I should have locked the door.
That’s the only thought I have left when Vivian pushes it open and finds me on my back in her bed, two fingers buried in my cunt, her stolen hoodie bunched under my nose so I can smell her while I f**k myself.
I’m nineteen. She’s twenty-one. Our parents got married four months ago and decided we should “bond” by sharing this room until the extra bedroom is finished. Bonding, apparently, means I wait until she showers so I can press my face into the clothes she just took off and pretend my fingers are her tongue.
Vivian doesn’t scream.
She doesn’t leave.
She shuts the door, turns the lock, and leans against it like she’s been waiting for this exact filthy little scene.
“Don’t stop,” she says.
My fingers freeze inside me. I’m soaked. The wet sound I make
