Sweet Girl by Quell T. Fox
Charlotte
Jacedrivesustoaparkwherewegetoutandwalkaround.Wetalkaboutschoolandlifeandwhatwe’vebeendoing.He,likemanyofthekidsIwenttoschoolwith,decidednottogotocollege.Insmalltownslikethis,thosewhodon’tescaperightafterhighschoolgetstuck.It’slikethetownturnstoquicksandandthemoreyoutry,theharderitis.
I did not want to be one of them. One who keeps their job at the market, making only enough to pay bills but never truly live. Or maybe it’s just too many roots here, and the thought of leaving is too much to bear. Most of the families around here were raised tight knit. I feel I’m the only one who wasn’t. Though I guess that could be due in part to my mother not belonging here. Sure, we live here, but she’s a city girl at heart and I never understood why she chose to settle in a place like this.
“It’s nice you got away. That you did what you wanted to do. I wish I could have gone to college straight out of school,” he says as we walk by the small pond.
“Why didn’t you?” I ask, looking over at him.
“Mom got sick. I stayed here so I could take care of her, we don’t have any other family.” He shrugs.
“You’re a good person, Jace. Besides, it’s never too late to go to college, or do whatever it is you want to do.” Though I’m not sure how true it is. I can tell Jace will never leave this place. It’s part of who he is.
He smiles over at me. “What are you going to school for, anyway?”
“I want to be a teacher,” I say proudly.
“Yeah? That’s great. Hopefully not high school though. I bet those boys would be all over you.” I slap his arm playfully and he rubs it like it actually hurt.
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes.
“I’m serious. I mean, you were gorgeous in high school, but now?” He whistles and turns away, making me blush. I guess he isn’t the only one who did some growing up over the last year.
“Well, luckily for those boys, I want to teach in an elementary school. Teach them when they’re young. Instill good ideals into them so they don’t grow up to be little jerks.”
He laughs.
We stop at a bench and sit down. We continue talking and chatting about random things. Before I know it, it’s dark out. Talking to Jace is like a breath of fresh air. It’s a relief to be able to talk, and catch up, and not worry about any other problems.
“We should get going,” he says after a long stretch of silence. “I need to get home.” He gets to his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. I follow suit and we walk back to his truck.
He drives me home and as I get out of the car, I notice Mom still isn’t here because her parking spot is empty. Jace walks me up to the front door, and we say our goodbyes, giving each other a friendly hug.
As I drop my keys into the bowl beside the door, my phone dings and I pull it from my pocket. I close and lock the door behind me before checking the text.
Mom: Working overnight. See you tomorrow.
I go straight for the stairs, not having any emotion about the text I received whatsoever.
The night was nice, relaxing, and I refuse to let my mother get to me. It’s not worth being mad over, and I truly think she can’t help herself. She’ll never say no to working, even when she begged her daughter to come home, guilting her to do so. I let out a sigh and start up the stairs, not paying attention to my surroundings.
“Did you fuck him?” The words send a shiver through my body and I stop dead in my tracks halfway up the stairs and heart pounding in my chest. The voice came from the den and could only belong to one person. I don’t respond, wondering if he could even be talking to me. What kind of thing is that to ask?
Why does he care?
“I asked you a question. I expect an answer.” The tone is deep and huskier than normal.
Knowing he can’t possibly be talking to me, I continue up the stairs quickly and go straight into my room. My heart is racing as I make my way up, unsure what to think about what I just heard.
He must be on the phone with my mother. Maybe they’re having another fight. Or maybe it was just the TV. Why in the world would Jonathan want to know if I fucked someone? And that tone… I’ve never heard that kind of tone come from him before. It was so unlike his normal carefree tone. Even the times I’ve heard him upset with Mom he doesn’t talk like that, though the argument they had earlier, he sure was close to it.
No, I was mistaken. There is no way Jonathan was talking to me. My mother must have sent him the same text I got, and he’s angry she’s working… but… he wants to know if she fucked someone?
I think of the argument they had, the fact my mother isn’t wearing her engagement ring, and now this… They must be having more problems than I know about.
It can’t be what I want it to be.
Absolutely not.
Jonathan would not be asking me if I fucked someone. It’s what I have to keep telling myself. Keep pushing myself to believe this can’t be because if I allow myself just a sliver of hope over this, I’ll be destroyed when it blows up in my face. It’s easier to live in denial than disappointment.
I grab my clothes, barely paying attention to what I’m doing since my mind is elsewhere, and head into the bathroom, needing to take a shower after spending so much time outside in the warmth. My skin is sticky and covered in a layer of sweat. I don’t miss this heat, and am thankful it doesn’t get too hot at school.
I take a long shower, enjoying the pressure of the water and the fact that I’m alone in a real bathroom compared to the community showers at school. They are fine, but the water pressure sucks and I’ve yet to find a time to shower when I am alone. I don’t care about the other girls seeing me naked, I’m pretty confident with my body, but it would be nice—mentally—to have some alone time in the shower.
