I run my fingers along the spine of the books, not looking for anything in particular. I’m really just looking for a distraction from Caulter. I don’t know where he is right now, but I know where he was this morning. This morning he was sneaking into the shower with me, pressing my back up against the marble tile while he thrust inside me. I can still feel the aching between my legs, the absence of him.
The last three weeks we've been sneaking around the house like we're having an affair, Caulter groping me as I pass him in the hallway or sneaking into my room through the door that opens onto our shared balcony.
I don’t know what Rose was thinking, putting our rooms next to each other. I’d suspect her of planning something like this, except I know she doesn’t have a malicious bone in her body. And you’d have to be malicious to want something to happen between me and Caulter. I mean, I fuck him, but he is the single most irritating person I've ever met in my life.
My father and Ella are flying back and forth, spending most of their time in DC. We have the house to ourselves except for Rose, who's here during the day. I'm worried she's catching on, but Caulter insists she's not. He turns on the charm when she's around, flirting with her and complimenting her cooking, wrapping her around his finger the way Caulter does with all women.
I have to reluctantly admit I can see the appeal. Caulter can almost be charming when he wants to be.
“Hey, sugar-tits.” He speaks softly, and I start, looking down to see him with that stupid smirk on his face. Yeah, Caulter is real charming, for sure.
“You almost gave me a heart attack.” I step down the ladder, but his hand is on my leg before I reach the bottom, sliding up underneath my skirt.
“I’ve decided something,” he says, cupping my ass with his palm.
My breath hitches in my throat, the way it always does when he touches me, and I grip the side of the ladder with one hand and try to slap his hand away with the other. “Stop touching me.”
“Why?” he asks, ignoring my directive. He pauses when he reaches the top of my ass and realizes there’s nothing there - no top part of a thong strap. Behind me, he squats down and peers up my skirt. “No panties.”
“You know why I'm telling you to stop,” I say. “My father and Ella got in last night, and they're around here somewhere. And the fact that I'm not wearing panties means nothing.” The lie is pathetic and feeble. I got dressed thinking about Caulter. No panties was with Caulter in mind.
Caulter’s hand is on my back, preventing me from getting down off the ladder. He slides his fingers between my legs, pressing against my entrance. “You’re full of shit, Princess,” he says. “Your father and Ella left to go out somewhere, so we're all alone. And you forgot your panties just for me.”
“Not true,” I whisper, but I arch my ass back, pushing my pussy against his fingers as he slips them inside. His thumb teases my asshole, sending shivers of arousal racing through my body. “We shouldn’t do this...not here.” Or at all, I tell myself. I have to stop doing this with him.
He responds by sliding his fingers further into my dripping pussy. “I’ve decided that from now on, you wear dresses. No panties. Skirts only.”
I laugh, but it turns into a moan as he reaches around with his other hand to stroke my clit. “Where the fuck do you think you get off, telling me what to do?”
“We've been through this before. I own this.”
“You’re crazy.” I can’t think clearly, distracted by what he’s doing to my body. Until a nose in the hallway startles me. “Shit. Stop.”
A look of irritation crosses his face, and he withdraws his fingers. I start to step down, thinking he’s giving me a reprieve from his delicious torment, but he grabs me by the arms before I can make it off the ladder, turning me around and pushing me back hard. “I want you now.”
“Did you just hear that?” I ask. The step of the ladder digs into my back, and I would slip and fall down, except for the fact that he’s pinned me there. I’m looking down at him, my head angled just above him. I shouldn’t be preoccupied with how he looks at me, his expression clouded with lust. I should be preoccupied with how my father and his mother might be somewhere in this house, how they could walk in at any moment. I should be preoccupied with how my father’s face would look when he walked in on the two of us in the library.
“I don’t hear anything,” he says, sliding both hands over my ass.
“Anyone could come in,” I protest. But the void left by his fingers is too distracting to allow me to focus on anything else.