Murray nods, and we head into the kitchen, where Maribel is standing in her silk pajama set, a bottle of wine in her hands. “Oh, hi Murray, I was just opening this bottle for me and Elijah. Can I get you guys something else? Maybe something sparkling?”
I move to the fridge, retrieving two cans of Coke. “Just grabbing some soda to go with our popcorn.” I study the label on the wine as Murray roots around in the pantry, hunting for popcorn. “This is nice. What’s the occasion?” Living with Maribel for a few months has taught me which wine is expensive and which isn’t.
She smiles. “Just another night in the perfect life.” She uncorks, filling two glasses. “After your dad and Harrison are done with their mentoring session, we’re going to go upstairs and watch a movie, too.”
Maribel hooks a nail on Murray’s bag, peering at the DVDs he brought. She takes one out, and turns it around, reading the back. “Murray,” she muses, “can Elijah and I snag this one?”
Murray comes out of the pantry with a bag of popcorn and two boxes of candy. “Sure, Mrs. Lancaster. I’ve seen it already anyway.”
Maribel and Murray getting along only depresses me more. She can’t get along with Murray as well as she gets along with her own son, and yet, it doesn’t matter.
Murray is my boyfriend. I should be happy that my dad and Maribel like him.
I should be happy that my dad and Maribel are so fucking happy.
I should be happy that it’s Friday night and Reed is home with my father, and not out with a beautiful college girl.
The doorbell rings, and while Murray and I get our pillows and blankets set up for movie night, Reed appears, hands in pockets. “Hey man,” he says to Murr. “Think me and my date can crash movie night?”
Chapter Fifteen
Vivienne
Murray glances at the doorway where a blonde appears. She’s gorgeous, with more legs than torso, wavy hair that falls down to her hips, hips that bow and dip in all the right places I might add. She smiles, revealing a mouth loaded with straight, pearly whites.
“This is Stacy. We were hoping to watch a movie with you guys,” Reed says, his gaze darting to meet mine. I fix my focus on the DVDs in the bag, pretending to be puzzled by which one I should pick.
Murray turns off the lights, telling Reed and Stacy to settle in. He kisses my forehead as he heads to the kitchen to retrieve the popped bag of popcorn, and I stare at the blue screen, reading the FBI warning, terrified to look their way.
She’s beautiful and Reed is, well, Reed. Gorgeous, handsome, sexy—everything and more. If I look over there feelingas low as I feel right now and find them kissing or canoodling or something–it may be my 13th reason, I swear.
Stacy whispers, and then she giggles, but still, I watch the previews. The rough timbre of Reed’s voice drifts through the space, but I refuse to look. A minute later, Murray returns with popcorn, and I snuggle into his side just as the movie begins.
I watch the movie. I don’t question who Stacy is, where Reed met her, if this is their first date, if they’ve messed around, if she’s in college, if she’s seen the face he makes when he comes, if she’s felt his cum against her skin, if she’s into him—none of those questions infiltrate and poison my mind because I am highly focused on whatever movie I chose.
Halfway through, Murray slides his hand down my forearm, linking his fingers with mine. On screen, the couple is kissing, one of those loud, moany, open mouth kisses that never really happens anywhere but on screen. The moment is heated, and Murray’s body is warm, and Stacy is in Reed’s arms–I don’t have to look to know that she is.
Confusion and depression make a heady cocktail, urging me to plunge our joined hands beneath the blanket, under my panties. Murrays thick fingertips slide over my bare pussy, and beneath me, he hardens.
We haven’t had sex yet. He’s fingered me. I’ve given him a handjob. We’re not rushing.
The couple on screen moves to the bedroom, and Murray increases the pace, tracing small, gentle circles around my clit. Under the privacy of the blanket, he could make me come. I rarely come these days. It’s a struggle to get to the finish line. My mind goes to Reed every time, and it’s theonly way I can finish, but I don’t want to think of him when I come so I simply stop trying.
Murray clears his throat, shifting beneath me to make room for the thick erection growing in his sweats. His fingers feel good, and Reed is nearby. If I close my eyes, and think hard enough about the past, maybe I can pretend these are his fingers and he’s the one touching me.
Except I don’t close my eyes. I stupidly look over to the other couch, and find Reed’s eyes leveled on me through the dark. The screen reflects off his glasses here and there, but I see plain as day he’s watching. His eyes move between my eyes and the blanket in my lap, where it gently moves up and down with each stroke of Murray’s hand.
He knows.
He leans in, bringing his lips to Stacy’s ear, his eyes still on mine. She makes a sound, and a moment later he’s reaching under the blanket, and her eyes are rolling back.
Is he seriously doing this? Is he seriously fingering her while watching Murray finger me? What kind of head games are we playing on one another?
His bicep flexes as Murray softly groans, plunging a finger inside me, his thumb coming to rest on my clit. My eyes across the room on Reed, his eyes on me, Murray continues playing with me as Reed continues rubbing her. It’s fucked up. It’s wrong.
It also hasn’t felt this good in a long, long time.
Seriously, with Reed’s eyes boring holes into me, I can’t help but curl my toes into the couch cushion. Reed’s arm moves, and Stacy’s head rolls as she brings her hand to her mouth, absorbing her moans of pleasure. The movieflickers against Reed’s glasses, but when the scene goes darker, his eyes come into focus again.