I get out, towel dry my hair, and get dressed.
I get back to my room and pick up my phone to text Jace, wanting to let him know I had fun and we should hang out again soon. To my surprise, I find I have a text waiting for me.
Jace: I had fun tonight xo
My belly does a little flip and I realize this is what I should be doing. A normal nineteen-year-old girl should be dating guys her own age, hanging out with them, and seeing where things go. Nice boys like Jace, who don’t go to college because they need to stay home to take care of their sick mother… that’s the kind of boy who would make a good boyfriend, husband, father. And though I’m not even thinking about marriage and kids now, I don’t want to waste time on pointless relationships. I can’t lust over someone I will never have. I can’t spend my life wanting someone who will never see me the way I see him. I just can’t do it anymore. I hate thinking about the fact I’ve done it this long to begin with. It almost makes me sick.
I almost think I’m sick.
After I do my own little happy dance, I try to figure out what I want to say back. Deleting and retyping the text a few times before deciding to be bold in what I say. Hanging out with Jace was fun and I want to do it again.
Me: Me too. What are you doing tomorrow?
I lie down on my bed, my eyes still on my phone when my bare legs brush against the scratchy material of the mattress before I realize my sheets are still in the dryer.
Shit.
How ridiculous is it to be terrified of doing laundry in your own home? And by terrified, I think I mean excited.
I contemplate sleeping on my bed like this, not wanting to chance the filthy memories that have been haunting my mind for years to become a reality once more. But I’m just not sure that will work. I search through my drawers, hoping to find a spare set but I find nothing. Not a single damn sheet or blanket.
“Why?” I groan to myself. I could have sworn there were extra sheets in here but of course when I need them, I can’t find them.
I can’t keep doing this. The thought of him touching himself makes my thighs clench together and I groan again. I won’t look. That’s all. I’ll just go downstairs, grab my laundry, and come right back up. Hell, I’ll keep my eyes closed the entire time. I know this house like the back of my hand. Easy peasey. I can do this. I glance at the clock and note it’s close to 12:00 a.m.. Jonathan is probably sleeping by now. Maybe. Hopefully.
I plug my phone into the charger and head downstairs slowly, trying to be as quiet as I can and walk by the den without looking in, though I note the door is open. I don’t think I’m strong enough to not peek in the window if I know he’s in there. Something about watching him without him knowing… the primal look on his face as he strokes himself. I had hoped and hoped that seeing him would make this obsession go away. That I’d made up the entire thing in my mind. But seeing him has only made it worse. My want… My need… It's stronger now.
There is just something about him that I can’t ignore. It goes beyond his looks and the dirty thoughts I have of him, it’s something about him. Like his being called to mine, like an invisible string keeping us tethered together, as much as I don’t want it.
This is so, so wrong. My mom and him are together, they’re supposed to be getting married.
I grab all of my laundry from the dryer as quickly as possible, stuffing them into the spare basket by the machine and I leave the room, rushing back to the stairs.
“Charlotte?”
I stop dead in my tracks, my foot braced on the bottom step, and my heart thundering in my chest. I take a deep breath before backtracking, stopping in front of the den. I try so hard to act like he isn’t affecting me, but I’m not sure it works. The plastic bends beneath my fingers as I grip the laundry basket so hard I’m sure the handles will break off.
He just wants to ask you a question. Calm down, this is nothing serious.
When I get enough courage to look up, I find him sitting in his chair, in nothing but a pair of black sweatpants. My eyes rake over his defined chest, down to his firm belly and the small amount of hair that circles it and continues down into his pants. He isn’t overly muscular, but I can tell he’s been working out more than he used to. Everything looks firmer and just a little bit bigger.
The room is dark, other than the light of the TV which casts shadows over him, making him appear a bit menacing. His hair is a mess, just the way I like it. Just long enough to rake my fingers through and grip onto to help guide his tongue around my pussy.
He’s a man in every way possible. A man. Not a silly teenager, but a man.
“Y–yes?” I ask, clearing my throat. My eyes find his, looking much darker than they normally do. I’m used to his bright, crystal blue eyes, but tonight, they look so dark that I’d mistake them for another color if I didn’t know any better.
“Come in here,” he says quietly. His voice is even and slow, lazy almost. I hesitate, but eventually take a step inside of the room, staying as far away from him as I can. “Put that down and come here.” My heart is thundering in my chest, my body slick with sweat, and I know it isn’t because of the heat. The sound of the blood rushing through my veins can be heard in my ears, and for a second, I fear I may pass out.
I look down at the laundry basket, my knuckles white from the grip I have on it.
