Prick

I’m standing on the ladder in the library. It sounds pretentious, a library in our lake house, I know.

  But the library is my place. My father works in his office and hates this space. So it's mine. It's white and airy, this small room in a corner of the house with one wall that’s floor to ceiling bookshelves and one of those ladders that roll along the length of the wall. It even has a reading nook.

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  I run my fingers along the spine of the books, not looking for anything in particular. I’m really just looking for a distraction from Caulter. I don’t know where he is right now, but I know where he was this morning. This morning he was sneaking into the shower with me, pressing my back up against the marble tile while he thrust inside me. I can still feel the aching between my legs, the absence of him.

  The last three weeks we've been sneaking around the house like we're having an affair, Caulter groping me as I pass him in the hallway or sneaking into my room through the door that opens onto our shared balcony.

  I don’t know what Rose was thinking, putting our rooms next to each other. I’d suspect her of planning something like this, except I know she doesn’t have a malicious bone in her body. And you’d have to be malicious to want something to happen between me and Caulter. I mean, I fuck him, but he is the single most irritating person I've ever met in my life.

  My father and Ella are flying back and forth, spending most of their time in DC. We have the house to ourselves except for Rose, who's here during the day. I'm worried she's catching on, but Caulter insists she's not. He turns on the charm when she's around, flirting with her and complimenting her cooking, wrapping her around his finger the way Caulter does with all women.

  I have to reluctantly admit I can see the appeal. Caulter can almost be charming when he wants to be.

  “Hey, sugar-tits. ” He speaks softly, and I start, looking down to see him with that stupid smirk on his face. Yeah, Caulter is real charming, for sure.

  “You almost gave me a heart attack. ” I step down the ladder, but his hand is on my leg before I reach the bottom, sliding up underneath my skirt.

  “I’ve decided something,” he says, cupping my ass with his palm.

  My breath hitches in my throat, the way it always does when he touches me, and I grip the side of the ladder with one hand and try to slap his hand away with the other. “Stop touching me. ”

  “Why?” he asks, ignoring my directive. He pauses when he reaches the top of my ass and realizes there’s nothing there - no top part of a thong strap. Behind me, he squats down and peers up my skirt. “No panties. ”

  “You know why I'm telling you to stop,” I say. “My father and Ella got in last night, and they're around here somewhere. And the fact that I'm not wearing panties means nothing. ” The lie is pathetic and feeble. I got dressed thinking about Caulter. No panties was with Caulter in mind.

  Caulter’s hand is on my back, preventing me from getting down off the ladder. He slides his fingers between my legs, pressing against my entrance. “You’re full of shit, Princess,” he says. “Your father and Ella left to go out somewhere, so we're all alone. And you forgot your panties just for me. ”

  “Not true,” I whisper, but I arch my ass back, pushing my pussy against his fingers as he slips them inside. His thumb teases my asshole, sending shivers of arousal racing through my body. “We shouldn’t do this. . . not here. ” Or at all, I tell myself. I have to stop doing this with him.

  He responds by sliding his fingers further into my dripping pussy. “I’ve decided that from now on, you wear dresses. No panties. Skirts only. ”

  I laugh, but it turns into a moan as he reaches around with his other hand to stroke my clit. “Where the fuck do you think you get off, telling me what to do?”

  “We've been through this before. I own this. ”

  “You’re crazy. ” I can’t think clearly, distracted by what he’s doing to my body. Until a nose in the hallway startles me. “Shit. Stop. ”

  A look of irritation crosses his face, and he withdraws his fingers. I start to step down, thinking he’s giving me a reprieve from his delicious torment, but he grabs me by the arms before I can make it off the ladder, turning me around and pushing me back hard. “I want you now. ”

  “Did you just hear that?” I ask. The step of the ladder digs into my back, and I would slip and fall down, except for the fact that he’s pinned me there. I’m looking down at him, my head angled just above him. I shouldn’t be preoccupied with how he looks at me, his expression clouded with lust. I should be preoccupied with how my father and his mother might be somewhere in this house, how they could walk in at any moment. I should be preoccupied with how my father’s face would look when he walked in on the two of us in the library.

