“Hey!”
I do my best to swallow the heat from my face, along with the guilt, as I turn, smiling at her.
“Hey! Look, sorry again for leaving early, I just…”
I shrug.
“I dunno. Just had some stuff to think through,” I lie, through my teeth, at my best friend in the world.
But Amy just shrugs, brushing past me to fall across my bed, face up.
“Oh, you didn’t miss much. Kelly bitching about Matt. Simone’s drama with her mom’s personal trainer.”
I grin, blushing, and so thankful that the drama eye is focused elsewhere off of me. Sorry, Simone.
Amy sits up suddenly, frowning.
“Hey, by the way, I don’t think I we spent enough time talking about your date yesterday.” She makes a face. “Sorry he bailed, dude. What the hell happened?”
I shrug. “He bailed, I guess.”
Lies. So many lies.
“What a dick.”
“Yeah, what a dick,” I parrot absently, looking away.
What a dick indeed.
Because I’ve felt the bulge in Marshall’s pants, and even just feeling it has my core tightening, and heat pooling between my legs all over again. I’ve felt his cock, and I want it. I want him and knowing that makes me feel like absolute shit as I sit on the bed, trying to swallow my guilt as I talk to Amy.
I wonder if doing what I’m doing with Marshall makes me a terrible person. But then, I know I can’t help it.
“Hey, does your dad date a lot?”
The very second it leaves my lips, I want to scream at myself and take it back.
What the fuck are you doing?!
Amy arches a brow, smirking as she shrugs.
“Maybe? I dunno. You know how he is, disappearing into the city all the time on weekends. I guess he sleeps in his office working late. But maybe there are women?” She snorts. “I mean, God, I hope so. If not, the last time he got laid was like, eighteen years ago, give or take.”
She immediately wrinkles her nose as she says it, shaking her head violently.
“Ugh, okay eww. Subject change, now.”
I giggle as she makes a sickly face.
“Wanna put PJs on, make some snacks, and watch something?”
“Hell yes,” I grin. “What do you want to watch?”
“Something with Ryan Reynolds without a shirt on?”
I laugh. “Done.”
* * *
An hour later, Amy’s snoring and drooling on her pillows. I grin, reaching for the remote to the TV in her room and turning it off, plunging the room into darkness. I tug the blankets up over her and crawl out of the bed, padding out and gently closing the door behind me. I turn, reaching for the knob to my room next to hers, when something stops me.
Something… needing.
Something that aches for more. A forbidden pull, and a little devil on my shoulder urging me to sin, and to dive deeper into the forbidden pool I’ve already dipped my toes into. I pause, one hand on the doorknob as I swivel my head to look down the hallway, to the double doors that lead to the other wing of the house where Marshall’s room is.
That ache comes again. A forbidden temptation. A pull towards the off limits that I can’t seem to break free of. And slowly, as my pulse begins to beat faster, my hand drops from the doorknob. My body turns, and my feet start to move before I can even tell them to stop it. I pad barefoot down the hall, my body shivering with forbidden heat as I push the doors open and step through. They close with a heavy thunk behind me, making my skin prickle and my nipples harden under my tank top.
Turn around. Go to bed. Go the HELL to bed.
But I already know I’m going to be ignoring that voice in my head as start to walk, padding quietly down the hall, closer and closer to his room. I pause just outside of it, my heart racing and my skin tingling with something fierce. There’s a dull glow from under the door, and for one second, I falter, starting to turn to walk away. But then, I stop myself, taking a breath as I turn back and force my hand to the doorknob. I grip it, turn it, and slowly push the door open.
The room is mostly dark as I step in. Marshall’s actual bedroom is down a short little alcove of a hallway once I’m inside the door, and I pause there in the shadows, creeping forward. Slowly, I glance around the corner into the huge master suite, and my breath catches.
There he is.
Marshall is sitting in a mocha-leather chair by the big windows that look out over the backyard and pool. The lights are on in the backyard, which is the glow I saw coming from under the door. And good lord, he’s naked except for a pair of black boxers. I can feel my core tighten, heat flooding between my thighs. He’s turned away from me, looking out the windows, and in his hands, he swirls a glass of something.