Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 54645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Pink creeps up her cheeks, blooming into fuchsia as I watch her squint at the road, then reply.
“I’ve saved up some vacation time. I’d do anything for you. Anything you need.”
My heart fucking aches as my balls grow three sizes, filling with cum. My angel. My everything. What she can’t know, looking at me, is that I’ve been saving myself for her. I give zero fucks that she’s my step-sister. My body, my soul, my cock are all hers. Always have been. Always will be.
“You are the perfect sister.” The last word lingers on my tongue like sweet depravity.
She nods. “And anyway, Trent. In case you didn’t know, you are my life.”
Fuck. Fuck.
CHAPTER 4
Kat
What he really doesn’t know, and what I hope he never finds out, is that I’ve been working at the Velvet Touch. It’s exactly as bad as it sounds. In our letters, I told him I was finding freelance jobs from the internet and doing some payroll work for a local ‘bar’.
I also told him I sold our parent’s house and they’d left some savings in a trust for us both. That seemed to comfort him, knowing I had what I needed and financially, things were okay. They weren’t but there was no way I was laying that on his shoulders from half a world away. I shouldn’t have lied and the day of reconning is coming when I have to fess up and tell him the house was upside down from a reserve mortgage they did with some shady financial advisor.
There’d put all their trust into some financial advisor they met at one of those free steak dinner deals where they lure you in with a fancy meal then sign you up for their bullshit. Dad was a hard worker but he didn’t know anything about investing and reverse mortgages and whatever other sunshine the asshole blew their way. They died destitute and if Trent knew what had happened, I’m sure the guy would be dead.
As well, if I told him that the local ‘bar’ was actually The Velvet Touch? Ugg. It’s a gritty, purple cinderblock hole of a strip club over on Marshall Avenue, where only every other street-light works and every last bit of metal has been stripped off all the buildings. The kind of area the cops don’t come unless there’s a dead body in the road.
“So, no bullshit Kat, how are you?” he asks, shifting his muscular legs into a wide man-spread. Taking up space. Making his presence felt. God, I’ve missed him so much. “Been staying out of trouble?”
I know he’s kidding. Me? In trouble? Never. But things have changed since he left. If only he knew I’ve been keeping myself triple-locked behind my apartment door, paying cash for everything, and leasing my dingy little place under an assumed name. Things haven’t been great. Not at all.
But after what he just told me? I flat-lined for 33 seconds. None of it seems all that important.
“I’m good. Just, you know, work. Still doing bookkeeping and payroll stuff.” I manage silently telling myself I’m not technically lying.
The Velvet Touch’s owner did me a favor, hiring me for cash. He took pity on me, and I’m grateful. The pay is decent. Well. Decentish and at least I don’t have to jiggle my tah-tahs to get it. Not that I judge those that do, I’m just pretty sure I’d suck at it.
“Those bookkeeping classes really paid off,” I add with a sarcastic flex of my biceps.
But I’m deflecting. I know it and he knows it. There’s a heaviness between us. The big thing we still haven’t discussed. The fact that since he left, our lives have gone upside down.
And now all we have in the world is each other.
He’s the brave one and tackles it first. “But how are you, Kat? Not work, you.”
I shift behind the wheel of the Jeep, feeling smaller, but I’m grateful I’m driving. Because there’s no way I’d be able to look him straight in the eye right now.
There was a time when I kept no secrets from him. But now I feel like a ball of secrets. And the one person in the world I want to tell everything is the one person that I can’t tell a single thing.
My parents died only two months after he deployed. He was in deep cover somewhere, when they were killed by a drunk driver. They were coming home from choir practice at First Baptist in Chantsbury. My dad was in his favorite sports coat. And my mom was wearing her locket with photos of me and Trent inside.
For days and days, I held on to that news alone. For two weeks, I checked Trent’s status on Zoom and WhatsApp hourly, even in the middle of the night. Especially in the middle of the night, when I should be asleep but I knew he’d be awake. Waiting. And watching. And agonizing about how to tell him the news.