  “I don’t hear anything,” he says, sliding both hands over my ass.

  “Anyone could come in,” I protest. But the void left by his fingers is too distracting to allow me to focus on anything else.

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  I can’t be one of those girls who loses her mind once she gets a little bit of cock. Except it's not exactly a little bit, I think as he unbuckles his jeans and pulls out his dick. Nothing about it is small. “There’s no lock on the door. ”

  “And you’re not wearing any panties. ” He pulls a condom from his pocket. I raise my eyebrow at him, and he smirks. “Don’t worry, I’ve just taken to carrying them with me now, being in the same house as you and all. You never know the when opportunity will strike. ”

  “I’ll have to make sure to wear panties around you,” I whisper, before he brings his mouth down hard on me, his kiss practically bruising. His tongue presses against mine, warring with mine, the movement an expression of our relationship.

  When we come up for air, he looks at me sternly. “I said, no panties,” he growls. “Skirts and no panties. It’s a new rule. ”

  “You don’t make rules for me,” I say.

  “I’ll take them, then. ”

  “What, you're going to take my panties?” I ask, laughing. “Good luck with that. ” I start to step down from where I’m standing on the ladder, but he halts me, putting his hand on my breast. “Don’t,” he says, his thumb rubbing my erect nipple through the fabric, as he wraps the other hand around the base of his cock. His hardness is against my inner thigh, and I’m so wet.

  “What, you’re going to fuck me here?” I ask, my hands on his shoulders. “I’ll fall. ”

  “Put your arms around my neck,” he whispers, and I lean in close to him, despite all of my concerns about my father walking in on us, and wrap my arms around him. My dress is hitched up around my waist, and my breasts press against his face. He buries his face between them, but he doesn’t rip the dress off and cover me with his mouth the way I want him too. “Wrap your legs around me. ”

  I do, and somehow slide down the front of him as he guides his cock inside me and presses me against the ladder. The sharpness of the railing cuts into my back and the top of my ass, but I’m so overcome by pleasure running through my body that I can’t focus on the pain. I think the pain might even intensify it. I cling to him, my arms and legs around him, but most of my weight rests against the ladder. He drives into me hard, his thrusts short and insistent.

  This is not slow and romantic; it’s fast and furious, primal and animalistic.

  Every thrust of his takes me higher and higher. We’re both quiet, too aware of the possibility of getting caught. The thought of getting caught makes it more intense, even more forbidden. Caulter brings out something in me that makes me want to lose control. I’ve never been that way before with anyone. I'm not that kind of girl, the one who throws caution to the wind, who doesn't care about consequences. I'm not reckless.

  I'm moaning his name as he brings me to the edge, his thrusts harder. "Fuck, yes, Caulter. "

  "Are you going to come for me, Princess?" he asks.

  "Yes," I groan, his question setting me off, and th
e sweet release overtakes me. He thrusts into me again, once, twice, three times as he comes, and then. . .

  The fucking ladder drops underneath us, making this metallic clanking sound as it slips out of the track and balances precariously on a shelf.

  "Shit!" Caulter grabs my arms and pulls me up, somehow sliding out of me, his pants around his ass and a condom dangling off the end of his dick.

  "Oh my God, we broke it," I look between him and the top of the ladder. I can't contain my laughter. This isn't me. I'm not the girl who breaks ladders fucking a boy in the library. What the hell has gotten into me?

  And then I hear Rose's voice, calling out from down the hallway. "Kate, are you okay? I heard a crash. "

  "Shit. " Caulter has pulled up his pants before I can blink, and is looking casual and blasé by the time Rose opens the door.

  "What happened?" she asks, looking back and forth between us.

  "I -- the ladder came off the tracks," I say.

  Caulter interrupts. "She was trying to reach one of the books on the shelf up there, and it just. . . gave way. Someone should definitely come out to look at that. It seems like a safety hazard. That's a problem with these older houses. " He looks so sincere I almost believe him.

