Read Online Sheltered by Charlotte Stein - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charlotte Stein
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sincere, though her mind kept throwing up the words you make me crazy , she could feel it eating at her.
She’d done something greedy again, and he was leaving. Again.
“Van—” she started, though in truth she didn’t know how she was going to finish. And luckily for her she didn’t have to, because as he turned—kind of awkwardly, with something of a stoop—she saw it loud and clear.
The rigid, obvious shape of something pressing into the material of his jeans.
It sent a visceral bolt of sensation through her—one that didn’t even seem dulled by the orgasm she’d just had. And once it was done it settled low and heavy in her already swollen and soaking sex, like a reminder of what she’d seen.
He’s hard. He’s hard, for you. It turned him on to see you climax so quickly and easily, and now he’s leaving before he does something he regrets.
Like forcing you to take his cock in your mouth.
Of course, she knew he’d never do anything like that—he was leaving because of his own arousal, for God’s sake. Yet the thought was almost as exciting as the sight of him, all insistent and rude right between his legs.
And then he caught her gaze, and his expression turned rueful, and she knew he knew.
“Yeah. That’s why I gotta go.”
She almost laughed, suddenly giddy.
“It’s really okay…”
He backed toward the door, that shape so obvious it looked like a promise.
“If we’re going to do this, Evie, we’re doing it slow.” He held up a hand. “I’ll see you next week.”
It was only after he’d gone that she realized something troubling…she wasn’t sure she could wait until next week. And even sweeter…she wasn’t sure he could either.
Chapter Five
She realized she’d started jostling her leg up and down about halfway through breakfast, and stopped it just shy of her father noticing. Of course he’d ask if he spotted something like that—what on earth did she have to be anxious about, after all?
Only sinners and whores got anxious about things, and she was definitely not one of those two. She was the kind of girl who ate her breakfast calmly and politely, then cleared her mother’s and father’s plates, and once that was done she said something good, like, “Are you going to the Pattersons’ tonight?”
Her father didn’t seem to think it was good, however.
Instead he turned his slate-gray eyes on her, everything about him as neat as always. The red, red tie. The shirt with the starched collar and cuffs. He looked like someone out of a different era, she knew—like a dad from one of those scratchy 1950s videos on what not to do if you didn’t want to go to hell.
But he didn’t seem to know it.
“Don’t ask obvious questions, Eve. It makes you seem…idiotic,” he said, which was true enough. They always went to the Pattersons’ on Wednesdays, after all.
It was just that she didn’t always want to fuck some bike-riding, tattoo-covered drug abuser when they did.
“Sorry,” she said, like a reflex. Like that jostling of her leg, as she willed the day to fly by. Go faster , she thought, as she bore lasers into her father’s vast back. Let it be seven o’clock already.
But still time ticked by as slow as a dripping tap, every event so gray and lifeless and endlessly long. Her father shaking her hand before leaving for work—the same as he did every morning. Her mother wanting her to help with the hydrangeas that needed planting, and as her mother seemed to be particularly dazed on this fine, sunny day, she couldn’t very well say no. Which was followed by classes on books that now bored her, and inane chit-chat in the cafeteria with Janie Lawson.
Janie was saving herself, apparently. She had the abstinence ring to prove it, just like that wholesome pop star with the curly hair. Of course it occurred to Evie then that every conversation she had with just about anyone sounded like something about three years too young for her. But what could she
She’d done something greedy again, and he was leaving. Again.
“Van—” she started, though in truth she didn’t know how she was going to finish. And luckily for her she didn’t have to, because as he turned—kind of awkwardly, with something of a stoop—she saw it loud and clear.
The rigid, obvious shape of something pressing into the material of his jeans.
It sent a visceral bolt of sensation through her—one that didn’t even seem dulled by the orgasm she’d just had. And once it was done it settled low and heavy in her already swollen and soaking sex, like a reminder of what she’d seen.
He’s hard. He’s hard, for you. It turned him on to see you climax so quickly and easily, and now he’s leaving before he does something he regrets.
Like forcing you to take his cock in your mouth.
Of course, she knew he’d never do anything like that—he was leaving because of his own arousal, for God’s sake. Yet the thought was almost as exciting as the sight of him, all insistent and rude right between his legs.
And then he caught her gaze, and his expression turned rueful, and she knew he knew.
“Yeah. That’s why I gotta go.”
She almost laughed, suddenly giddy.
“It’s really okay…”
He backed toward the door, that shape so obvious it looked like a promise.
“If we’re going to do this, Evie, we’re doing it slow.” He held up a hand. “I’ll see you next week.”
It was only after he’d gone that she realized something troubling…she wasn’t sure she could wait until next week. And even sweeter…she wasn’t sure he could either.
Chapter Five
She realized she’d started jostling her leg up and down about halfway through breakfast, and stopped it just shy of her father noticing. Of course he’d ask if he spotted something like that—what on earth did she have to be anxious about, after all?
Only sinners and whores got anxious about things, and she was definitely not one of those two. She was the kind of girl who ate her breakfast calmly and politely, then cleared her mother’s and father’s plates, and once that was done she said something good, like, “Are you going to the Pattersons’ tonight?”
Her father didn’t seem to think it was good, however.
Instead he turned his slate-gray eyes on her, everything about him as neat as always. The red, red tie. The shirt with the starched collar and cuffs. He looked like someone out of a different era, she knew—like a dad from one of those scratchy 1950s videos on what not to do if you didn’t want to go to hell.
But he didn’t seem to know it.
“Don’t ask obvious questions, Eve. It makes you seem…idiotic,” he said, which was true enough. They always went to the Pattersons’ on Wednesdays, after all.
It was just that she didn’t always want to fuck some bike-riding, tattoo-covered drug abuser when they did.
“Sorry,” she said, like a reflex. Like that jostling of her leg, as she willed the day to fly by. Go faster , she thought, as she bore lasers into her father’s vast back. Let it be seven o’clock already.
But still time ticked by as slow as a dripping tap, every event so gray and lifeless and endlessly long. Her father shaking her hand before leaving for work—the same as he did every morning. Her mother wanting her to help with the hydrangeas that needed planting, and as her mother seemed to be particularly dazed on this fine, sunny day, she couldn’t very well say no. Which was followed by classes on books that now bored her, and inane chit-chat in the cafeteria with Janie Lawson.
Janie was saving herself, apparently. She had the abstinence ring to prove it, just like that wholesome pop star with the curly hair. Of course it occurred to Evie then that every conversation she had with just about anyone sounded like something about three years too young for her. But what could she
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