“When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it,” he says in a much darker tone. One that causes me to snap my head up and narrow my eyes at him. How dare he? He’s glaring at me, and his jaw is clenched. I put the basket down and make my way towards him, stopping directly in front of him while he stays seated in his recliner, a bit of bravery striking me. The all too familiar, manly scent of his invades my nose and I take in every ounce of it that I can. My stomach does a flip. I wait in anticipation, wondering what he could possibly want with me. I look around the room, just making sure no one else is here. When I see it is just me and him in the den, I let out a confused huff.
There is no way he was talking to me earlier…
“She’s at work. Didn’t she tell you?” I nod once, licking my suddenly dry lips.
She did tell me, but I hoped she’d come home without me knowing. Or perhaps he had someone else here instead… The thought causes anger to swirl in my chest. And not for the right reasons. My emotions are not on my mother’s behalf. They’re on mine. The thought of him being with someone else...
Jonathan leans forward, placing his muscular forearms on his knees. He lets out a small laugh before looking up at me. He reaches his hand out, and trails his finger from my knee up to my thigh, stopping right below my shorts. I’m frozen in place. Heat trails after his touch and goosebumps erupt over my skin, the feel of his fingers on me is overwhelming. “Did you have fun tonight?” he asks in a low tone. My heart races in my chest, my entire body vibrating with energy.
The question confuses me, whether because it doesn’t make sense or because his touch is turning my brain to mush, I am unsure. He raises an eyebrow at me when I don’t give him an answer. “With that boy? Did you have fun?” I nod again because apparently this man’s attention to me has stolen all the air in the room. He drops his hand from my leg, and taps his own as he leans back, indicating for me to sit down on his lap. My eyes widen at the gesture. Surely he can’t mean what I think he means. “What’s wrong, Charlotte? Are you shy suddenly?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.
I don’t answer.
He reaches for my hand and yanks me onto his lap, my back to his front. He slides his palms down my thighs and pulls them back up slowly. I can’t breathe. His hands stop at my hips and I don’t miss the hardness that I feel underneath my ass. Blood rushes through my ears as this raw energy flows through my veins. He presses his hips up just the slightest and his cock throbs between my ass cheeks. I clench my thighs together unintentionally.
“Why do you play games with me, Charlotte?” He tsks.
“Wh–what do you mean?” I ask, trying my best to sound stronger than I feel. That bravery I felt earlier… where is it now that I need it? I’ve dreamt of this happening to me for years. Being this close to this man, feeling his hardness against me… and here I am and I can’t even function.
“I mean, you watched me touch myself for all that time”—holy fuck, he knows— “then you come back and go out with another boy. How is that supposed to make me feel?”
Oh my god, he knows…
How long has he known for? What does this mean? Did he… did he touch himself because of me? Like how I touched myself because of him so many times. Is that what he was doing? Putting on a show for me?
“I d–don’t know,” I answer. He laughs quietly behind me, his finger trailing up my sides, catching on the hem of my shirt as they go. His finger grazes over my sensitive skin and I feel as if I’ve been set on fire.
He knows.
“Sad, Charlotte. It makes me sad. And angry. I don’t like knowing someone else is touching what is mine,” he says.
What’s his? Is he saying I am his? No. No, this can’t be happening. This isn’t real. I must be in a dream. I probably fell asleep the minute I put the clean sheets on the bed. Jonathan cannot be calling me his. He just can’t…
“I thought of how I would punish you while you were gone, you know. I had a wonderful idea, but then you came home and didn’t answer me when I spoke to you. When I speak to you, Charlotte,” his fingers trail to the front of my stomach and up towards my breasts. “I expect an answer. So now, I must change the punishment, something better to fit your mishap.” His fingers brush the underside of my breast, my nipples perking instantly. “Does that sound fair?” he whispers into my ear.
“Yes,” I answer before thinking, because I’m not thinking at all. I can’t believe what is happening, completely unable to wrap my head around this situation I’ve found myself in. I’ve been lusting after this man for years. Years! And now here I am, in his lap, his cock pressing into my ass while his fingers explore my body... And I don’t ever want to leave.
I’m sitting on my future stepfather’s lap, his cock digging into my ass.
This is so wrong.
But then why does this feel so right? Why does this feel like it was where I was meant to be? The way my body perfectly fits into his, how his hands almost know they belong to me and only me.
“Good. Now go up to bed, and let me figure out your punishment.” He pulls his hands away abruptly, my skin still on fire from his touch but suddenly cold from his disappearance. “Up you go,” he says, patting the side of my ass. I stand and walk quickly to the laundry basket, picking it up and leaving the room without looking back. I dash up the stairs on trembling knees. The heat from my face has me rushing to the bathroom and splashing water on it. I need something to cool me down.
I should take another shower, but I don’t. Instead, I head back to my room, lock the door, and shove my fingers into my pussy until I’m coming to the thought of Jonathan’s cock in my ass.