When the possessive exultation subsides, I’m as limp as a noodle, all my energy drained clean. My fingers still rest inside me, soaked and pruned from my aroused state.
I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.
My lips twist into a pleasured grin.
I did that. I chose to do that.
Me.
Who knew my body could do something so amazing?
Choice is a beautiful thing.
CHAPTER 9
JENSEN
“Missed you last night, Waverly.” Mark unfolds his newspaper at breakfast the next morning. His face is scrunched, scrutinizing his second oldest daughter as she eats her scrambled eggs in silence.
She’s been awfully quiet this morning, and I’ve opted to leave her alone. I think I pushed her too hard the night before, and I’ve still got five months left of living here. My end goal—graduating high school and moving to California—is way more important than convincing some prudish virgin to finger herself.
I stifle a laugh, my gaze snapping to Waverly. Her cheeks flush and she reaches for her juice. She won’t make eye contact with anyone.
Oh, my God. She totally did it.
I kick her leg under the table.
“Hey.” Bellamy shoots me a dirty look.
Oops.
“Sorry,” I mutter, lowering my head so she can’t see the shit-eating grin on my face.
“I was just tired last night,” Waverly says to her father. “Went up to my room and did some homework, and then I went to bed early.”
Fuck. She’s a terrible liar. Must be hard being habitually honest. She couldn’t tell a lie to save her life.
“Hm.” Mark is studying her like a book. Wonder what he’d think if he knew his precious, virginal daughter, the apple of his eye, his pride and joy, fingered herself last night while she thought of her new stepbrother? “Went looking for you. You weren’t in your room after dinner last night.”
“I did some laundry,” she says, shrugging a shoulder.
“Oh, Mark, did I tell you? The HVAC technician is coming today around ten to tune up my furnace,” Summer interrupts.
Mark mumbles something to her, but his gaze is still transfixed on his red-faced, fidgeting daughter.
The man is not stupid. He’s not naïve or blind to a damn thing that goes on under his three roofs. I know this because any man who uses religion as a weapon or a manipulative tool is a freaking mastermind. What man could convince three women to marry him, have his babies, grow their hair long so they can wash his feet with it in Heaven, serve and satisfy him, and make them feel like they’re the ones benefitting from this arrangement?
Waverly pushes her chair out from the table and takes her dish to the sink. She grabs her backpack and slinks it over her shoulder.
“Leaving early?” Bellamy asks.
Their mom, Jane, surveys in silence. She has “opinionated” written all over her face, but she seems to keep them all to herself—at least whenever I’m around.
Waverly glances at the clock on the wall. Her face reads like she’s trying to come up with an excuse, but she’s so flustered nothing’s coming together in time. “Yep. Leaving early.”
She’s gone.
Just like that.
I shovel the rest of my breakfast in my mouth and stand to leave, keeping my dirty dishes on the table because I don’t feel like being yelled at for not letting the women clean up after me.
House rules are house rules.
I grab my jacket and keys and run outside. Waverly’s sitting in her car, letting it warm up, and messing with her radio. I rap on her window, grinning as she jumps up in her seat.
She rolls her window down. “What?”
“So…” I’ve got a smile a mile wide. “You did it.”
She shifts her car into drive, and it lurches until she puts her foot on the break. She’s staring ahead now, opting not to make eye contact with me a second longer than she has to.
“You’re glowing.” I rest an elbow on the inside of her window.
“Stop.” She rolls her eyes.
“Stop what?”
“Gloating. You’re acting like you… like you made me… like you gave me the…” She can’t say it.
It’s probably not a word in her vocabulary, so I’ll say it for her. “Orgasm.”
Her face whips toward mine, freshly-washed, sandy hair spilling down her shoulders.
“You can say it, Waverly. Or-gas-m.” I smirk. “And I kind of did give it to you. I mean, not literally. You did all the work. I can’t take any credit for that.”
I glance up toward the main house to find Mark standing in the living room window, casting a hard stare our way. His mouth forms a hard line. I smack the top of Waverly’s car and tell her to get going, giving Mark a friendly wave and a thumb’s up. He doesn’t return anything other than a stone cold stare. If he asks later, and I’m sure he will, I was just checking on her. Making sure she was okay. Just being a good stepbrother.
It’s not a lie.
I do care about her, in my own little way. I think beneath her stuffy exterior and Miss Priss attitude, she’s a good person. I think we’d be friends if the conditions were favorable.
“See you in Chem,” I say as she pulls away.
***
I’m stopped outside my classroom by Claire Fahnlander.
“Jensen, hey.” She twirls her hair around her finger and leans against a red locker. “I know you’re new in town. I’m having some people over this weekend, like, for a senior party. My parents are going to be out of town, so I’ll have the whole place to myself. You should stop by. You know, if you’re bored or whatever.”
She bats her lashes. She’s the kind of girl who knows she’s pretty—the kind who skirts through life on her good looks and manipulative charm. She’s the type you could spend a drunk and rebellious teenage weekend with and not think twice about her again because underneath her fuck-me façade, there’s nothing at all.
I glance into the classroom to find Waverly watching. Her eyes veer away the second she’s caught.
Claire turns to see what I’m looking at and then rolls her eyes. “Ugh, Waverly Miller. Total wannabe.”
“Really?” I scratch the space above my brow. “She doesn’t seem like that to me. A little uptight, maybe. A little tightly wound.”
I can’t imagine Waverly wanting to have anything to do with Claire or her posse of mean girls. There’s a group of bitches like that in every school across North America.
“Trust me. She’s annoying.” Claire folds her arms. Her mouth twists into a devious grin. “Anyway, about this weekend, you should come by around—”
I don’t say another word. I simply walk away.
“Hey.” I pull out the chair next to Waverly, leaning in and nudging her arm. “What’s up?”
“I didn’t know we were friends now.” She flips her notebook open and clicks her pen, staring straight ahead at the dry erase board in the front of the class where Mrs. Davenport is writing and erasing something.
“Are you cool with what happened last night?” I whisper. I hold my breath, anticipating her answer. She’s clearly bent on making me wait.
Is she punishing me? If so, I did nothing wrong. I planted a seed. She chose to water it.
I snicker as she scribbles today’s date on the corner of her paper and throws her pen down. “Yes, Jensen. I’m fine.”
I don’t believe her.
The eight a.m. bell rings and Mrs. Davenport takes attendance. Claire Fahnlander watches us from the corner of her eye. I swear she’s plotting all the ways she thinks she’s going to make me hers.
She’s in for a world of disappointment if she thinks I view her as anything other than a piece of ass, and even then, I have no intention of fucking around with that. She’s probably been with half the school, or at least anyone with a football jersey and a half-smile.
“You’re different now,” I whisper to Waverly. She stares straight ahead at the white board.
“Can’t get anything past you, huh.” Her voice is hardly audible.
“So you did it. I know that much,” I cross my arms and sit back in the chair, not even attempting to fight the grin consuming my lips. I lean over to her, whispering into her ear, “But the biggest question is, were you thinking of me when you came?”