CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

SPENCER POV

I tell myself I always leave the bathroom door open when I take my morning shower, that’s one of the advantages of living alone. I tell myself I’ve always preferred the shower in the main bathroom — the one on the landing that opens directly across from West’s door. I tell myself that Violet is most probably asleep, that she’s probably exhausted and I’ll be long finished and dressed by the time she surfaces.

  I wish to God I hadn’t heard her last night. I wish I hadn’t lingered, hadn’t pressed my ear to her bedroom door to hear her exploring West’s toys with curious fingers. Only those toys aren’t West’s toys. I never got a chance to give most of those beautiful toys to my little girl.

 I wanted to make sure Violet went to sleep ok, that’s what I tell myself. I wanted to be sure she wasn’t still scared, wouldn’t lie awake all night fretting over the piece of shit who tried to molest her in an alleyway.

  My cock definitely wasn’t hard. It definitely didn’t take all of my restraint not to jack myself off like a cheap pervert outside her door.

      I definitely didn’t want to hear her touching herself.

      My shoulders feel tight until the hot water works its magic. The girl shouldn’t even be here. This is reckless. Ridiculous.

      I don’t make stupid rash errors of judgement. That’s something I learned from my father.

      Every decision has consequences, he’d say. Make sure you’re well aware what they are before you subject yourself to them.

      He subjected me to enough consequences that I still bear the scars across my backside. Brutal, but fair, and he made me a better man for it. A smart man. A calculated man. A determined, responsible, powerful man.

      Just like he was.

A man who doesn’t pick up vulnerable young women and put them to bed in his little girl’s room even though my mum was very young when she had me. If he wasn’t already long in his grave, my father would tan my backside afresh for my stupidity. I smile to myself at his memory and lather on some bodywash. I scrub hard, working the suds into my skin as though they stand a chance of cleansing my impure urges.

 I’ve worked hard to keep my impulses under control. Worked hard to express my desires in an acceptable way. Now really isn’t the time to be thinking about them, not with temptation personified sleeping soundly across the landing. I shampoo my hair, working my fingers into my scalp, trying to get my head back in the game.

 Breakfast. Violet will need breakfast. She’ll need her clothes. She’ll need taking back home, where she belongs.

  Still, I can enjoy her just a little, just enough to get my blood pumping when I think back on her beautiful, innocent smile later this evening.

      A bit of harmless fun never hurt anyone. 

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VIOLET POV

West’s bed is really comfortable. Her room looks so warm and cosy as the light breaks through the gauzy curtains. I stretch out, kick back the sheets, relaxing quite happily until I remember with a thud that Spencer heard me playing with myself last night.

      Shit.

 My heart races at the thought of facing him. How ungrateful can I possibly be? Taking advantage of his kind hospitality by playing with myself in his daughter’s bedroom? In his daughter’s pink bedsheets? Cringe doesn’t even come close.

      I bite my lip, think things through, and there’s nothing else for it. I just need to get it over with. Smile and face him and hope he isn’t too mad with me. I can’t bear the thought of a man like Spencer being mad with me. Or even Disappointed in me.

      I grab West’s  robe from the back of the door and trace my finger over the DaDDy writing on her picture. She’s so lucky.

      I make sure I’m wrapped up tight before I open the door, check myself in the dressing table mirror and smooth my wispy hair into some kind of order. I look so young in the morning light, in this room, as though I’ve regressed to being a little girl again.

      The thought feels like warm marshmallows in my brain.

      I hold my breath as I press down the door handle. Here we go. Now or never.

      Maybe he isn’t even up yet. Maybe he’s already up and gone, leaving my clothes in a pile with nothing but a get out of my house, you dirty little bitch message waiting for me.

      I hope not.

      I hear the water as soon as the door is ajar. The sound is much stronger than it is at my house, our shower is barely more than a trickle at best. I step out onto the landing and my tummy lurches as I see that the bathroom is opposite. The door is open, just a little bit. I can see a mirrored bathroom cabinet on the wall, all steamed up. A black towelling robe is in a heap on the floor. My breath hitches at the thought of him in there, the thought of him naked under the water.

