Wearing Him Down

I’m distracted from my troubled thoughts when Grant tugs me off the desk, using his body to keep me steady. Heat radiates off him, and I still feel the thick line of his erection against my tummy, but his movements are turning more purposeful. “We can’t have you wearing dripping wet panties all day long,” he says briskly, reaching beneath my skirt—and pulling down my underwear, letting it drop to the ground.

What happens next blows my mind.

My stepbrother reaches into his jacket pocket and removes a pair of my panties. Clean ones that I recognize from my drawer at home. With his jaw on the verge of shattering, he motions for me to step into the new pair of underwear, then slides them up my legs, grazing my sex and bottom with his fingers while putting them in place.

I’m sucking in gulps of air by the time he finishes, the yearning for relief intensifying inside me when Grant presses the wet pair to his mouth, smelling them, before tucking the damp undergarment into his pocket.

He takes me by the chin and runs his thumb along the seam of my lips, looking at my face as if memorizing it. “Straight home after school, princess.”

“Yes, Grant.”

With a low curse, he’s gone, leaving me shaken where I stand.

I traverse the rest of the day in a haze and I’m ashamed to admit, I soak through a second pair of panties replaying over and over again what happened in the headmistress’s office. How my stepbrother touched me, how he promised to ease my ache tonight. How will he do it? Will he show me what it’s like to have sex? The act is unknown to me, but it gives relief to the people who engage in it. That much I know. Not to mention, it requires nudity and touching. I want to experience that for the first time with Grant.

Tonight. Every single night after that, too. Not to be greedy.

Also…I don’t know if it’s right or wrong, but I have a secret fantasy where Grant walks me to my lecture in the morning, carrying my book bag on his strong shoulder for me. When we reach the classroom door, he kisses my forehead and tells me to be a good girl. Like he’s my…Daddy. I don’t know what it means, but that fantasy alone can inundate me with heat.

Speaking of which, all of my nerve endings are buzzing when I bounce into my bedroom, tossing my book bag on the floor. I’m expecting the diamond earrings on my bed, but I frown when I see another package beside it. I sit down with it in my lap and unwrap…a wand of some kind. It’s gold and there’s a little switch on the side.

There is no note attached, so I reach back into the box for instructions.

After the first paragraph, my mouth is on the floor.

Grant bought me a vibrator? To pleasure myself?

All at once, his words from earlier this afternoon come back to me. Trust me, I’ll make sure you sleep very well tonight, princess.

No. This is not what I needed. I need Grant. Doesn’t he know I’m aching for so much more than a quick fix? I’m aching for his touch, his attention, his…love.

I flop back on the bed, the vibrator forgotten in my hand.

Next, I hear Ophelia’s words in my head.

Uh, I don’t think you’ll have a problem wearing him down.

I study the vibrator with renewed determination.

Maybe it is time to start wearing my stepbrother down.

From now on, it’s no more Mrs. Nice Girl.

CHAPTER THREE

Grant doesn’t come to my room for his hug that night.

A dinner tray arrives at my door at six p.m. sharp, along with a note.

It reads, Join me in the living room at seven. G

Maybe I was wrong about my stepbrother’s intention in buying me the little gold wand. Maybe Grant bought me the vibrator for some added fun, in addition to what we’re going to do together? Why is the man so mysterious?

Every inch of my body is still on fire from his touch this afternoon—and I need more—so I rush through my dinner, clumsily spilling butternut squash soup on my shirt. Forced to change, I pull on a white nightshirt and comb out my hair, leaving it loose. On my way out of the room, I stop and pick up the box containing the vibrator, bringing it with me. If Grant has no plans to touch me again, I’ll have to put my Big Important Plan into effect.

I stop short at the edge of the living room when I hear a woman’s voice. She’s speaking in a businesslike French accent and when I turn the corner, I see the voice is coming from a very fashionable woman in her sixties. She’s dressed in a smart, purple pantsuit and is separating what looks like garment bags into piles.