“Does your mom normally have conversations with you while you’re inside someone else?” Jaz asked, her breath hitching as I withdrew my hips from her. Such a bold, blatant question…it only served to make me work harder.
The next time I filled her up, I did it a little bit rougher, a little harder, and it shut her up just as well.
Her eyelids slammed shut, and she let out a low moan, dragging her fingernails down my back—so hard they’d surely leave marks. Right now I couldn’t care less. I wanted those nails, I wanted every single moan she’d give me, the expression on her face as I pumped into her.
Watching her squirm underneath me was too much. The orgasm that had been building ever since I pulled her ass to my lap exploded in a wave of hot bliss, forcing me to close my eyes and groan. My thrusting became erratic, quick and successive movements of my hips, the cum shooting from my tip and being held back by the thin rubber around it.
What I’d give to be able to cum inside of her…
Not a thought I should be having.
I pulled out, still breathing hard, slowly opening my eyes to meet her dark stare. Sometime during my orgasm, she’d opened her eyes and watched.
Collapsing beside her on my bed, I whispered, “Would you believe me if I said I really did invite you over here just to study?” A grin grew on my face; I couldn’t stop it. I felt like the Cheshire Cat, like I’d just gotten a peek at my presents before Christmas. Giddy. I felt fucking giddy.
Jaz thought on this, comfortable with her nakedness beside me. She rolled to her side, propped her head up, her hair cascading over her shoulders and to the bed. Posing her own question, she asked, “Would you believe me if I told you that the last thing I planned on doing today was sleeping with you?”
We were both liars to ourselves, it would seem.
We lay there for a few moments before getting up, cleaning up, and dressing, acting as if nothing at all had happened. Personally, I couldn’t get the feeling of her tight pussy out of my mind, but I knew I’d have to.
That was a mistake—but it wasn’t like I could confess and tell Jaz everything. There were things in Midpark she didn’t need to know, secrets and lies I wished I could keep her from.
I should’ve known it was only a matter of time until it all came crumbling down.
Chapter Eight – Jaz
Saturday came, and other staff arrived. Ollie had one of the biggest mansions in Midpark—the thing had a freaking ballroom on its lower level in the back, where dozens of tables were set up, draped with nice white clothes and golden accessories. Okay, it wasn’t really a ballroom, but it sure looked like one.
My mom would be one of the waitresses, or whatever the fuck they were called. You know, the people who walked around during fancy events like this and carried trays of champagne and other finger foods before the actual meal. The food was being brought in from a restaurant; Ollie’s kitchen was huge, but it could not feed fifty people in one night.
Mom and Ollie were busy with the early morning preparations, gaggles of people constantly walking in and out of the house. I was supposed to keep to myself—which I planned to, later—but I did use the chaos of the morning to spend a little extra time in the living room, where pictures were hung and even more sat on the mantle.
I had homework to catch up on, a history test to study for, but after what happened with Archer…
No. I wouldn’t think about it.
To keep my head buried beneath the sand, I would focus on the mystery plaguing my mind. What happened to Ollie’s family? What happened to Celeste and her mother? I’d Googled both, found no obituaries. For all intents and purposes, they just vanished.
Which couldn’t be right. People didn’t just disappear. They didn’t simply go away. And especially after everything Celeste had been through…
The house full of noise, of people bringing in the folded-up tables and decorations, was enough of a distraction for my mom and Ollie himself. No one would bother me here in the living room. No one would watch me study the photographs as if they held onto some clue about what had happened here.
If my mom and I weren’t safe here, I had to know. If Ollie was some kind of rich serial killer, there was no way we’d stay in this house. I wouldn’t let my mom put herself in danger, even if she claimed it was all for me. For me to go to a good school, for me to get connections or whatever other bullshit excuse she used. We left our old life completely, changed our numbers and left without telling anyone in our own town goodbye—hell, it was enough to make me wonder if Mom was also hiding something from me.
Could no one tell the truth anymore? Could no one simply just let things be?
My eyes roamed across the pictures. I saw none of his wife—either of them, actually—but there were plenty of his kid. Or were they kids, as in plural? Each face looked the same, and yet, as I roamed from picture to picture, I was able to pick up on some subtle differences. In almost half, the cute boy was grinning, and in the other half, he wore a serious expression…but that wasn’t what set them apart for me. It was the eyes.
You could tell a lot about a person from the look in their eyes. A face could lie, but the eyes couldn’t. A smile could lie to you, but if you stared into the eyes attached, if you knew what signs to pick up on, you could see through the facade.
The bad thing was, I felt like almost everyone around here was a liar.
Or maybe that was just me, feeling insecure after hooking up with Archer.
It wasn’t like that had been my first time. I’d done it before, behind my mom’s back, since she didn’t want me dating or seeing anyone of the male gender. No, it wasn’t like I’d tossed my virginity to the wind with Archer, but a part of me did feel uneasy about it.
What if I wasn’t as good at reading people as I thought? What if it was some kind of game to him: how fast can I bang the new girl? I’d be pissed, and I didn’t get pissed often.
I was seconds from picking up one of the frames on the mantle when I heard my mom’s voice, “Jaz, I told you you needed to stay upstairs today.”
Restraining myself from touching the frame—this one of a particularly sullen, black-haired boy frowning, I turned to my mom and gave her a look. “Staying up there all day seems a little extreme, don’t you think? What am I supposed to do for lunch? And dinner?” Now that I was thinking about it, complaining about food while I was in the living room, obviously not scrounging for something to eat, was probably not the best defense to use.
Mom wore her blonde hair in a high bun, wearing all black like most of the other hired staff. Not a speck of jewelry sat on her body, nor an ounce of makeup on her face. Not that she needed it. She was gorgeous.
“I will bring food up to you when I can, honey. Ollie just doesn’t want you getting in the way, and since he is both our boss and the reason we have a roof over our heads, I have to side with him.”
I resisted my urge to roll my eyes and remind her that we had a roof over our heads before we moved here, before she took this weird job as a live-in maid for some lonely rich guy whose previous families had vanished.
Instead, I said, “Okay, fine. I’ll go back upstairs.”
My mom let out a sigh, as if I was saving the day by getting myself out of the way. “Thank you.” She waited to leave, apparently needing to see me go up the stairs with her own eyes.