She scrambled off Mr. Montgomery’s lap and jumped away, grabbing a pillow to cover her nakedness. The pillow was too small, of course. Way too small, because all I saw was her, every inch of her, and all Vaughn could see was every naked inch of my mother.
Vaughn’s father sat frozen, his penis lay fat and long against his thigh, softening and shriveling as I stared down at it with a horror that exploded out of my mouth in high-pitched screams.
A wave of nausea slammed through me. I stumbled back, eyes still locked on the wretched scene in front of me. My mother’s pale skin, her breasts trembling along with her shoulders as she sobbed into the palms of her hands, the pillow having dropped to the floor. Mr. Montgomery’s eyes full of hate locked on mine, his penis dangling awkwardly, still glistening from being inside someone it shouldn’t have been inside. A warm hard knot surged up through my chest and I keeled forward vomiting at his feet, where his pants pooled around his hairy ankles.
“Get out of here!” Mr. Montgomery’s voice cracked like thunder, but my mother’s sobs were louder—so loud my father rushed in, and behind him, Mrs. Montgomery. Behind them Chloe and Matteo. Even the staff came running. Everyone got to witness their shame.
Mrs. Montgomery lunged at my mother slapping her hard across the face. “You whore!” Her voice hoarse with rage. “Get these whores out of my house.”
I looked at Vaughn through tears, his eyes fixed on mine as he slumped back against the far wall and slid down until his ass hit the floor.
My father, red-faced and silent, stood apart from all of us, still as a statue, while Mrs. Montgomery tore at my mother’s hair and smacked at her face over and over. He pulled at his collar like the scene was choking him, but he made no move to stop it. He let Mrs. Montgomery beat on my mother until her lip was bloody and her cheeks turned an awful purplish blue.
The maid and the private cook and some of other staff were the ones that separated us all. I screamed and cried into the palms of my hands as Matteo’s mother dragged me through the hallway away from it all. My life was over. My summer ruined. How could my mother do this to our family? How could she do this to my father? To me?
Why did we follow the sounds? Why didn’t we just stay in the library? I wanted to go back to that spot, that time before I saw what I saw. I’m sorry we thought it was a hurt animal. I’m sorry we wanted to help it. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” That’s all I kept repeating.
“You listen to me, child,” Matteo’s mother spoke softly, cupping my face in her hands to catch my attention and blot away my tears with the hem of her apron. “That had nothing to do with you. This was their mistake, their sin, not yours. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
But that was a lie, because when I stepped out of the Montgomery house it was as if the doors to another life slammed closed behind me. Their infidelity may have been their sin, but I took the brunt of the consequences in its aftermath. I stood in the middle of my parents’ bitter divorce, where I was robbed of every cent my family had ever made, then was sent away to boarding school in a convent so I wouldn’t ever grow up to be like my whore of a mother.
And I never saw Vaughn or Chloe or Matteo again.
Chapter 1
Hello, Claire.
The private school where Claire Radcliffe teaches has barely any security. It’s like they don’t listen to the news. It’s located in an affluent neighborhood. Packed with rich white privileged brats who get raised by nannies while their mommies take the trendiest exercise classes at the gym before heading home to fuck their pool guys. These people are a bunch of sheep. They think they’re above anything happening to them.
I could blow up this whole building right now if I wanted to with what I have in my trunk. But that would fuck up my plans for Claire.
Right now, I need Claire. I need all the things she doesn’t yet know she has to offer me.
She’s eating lunch with a handful of the other teachers in a small trendy deli across the street from the school. Her blue eyes are glued to the apple she just bought, which was probably too expensive for her to splurge on, but she’s hungry and her cabinets are empty at home. I know, because I rummaged through them this morning while she was in the shower. She lives on Ramen noodles and whatever else she could get to fill her belly at the Dollar Tree.
Private school teachers don’t make much, I suppose. This meager life she leads is a far cry from what her family name implies. The Radcliffe family was a wealthy one at one time, a very wealthy one.
Maybe she should call that family to buy her some new underwear, that drawer was pretty empty of anything good too, and now she’s out her favorite thong, because it’s currently balled up in my front pants pocket.
I’m sitting two tables over from her, but she doesn’t notice. I’m quite vigilant. Invisible when I need to be. I’m layered in a hoodie and heavy coat, sipping on a nine-dollar cup of freshly ground bullshit, watching her. Every now and then I bring her panties out and sniff them. Her scent makes my mouth water. No one around me notices. Fucking amazing to me. How can you not notice someone sniffing a fistful of panties near you? Fucking snowflakes, every one of them.
Claire’s got her lesson plan book out and she’s writing in the tiny calendar boxes. The male teacher next to her watches. The Jackass has probably been trying to fuck her for months, but she doesn’t notice—or if she does, she doesn’t let on. She always was a cock tease.
I squeeze myself through my pants thinking about it.
“You need to eat something more than an apple, Claire. Let me buy you a sandwich,” Jackass says. He leans in closer to her. Too close. I wait for her to smile up at him and bat those beautiful blues. Maybe try and seduce a sandwich and dessert out of him for free. But that’s not how it goes down.
Good girl, Claire.
She scoots away, taking back her personal space. Maybe she’s not good, maybe she’s just playing hard to get. Oh, Claire, I hope you’re not. “No thanks,” she says to Jackass. “I’m not hungry.” I know she’s lying, because I can hear her stomach growl as she nibbles on the skin of the Golden Delicious she’s holding in her tight little fist. In my personal opinion, Claire Radcliffe seems to be a walking cliché. There’re daddy issues written all over those pouty lips. Mommy issues too, Jesus, we can’t forget those. I see her bitterness and distrust in every gesture and expression she makes. It’s in the way she sits hunched over, no sign of self-confidence, or the way she talks to people in that clipped-off manner, giving nothing of herself away.
I think I like this Claire Radcliffe. The one that hurts and isn’t such a perfect fucking Radcliffe anymore. This Claire is broken, and broken girls are always more fun. Most desperate to be loved. And I want Claire desperate.
I press down on my cock again. A desperate Radcliffe is a huge turn-on.
Her nails are bare, unlike the other women sitting with her, and her sweater is a plain, baggy turtleneck while the others wear bright colors to catch all the right attention. She wears no make-up, but her lips are naturally plump and pink, and for a brief moment I wonder how wet they’d feel wrapped around the head of my cock with those blue eyes looking up at me. I take another deep inhale off her panties.