Chapter One
Gentry
Sometimes, dreams change.
When I was twelve, I wanted to be a marine biologist and live on a boat, even though I’d never seen the ocean. When I was sixteen, I just wanted one day when my parents weren’t fighting and my youngest sister wasn’t crying in her room with her hands over her ears.
Now, at twenty-two, I’d love to have enough time to enjoy a shower. And by enjoy, I meanenjoy.
As guardian to my two teenage sisters, time is a resource more valuable than gold, diamonds, and chocolate.
Right now, I’ve got about fifteen minutes and a locked bathroom door, and I’m going to take full advantage of every single second.
As warm water sluices over me, I spread my legs, close my eyes, and slide my right hand down my body. It’s been so long that just the touch of my fingers on myself makes me stifle a groan.
I really need to be better about making time for self-care.
I close my eyes and slip into my favorite fantasy. I’m on a lounge chair on a private beach, the warm sun beating down on me, the ocean waves a soothing soundtrack. Between my legs a man’s head bobs gently as he gives me the most amazing oral I’ve ever experienced.
My fingers move more quickly and, as I get closer, the man lifts his head and looks at me. Only, it’s not my typical fantasystranger with sharp cheekbones and a day’s worth of scruff, it’s Levi Sullivan. My sworn enemy.
“No. No, no. No. Go away. You aren’t ruining this.” I scrunch my eyes tight and stop moving my fingers until I banish his face, but once I start up again, Levi’s face reappears.
Outside the bathroom, one of my sisters screams. I don’t have time to get my fantasy perfect, and I’m so, so close.
I just want a release. No one ever has to know that Levi is in my fantasy.
In my imagination, I focus on the perfect abs and strong shoulders of my fantasy man, trying not to look at his face as I slide one finger inside myself and use the heel of my hand to rub my clit.
Just as I’m on the verge of orgasm, imaginary Levi looks me in the eyes, and I can’t look away. This is so, so wrong, but I am so damn close…
The bathroom door flies open with a bang as my youngest sister, Emily, screams my name. I raise both hands in the air like she can see me through the shower curtain, my clit throbbing in disappointment, my heart pounding. “I’m in the middle of a shower.”
“Sophie says I look stupid, and she won’t help me zip up my dress,” Emily says, her voice choked with tears.
Sophie is sixteen and should be old enough to help her sister when I’m unavailable, but lately, she’s been refusing to do anything to help at all.
“Oh, my God, Emily.” Sophie stomps into the bathroom as I wrap a towel around myself and step out of the shower. “I was in the middle of curling my hair. I said I’d help you in a minute.”
Emily, her cheeks streaked with tears, scowls at her older sister. “You said I look stupid.” At fourteen, Emily is still enough of a kid that she looks up to her big sister, but she’s enough of a teenager to never want to admit it.
Sophie rolls her eyes. She’s dressed as Galinda from Wicked in a pink ball gown we found at the local thrift store and she’s piled her shoulder-length blond hair on top of her head in a dramatic bun with strands sticking out of the top of it in all directions. Emily’s supposed to be Dorothy, but her blue and white checkered dress is falling off her.
“You don’t look stupid,” I say as I zip up her dress and run my hands through her thick brown hair. “Want me to do your braids?”
Emily rolls her eyes. “I can do my own braids.” Her shoulders drop, and she opens her already big blue eyes even wider as she pouts. “Do we have to do this trunk-or-treat?”
“You should let Gentry do your braids,” Sophie says. “They always look messy when you do them.”
Emily turns on Sophie, her cheeks red, but I step between them. “Sophie, stop being mean to your sister or you can forget about having Ariel over tonight.”
Sophie’s eyes widen, making her look just like her younger sister. Though Sophie has pale skin, blond hair and green eyes, and Emily is a brunette with olive skin that tans easily, their features are almost twin-level similar. They both have button noses, high cheekbones and a fuller top than bottom lip. “You can’t do that.”
“I can do that,” I say, already tired of this well-worn argument. “I’m your guardian, and I get to make the rules.”
“Your rules are stupid. Mom always let us have our friends over.”
Mom always let us do whatever we wanted, because she devoted all her available attention to keeping our father happy. I have no idea how we didn’t all turn out spoiled brats. “Mom’s not here, and I’m not going to tolerate you talking to your little sister that way.”
