Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
When he stopped at my door to say goodnight, he didn’t cross the threshold. He simply asked if there was anything I needed. The caution in his gaze spoke volumes. I told him I was all set. He said, “I love you, Paige.”
The words nestled somewhere between my heart and my hips. I struggled against the full-body flush. “You, too, Dad.”
His smile unraveled me. I clasped my hands together to stop myself from reaching for him.
Chapter Four
Hours later, I still couldn’t sleep. And it wasn’t because of the unfamiliar mattress or the sounds of the city drifting in through the open window.
It was the kiss.
When I closed my eyes, I could still feel the smoothness of my father’s lips and the heat of his breath, the tickle of his short-cropped beard against the corners of my mouth. Everything about these impulses was inappropriate, yet I couldn’t deny the truth. The kiss had happened, and here in the dark on this borrowed bed, there was no pretending it hadn’t.
I tossed and turned and waited for a wave of nausea to hit, for my skin to crawl, but all I felt was restlessness. Sleep was out of the question. I checked the time on my phone and found two missed calls from my mother. At just after twelve o’clock, it was too late to call back tonight; I’d deal with her in the morning. I climbed out of bed and pulled a long T-shirt over my sports bra, then crept into the hall, listening for signs that my father might still be awake. Hearing nothing, I tiptoed downstairs and into the kitchen.
Lights from other apartment buildings glittered in the distance. The moon was out in full, painting the hardwood floors in shades of gray and silver. I poured myself a glass of water and went to stand by the window. It was too bright to see the stars, but the streetlights were a more than adequate replacement.
Brake lights flashed as traffic lights winked from red to green to yellow to red. This far above the ground, I couldn’t help feeling like a storybook character in a tower, cut off from reality and time itself.
Only, I didn’t want to escape, and no one had trapped me. I could leave any time I wished.
I refilled my glass and padded upstairs. Soft noises emanating from my father’s room stopped me on the way to my door. After a moment’s hesitation, I crept to the end of the hall. His door had been pushed closed, but hadn’t latched completely. Gently, I pressed my ear to the slab. I thought I heard a woman’s cry. That was odd. Carefully, I nudged the door the slightest bit forward.
The door inched open. Not too much, just a slight crack, enough for a curious eyeball. I saw my father’s face bathed in iridescent light and heard another moan. The flat-screen television wasn’t visible from this angle, but the grunts and cries confirmed what I wanted to know.
He was watching porn.
Only, he wasn’t. Porn might’ve been streaming on the TV, but his eyes were closed.
My body tensed with unwelcome fascination.
He sat with his back to the headboard, wearing nothing but a pair of dark-blue boxer briefs, his long legs stretched out across the king-sized bed. I hadn’t realized how well-muscled his chest was, or that he’d been hiding a flat stomach under all those paint-stained tees.
I inched forward, bringing my eye closer to the cracked door. It felt wrong to spy on him like this, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d spent the past six years wondering about his life without me, what he did with his free time, where he slept. Part of me wanted to climb into his lap like old times, to trace the slight bump on his nose and stroke the high points of his cheeks—angles I’d inherited. I wanted to learn everything I could about the man who had made me. Then again, maybe I just wanted to learn more about myself.
His chest rose and fell. For a second, I thought he might be sleeping, until his hand slid onto his lap. He cupped himself through his boxers. And then I saw it, pushing at the thin fabric.
He was hard.
I gasped. Eyes closed tight, he continued to rub himself. My inner muscles clenched along with my stomach, my body running hot and cold, curiosity versus confusion. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to gorge myself or throw up.
I licked my chapped lips, incapable of tearing my gaze away from his bulge. This was sick. I was sick. Still, I needed to know what was hiding in there.
My first, last, and only relationship had existed entirely online, and although I had never touched a cock or seen one in the flesh, I knew firsthand how watching someone masturbate could be sexy under the right circumstances. I’d just never imagined those circumstances would involve me spying on my father. I wanted to race back to my room almost as much as I wanted to stay and see more.