I shook my head, my heart racing. What was wrong with me? I was having dirty thoughts about my stepbrother.
Instead, I lost myself in the job of reorganizing his absolutely chaotic files.
I kicked my feet up on the desk and read the paper.
We’d been in his office for hours. Nobody had called; nobody had come in. He’d come back from the shower and had gone straight back into his living space, leaving me to finish filing on my own.
I got through the whole cabinet before lunch. After that, I was bored as hell. I could look at Facebook for only so long before I wanted to literally tear my eyes out. I mean, how many selfies was I supposed to like? I was super into baby pics and cute dogs—bonus points if the babies were with the cute dogs—but I couldn’t do that all day.
So I decided to enrich myself with the newspaper. I flipped through the flimsy pages, skimming the typical bad stuff.
But one headline caught my eyes. “Handless Hooker Found in Ditch,” it said, and it was the sort of salacious thing you rarely read about in a place like Mishawaka.
I skimmed the article. The body was found not too far away, closer to Chicago than to our town, but still out in the country. Apparently the body was only a few days old. The girl was young and pretty, and probably a prostitute, though they hadn’t identified her yet.
Then came the gruesome details. I almost couldn’t read about it. Apparently she had been sexually assaulted and beaten. But the weirdest thing was, her fingers had all been chopped off. She was missing some toes, but not all of them, and her tongue was cut out as well.
The police said they had no leads yet. It was all pretty messed up. How could someone do that to someone else? I knew evil existed in the world, but it was always at a remove. Always through the news. But for some reason, it was really hitting me hard, that somebody would do something so horrible to another human being.
“What’s up?”
I looked up, startled. “Nothing,” I said.
“Your face looks white.”
“It’s just this article.”
He reached out his hand. “Let me see.”
I gave him the paper and he began to read. “It’s pretty messed up. I was just thinking that it’s hard to imagine another person could do something like this. I don’t know, for some reason it was just hitting me hard, you know?” I paused, noticing the look on Easton’s face. “Are you okay?”
He glanced up at me, and I’d never forget the look in his eyes. It was haunted, dark and deep, like he was seeing something he never expected to see, something more terrible than I could understand.
“Fine,” he grunted. “You should go home.” He turned and walked into the back room.
That was weird. That look had shaken me, really spooked me, but I had no clue why. I stood up and followed him, standing in the doorway. I watched as he poured himself a shot of whisky, downing it.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Go home, Laney.”
“Was it that article? Do you know something about it?”
He threw the paper in the trash and turned back toward me. The fear and shock was gone, completely replaced by something else, something I hadn’t expected.
Rage. It was all rage and anger flowing through him.
I stepped back, not sure what was going on.
“Go home,” he growled.
“We can talk about it, if you want.”
“I’m fine.” He stared at me. “I need you to go home now, Laney.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He didn’t respond, just poured himself another drink. I looked at him for another second and then turned back toward the front room. I gathered my stuff quickly and left, throwing one last look back toward him.
He looked far away and haunted.
I closed my eyes and thought about him.
Easton, the most frustrating man I knew. Only when I was alone in my bed, safe from his cocky eyes, could I really give in to what I thought about him.
I had never met anyone even remotely like him. He was in turns confident, dark, mysterious, and way too fucking handsome. Sexy, actually, the way he moved and talked, the dirty things he said to me.
We weren’t really related, of course. Which was why I didn’t stop myself from slipping my fingers down under my panties to feel my soaked clit.
I imagined what he would do to me if I let him. I wanted him to slide his hands up my ass, to kiss my neck, to whisper in my ear. I wanted him to clear off the desk in one flourish and tear off my skirt. I’d get down on my knees and feel his thick, hard cock, run my hands up and down his length, feel how stiff he was for me.
And then I’d wrap my mouth around him and suck his cock hard. I wanted to taste him, his salty skin, make him grunt and groan. I wanted to suck him hard and fast until he lifted me up and threw me down onto the desk.
I rubbed my clit in furious circles as I thought about him thrusting deep inside me. I’d put my hands on his muscular chest as he fucked me deep and rough, filling me up, sliding in and out in agonizingly rough strokes.
Easton, his thick cock, his striking eyes, I wanted every inch of him. I wanted him as much as I hated him. I hated his drinking, his brooding, his anger. I didn’t understand any of it, and he wasn’t willing to let me get past his gruff exterior.
But I wanted to drill down deep, as deep as he could fuck me. I whispered his name softly to myself, testing it out, feeling how it felt on my lips. I rubbed my clit, soaking wet, as I gently said it.
And then someone knocked on my door.
Instantly I stopped, poised and alert. I glanced at the clock. Why is someone knocking at midnight? I thought to myself.
“Dad?” I called out.
“It’s me.”
That voice. What the hell? Was this some sort of joke?
“Easton?”
“Can I come in?”
I was about to panic. Had he heard me? I was just touching myself, thinking about him, and suddenly he appeared.
“Hold on.”
I quickly got out of bed, bright red, and rushed to get dressed. I threw on a clean pair of panties, pajama pants, and a sweatshirt. I checked myself in the mirror and was a total wreck of course, but that couldn’t be helped.
I slowly opened my bedroom door. Standing there in the hallway was Easton, leaning against the wall.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed at him. “It’s late.”
“Can I come in?”
“I don’t know.”
“Pure intentions. Fingers crossed.”
I stared for a second. “Okay. Fine.”
He followed me inside. I sat down on the bed, crossing my arms, as he proceeded to look in my closet and under my bed.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Checking.”
“I see that. Have you gone insane?”
He stopped in front of me, frowning. “Seen anything weird lately? Creepy guys standing around?”
“No. Not at all.” I could smell whisky on his breath, but he seemed clear-headed.
“Good.” He finished looking and stood up, shaking his head. “Sorry about this.”
“Easton,” I said softly, “is this about earlier, that article?”
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing important.”
He was already halfway out the door. “Wait a second!” I said, following him. “How did you get here?”