I came, moaning low, shuddering, moving my legs restlessly against the sheet, wishing he’d been watching me. I brought my hand up under my nose, inhaling, my eyes closing. I slipped the fingers between my lips, tasting myself, swirling my tongue around and between them, stripping my juices off, my head swimming.
A lazy smile pulled my lips as I rolled out of bed, intent on sharing my new-found delight with my father. My plan was to again coat my fingers, then brush them over his lips, hoping he didn’t wake up in the process.
But as I reached the doorway to their room, I saw that his side of the bed was empty. I turned, padding softly back down the hall to the front room, the light from the TV telling me where I’d find him.
I stopped in the hall, my gaze going to the TV. He was watching an old black and white movie, a romance, by the looks the woman was giving the man.
I slipped back down the hall to my room, slipping my panties over my hips, depositing them on my bed, then moving back down the hall.
I was halfway to the front room when I heard the floor creak behind me. I stopped, turning, meeting my mother’s gaze, my mouth opening in surprise.
Her brow went up and she stopped, just at the entrance to my room. She held a hand out to me, palm up, wiggling her fingers, willing me to her.
I moved toward her, dread filling my stomach, knowing that, while she may not have noticed the white panties laying on my bed last nigh, she wouldn’t be able to miss the ones laying there tonight; the black satin would all but scream at her: Look at me!
I brought my hand up as I approached, laying it in hers, allowing her to pull me toward my room, trying as we moved to come up with a viable explanation for her.
She pulled me into my room and I watched, my stomach turning, as her head aligned itself perfectly with my panties. She stopped, staring at them for several moments before turning, my hand still in hers, her brow up, her gaze moving from the panties to my face. I dropped my gaze, unable to meet hers.
“Are those the ones you were wearing tonight?” she asked, her tone more curious than anything.
I nodded.
“What made you change them?”
My brows drew. I caught my cheek in my teeth, shrugging.
“Talk to me, sweetheart,” she said, her tone low, patient.
But I could only shrug.
She reached out then, slowly, catching the hem of my shirt and lifting it, just enough to confirm her suspicions then allowing it to fall, soundlessly, pulling my stomach with it.
She lifted a hand then, setting in on my shoulder, allowing it to slide down my arm and into my hand. She pulled me with her as she moved the two steps to the bed, sitting, leaving me to stand between her legs, facing her, my head down, supremely embarrassed.
“Sweetheart, look at me.”
I did, but only for a moment.
She brought her other hand up, lifting my chin with her finger. “What’s going on with you?”
I stared into her eyes, willing the words to come, to explain to her how I could concentrate on nothing but him, on nothing but having him inside of me. I knew, though, that I could stand here until the twelfth of never and I’d be no closer to telling her than I was now.