  Rose looks at me long and hard and I try not to blush. "You were trying to reach one of those books up there on. . . medieval history?"

  I swallow hard. "I was browsing. For research purposes. "

  "Research purposes," she repeats. "It's a good thing Caulter was in here to help you when the ladder gave way. "

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  I clear my throat. "Yes. It's definitely a good thing. "

  Rose turns to leave, but pauses when she reaches the door. "I'm glad to see the two of you getting along so well. "

  I look at Caulter wide-eyed after she's gone. "Do you think she knows?"

  He shrugs. "Maybe. Who cares?"

  "I care, you idiot," I say. "Don't you? What if she says something to my father? What if someone finds out? I can't believe we broke the ladder in here, for goodness' sake. "

  "For goodness sake?" Caulter laughs. "Okay, grandma. "

  "I'm being serious, Caulter," I say. I'm getting irritated with him for taking this whole thing so lightly. "Behavior has consequences. "

  Caulter is standing close to me, and I immediately feel the thrill of his nearness. I silently curse my damn body for being so attracted to him. "So what if your father finds out?"

  "It'll ruin his campaign. "

  "Why?"

  "You know why, Caulter," I say. "We're. . . going to be related. "

  "We're not related," he says. "You're being ridiculous. We're barely even step-siblings. "

  I bristle at the way he brushes off my concerns as if they're nothing. "People won't care about what's true, Caulter," I insist. I'm angry that he's dismissing me, the same way my father dismisses me. "They thrive on scandal. They'll latch onto it and run with it. It'll ruin his campaign and his public image. "

  Caulter traces a finger down the front of my chest, and I smack it away, but not before it gets a physical reaction from me, goose bumps dotting my skin. Damn him. "Why do you even give a shit about it?" he asks.

  "Because he's my father. "

  Caulter laughs, the sound bitter. "Yeah, he seems like a great father. "

  "You don't know anything," I say, defending him despite my mixed feelings. All I know is that I'm irritated with Caulter.

  Caulter leans in close to me, slips his finger underneath one of the straps on my dress. "I know that you're not the good little straight-laced girl your father wants, the poster child for his campaign. I know that you're so fucking pent-up with all your studying and being responsible and being so damn perfect all the time that you've been dying for someone like me to come along who will let you out of your pretty little shell and make you feel something. "

  Now I'm beyond irritated. I put my hands on his chest and try to push him away, but he grabs my wrists and holds me tight. "You don't know a thing about me," I say.

  "I know that you're living up to everyone else's idea of who you should be," he says. "I don't think for a fucking second you want to go to Harvard, be a lawyer or a doctor or whatever the hell daddy has planned for you. I see you with your sketchpad, drawing all the time. You just don't have the fucking balls to do what you want to do. "

  It's somehow over the line, him watching me draw, noticing things about me. He notices too many things about me. I yank my wrists away and push him, hard. "Fuck you. " I spew the words from my mouth like they're poison. "Fuck you, Caulter. You're so damn high and mighty, rebelling against anyone and everything because you're too cool for conformity. Yet here you are, doing exactly what your mother wants you to do because. . . . why, exactly? She won't give you your paycheck? You think rebelling means you know who you are? It just means you're full of shit. "

  I walk out of the room before he can respond, anger flooding my body. He just gets so far under my damn skin. He's so infuriating and smug and self-satisfied. He acts like he's so much more mature than I am, with so much more experience under his belt. He's just a trust fund baby who doesn't know the least little bit about things like obligation and family.

  Later, I lay in bed, my head resting on the pillow while I prop the sketchpad on my thighs, lazily drawing. I know Caulter is in his room, because I heard the door close, and I find myself wondering what he's doing. I have to force my mind to focus on something other than Caulter.

  Anything but Caulter.

  Like the picture I'm doing right now. Of Caulter's cock.

  I tear the piece of paper off the pad, crumple it, and throw it across the room. Screw Caulter. And screw the stupid stuff he said about me.

