That was just not necessary. I wonder who that was anyway. She set about baking and sandwich making to occupy herself until Aren came home. She wante... a kiss. * * * Aren couldn’t wait to get home. Gin would be there. And she would smell like vanilla and oranges. And she would be soft and warm and suntanned. He hoped Lindsey hadn’t stopped by. The evil witch. With her bleach blonde hair, fake tan, and claw-like nails. There was nothing real about that girl. Not even her personality. For some. I knew he could see me, it was as if we had a secret pact, he fucked her and I got off on it, standing on the stairs fingering myself, being primed by him for our unspoken unison, which, as I watched, would be soon, only I would be better than her, as I was tighter and younger, and had no illusions about where he could put it, my sister only liked it in the front, he told me once, and sworn to secrecy never to admit to knowing it, I replied, admitting I was curious, not being direct and coming. More

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