem to be especially concerned. If anything, the alpha male merely waved goodbye, and then I was out the door with no fuss, no muss. So why the concern now?
“Well, I guess I’ll leave after dinner,” I say dubiously. “Jet wanted to meet at seven, and then we’ll head to Regal Cinemas around eight to catch the eight thirty showing of that new zombie flick. Why, is something the matter?” I ask in a low voice, shooting my stepdad a questioning look. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”
Bart takes a deep breath, his handsome features conflicted. Those blue eyes look around the room a bit before finally settling on me, and a frisson of electricity runs down my spine. Stop it, the voice in my head admonishes. This is your stepfather, Christy. Your mother used to be married to him so don’t even think about going there!
Still, I can’t help but admit that things have changed between Bart and I in the last year or so. It happened during my senior year of high school. At first, it was just small things. My bra was too small, and when Bart asked why I needed his credit card for the mall, I told him in halting words.
“Well, I don’t think I’m a C-cup anymore,” was my embarrassed stammer. “I think I need to go up a cup size, and I don’t want to do it on-line. I think it’s better if I get fitted by a salesperson at the lingerie shop.”
My stepfather stared at me, his blue eyes blazing, but without a word, he handed over his credit card. Sure enough, when the lady measured me at Sweet Surprises, I wasn’t just a D, but rather a Double D.
But that wasn’t the only awkward incident. There was the time when I found a pair of my panties in Bart’s bedroom. I went in there to look for a book I’d misplaced, and to my surprise, my pink panties with the rosettes at the waistband were crumpled up next to his pillow. Otherwise, the room looked completely normal. The bed was made, the light fixture hung still and solemn, and the digital clock stared with its unblinking red numbers.
But why did Bart have my panties in his room? And how did they get there? I tried to think because we dump our dirty laundry into the basket in the bathroom, and then usually he or I puts it in the washer-dryer before folding it and returning the clothes to their rightful owner. Ah ha! Maybe Bart did the laundry, and when he brought his clean clothes back to his room, my panties were caught in a bunch between his other garments. That must be the answer.
But when I picked up the pink panties, I stared and then sniffed the lace because the material was clearly dirty. The gusset and even the sides were caked together with a white fluid, and when I held it up to my nose, my private parts tingled. Literally, my nipples ached and my thighs clenched together, trying to assuage the sudden need between them. Had my stepfather been …? No, it was too dirty to contemplate. There’s no way that the man of the house would steal my panties, only to jack off on them. Yet, what was the dried fluid on my lingerie?
Quickly, I bunched the lace into my hand and exited the master bedroom. But in the hallway, I bumped into Bart himself, and even though I squeezed my fist tight, I think he could see that I had the panties clutched in my hand.
“Hi Daddy,” I managed in a breathy voice. “Just looking for my latest romance novel, Miss Darcy’s Awakening. Have you seen it?”
My stepfather’s blue eyes flitted from my clenched fist to my pink cheeks, and his own high cheekbones stained with a flush as well.