Page 33 of Wicked Devotions
She wouldn’t think I was being nice if she knew how much I want to push her against the wall and give her the best first sexual experience she could ever have. She would run from me if she had any idea.
“Don’t get used to it. But also come out of your fucking room from time to time. Better yet, come out of your shell.”
“Once I get the hang of these classes. I wasn’t exactly the best student in high school. I don’t feel very prepared for this at all.”
“We’ll figure something out. Something that doesn’t include asshole tutors who can’t keep their eyes to themselves.”
“Look at you, being all brotherly.”
“Not even close.” I give her a smirk and walk out the door before I do something to prove how very not brotherly I feel toward her.
Chapter
Thirteen
HARPER
Banks has sent seven messages in the past few days. All have gone unanswered, aside from letting him know I’m safe and that I do still love him. I’ll always love him. I just need time to wrap my head around everything.
All my schoolwork is done, I’m ahead on nearly everything. I emailed Amanda at the stables to see if they were hiring, and I’m waiting to hear back from her. No one knows that I’m looking for a job. They probably wouldn’t react very well to the news asthey wouldn’t be able to stalk me while I was working.
Now I’m sitting on the couch with Emerson and Declan watching a movie. They showed me an app on the television with hundreds of movies, but it became too overwhelming to pick so I let them. It’s a choice that I’m coming to realize was a mistake because the movie they chose has so much sex.
Both of them are occasionally scrolling on their phones and seem generally unaffected by what’s happening on the screen. I can’t say the same for myself. As I watch the actors touch each other, heat builds within me.
Declan glances over at me as I reposition my legs, squeezing them together to ease the ache building between my thighs. He arches a brow in question, but I just shake my head. Hopefully he’ll just assume I’m uncomfortable.
It’s not untrue. I am uncomfortable. Just not for a reason I want him to know.
The sex scene in this movie feels unending. Is it actually porn? It shouldn’t last this long, right? I watch as the man slides under the covers and the woman’s lips part in ecstasy. I want to know how that feels.
I shoot to my feet, moving way too fast to benatural, but I can’t sit here any longer. Without a word I start to leave the room and head upstairs.
“Where are you going?” Emerson asks.
“I forgot some work I need to finish for class tomorrow.” I don’t wait around to see what he says.
I hustle up the steps and down the hall to my room. As soon as the door closes behind me, I slump against it and flick the lock closed. I know what I want to do, I just don’t know if I can.
Touching myself isn’t something I was allowed to do. My father made his thoughts crystal clear on masturbation. I have the scars to prove it.
But he’s not here to stop me. He can’t shame me anymore.
I walk over to my bed and lie down on top of the covers. My shorts are loose enough that I can slide my hand under the waistband easily. I run my fingers over my panties, fighting the shame of the forbidden until I feel a damp patch of material. Heat rushes to my cheeks at the evidence of how turned on I got from a movie that didn’t even affect the two guys watching it with me.
Pleasure bursts through me as I press a little harder, my finger sliding into my folds with only a cotton barrier. I gasp when I drag my finger upward hitting what must be my clit. It’s the only thingthat could feel that good. My toes curl as I experiment with different touches, seeing what feels best and what doesn’t.
I’ve almost gained enough confidence to slide my panties to the side and touch myself with no barrier when the disembodied voice of my father sounds within my subconscious.
Only wicked, evil girls touch themselves, Harper. Do you want to spend eternity in hell serving Satan? Or do you want to marry a good man? Because no good man is going to accept a wicked woman as his wife.
I can almost smell the combination of burnt skin and cigarette smoke as his words filter back through my mind. My hand moves out of my shorts and up to my side where the scars from the burns are. Some have smoothed over and are now just barely visible while there are others that are still pink and rough.
I grab one of my pillows and throw it across the room. I hate him. I hate every memory of him. Will there ever be a point in my life where his voice isn’t haunting the back of my mind? He was the wicked one. He is a felon, a phony, a hypocrite. Yet here I am, fighting to find myself and enjoy my second chance at life.
A bang and muffled curse from upstairs is enough to pull me from my pity session. All of asudden my room feels too confining, like a box closing in on me even though it’s far from it. Another muffled curse is all it takes for me to get up and head toward the door at the end of the hall.
It creaks as I open it to find a set of steep dark wooden stairs. Much like the door leading to them, each step makes a noise as I put my weight on them. I’m starting to fall in love with the old house and all her creaks and cracks.