  I close my eyes, and bring up my mother's image in my head, beginning to sketch her from memory. But my mind is in a different place. I have the nagging feeling that Caulter is right -- that I am just too much of a coward to stand up to my father. It's why I haven't told him about UCLA.

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  "What the fuck are you doing?" Katherine is running across the lawn, waving her hands at me like a complete fucking lunatic.

  A hot fucking lunatic.

  Her brown hair bounces over her shoulders as she runs, trying futilely to pull her skirt down over her ass. "Are you insane?"

  "Insane? Nope. I'm roasting marshmallows. " I pull the marshmallow off the stick and pop the warm gooey goodness into my mouth. She looks at me, her chest rising as she catches her breath, her cheeks flushed. It's the same way she looks when she's just had an orgasm.

  I haven't made her come all week. She hasn't let me, not since the fight we had in the library after we screwed on the ladder.

  What I should have done after that was go out and find a replacement Katherine. But what I'm finding, much to my irritation, is that Katherine seems to be crawling under my skin. Like a disease.

  So I'm taking the mature road and talking to her about things like an adult. While eating marshmallows. "Want one?" I ask.

  "You can't light a fire out here -- there are regulations, you idiot," she yells. "Who fucking gets a -- where did you even get a barrel, anyway? And what the hell are you -- Oh. My. God. Those are my clothes in there. My pants. My underwear!"

  I lied -- I'm not taking the mature road here. At all. This might be one of the most juvenile things I've ever done.

  I grin and shrug. "I told you I wanted you in skirts. No panties. "

  She grabs the stick from my hands, poking it into the barrel. Flames shoot up, sending sparks flying in every direction. Grabbing her by the arms, I pull her back against my chest.

  Which is exactly where she belongs, I can't help but think as soon as her body touches mine.

  But she only rest there momentarily before she yanks herself away from me. "What are you, some kind of psychopath?" she asks. "Who lights someone's clothes on fire? Something is seriously wrong with you. "

&
nbsp; "I'll get you new clothes," I say. I don't add that I already have. I've ordered her a whole new wardrobe from some hot shit designer that my mother's stylist swears is what all the chicks want to wear. I also ordered her the best lingerie and panties money can buy. Personally hand selected by yours truly. And I bought new jeans to replace the ones I torched. I mean, I’m not a complete asshole.

  But no new granny panties. That just crosses a line.

  Kate stands there glaring at me with her hands on her hips. She’s pissed. If it were possible for a human to physically blow steam out of their ears, she would be doing that. She balls her hands into fists and screams, which just makes me laugh. “You are the biggest asshole I’ve ever met,” she yells. “You’re completely fucked up in the head. ”

  I expect her to punch me. If I were a girl and some guy had torched my pants and panties, I'd slug me. But she doesn’t. She just gives me a look of disgust and walks back to the house, muttering to herself the whole way.

  That's fucking disappointing.

  I expected her to hit me or something. Hit me, and then look up at me the way she does when she gets angry. Like she can’t decide if she wants to kill me or fuck me. Obviously, I imagined she'd pick the option that involved fucking.

  I didn't expect her to just walk away.

  I pick up the fire extinguisher and put out the fire. I guess I'll have to up my game if I want back in her bed.

  “Are the two of you listening?” Senator Douchebag has been talking about the schedule of events for the week. He literally has this shit color-coded and flagged. He’s almost as ridiculous as my mother, with her wedding planning. She has a chart set up in the living room on an easel, a seating plan that she and the Senator examine, hands over their mouths and brows furrowed as they determine strategic seating arrangements for the big event. I’m surprised they haven't unrolled a giant chart on the table like a war map, so that they can plot personal alliances and strategic socializing.

  “I heard everything,” Kate says, her voice emotionless. “The engagement party is on Friday. ”

  “I know it’s all happening very quickly,” Ella says, her hand on the Senator’s leg. “And I really hope you don’t feel like I’m trying to replace your mother, Katherine. No one could replace her. ”

  I glance at Kate, who has paused in the middle of lifting her fork to her mouth. “Of course not,” she says.