      For the first time in my life I don’t want to be a virgin anymore. I want to be confident, like a sex vixen. One of those girls like Maggie Connor who can go after what she wants. If Maggie Connor were here she’d ditch the fluffy pink dressing gown and stalk in there naked. Flash him a smile and a hello there and climb straight in after him.

 Hell, I’m nothing like Maggie Connor, and even if I were, a man like Spencer isn’t going to want a silly little girl like me. I wouldn’t even know what I was doing.

 He probably dates businesswomen types, older ladies with hot glasses and tight buns, and a wicked smile. Women who can talk politics with him over coffee and talk dirty with him between the sheets. The thought of Spencer talking dirty makes my skin prickle.

I wonder again if he makes the kind of noises I’ve heard coming from Mum’s bedroom.

 I try to pull myself together, decide that it’s probably better to go and wait in West’s room until he’s finished, but I don’t. I’m in that strange place again, where everything feels surreal, and my feet are moving on their own, tiptoe steps so careful as I inch my way across the landing. Just a little further. I just want to see a little bit more…

      I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. But I can’t stop myself.

      I don’t want to stop myself.

      I keep my eyes on the tiles as I edge closer. They are those expensive kinds, like those spa hotels have. I went to one once for Maggie Connor’s birthday, just for a swim, but I couldn’t stop staring at everything. It was so beautiful, so grand. Spencer’s house is like that. He has one of those modern basins, one of the big ceramic bowls that sits on top of tiles, not like the tired old sink we have at mine. He has golden-brown towels over one of those fancy metal radiators. They match the colour of the bathroom perfectly. He’s so stylish.

      I think of those towels touching his skin, think of him rubbing himself down when he’s finished, and my eyes creep further in, my toes edging closer to the doorway. I can feel the steam on my face.

      It feels nice.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I can’t even believe I’m doing this.

      I take a breath as my toes touch the tiles, eyes wide as I lean forward enough to peep around the door.

      Insane. I’m insane.

      But he left the door open… it was his mistake… maybe I didn’t realise… maybe I wanted the toilet…

      The sight of him makes my tummy flutter and lurch. He’s got his back to me, his big fingers lathering shampoo into his hair. His shoulders are broad, and his back tapers into a slim waist. He’s muscular… toned… I can see the definition in his back even through the steam.

      Oh Lord, please don’t let him see me…

      He tips his head back to let the water rinse his hair, and his hands move over his body. I wish I could see the front of him. I wish I could see all of him.

      He leans back, and his hands move lower. His perfect ass tightens, his thighs so tense, and I can see his arms, moving… and it feels so…

      Dirty.

      He’s touching himself.

      The wave of shock ripples through me, and it makes my brain pop … like the time I turned on the TV in the living room and it was on a channel it shouldn’t be, playing one of Mum’s boyfriend’s dirty DVDs…

      I’d closed my eyes instinctively, then watched it through splayed fingers knowing perfectly well I shouldn’t. Knowing I shouldn’t be tingling in private places, I shouldn't want to touch myself at the sight of those big veiny dicks on screen.

      They looked so big. Much bigger than I’d imagined.

      Those men made the same noises I heard through my bedroom wall.

      And Spencer’s making noises, too.

      Quiet ones. Nothing but breath and grunts. I can barely hear him over the sound of the water but it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard.

      My thighs clench tight, and it flutters there. I want to race back to West’s bed and touch myself, but I can’t, I can’t stop watching. It seems to take forever, standing still like a statue as Spencer’s arm jerks and the water washes over him, but I don’t care. I want it to take forever.

He braces a hand against the tiles and lowers his head, and his grunts are a bit louder now, his hips thrusting forward. He swears under his breath, and I know this is it, I know he’s about to come. I’ve seen it on the internet, I know how cocks look when men come. I wonder if Spencer looks just like that. My breath is so fast, but so shallow.

I watch it all. Watch him tense and thrust, soaking up the way his body looks, all the noises he makes.

 When he’s done, he relaxes, washes himself off like nothing’s happened, and reality crashes in, the horror of knowing I’ve been spying on someone’s most private moments. He turns off the water quicker than I expect, and I’m sprung right out of my dazed state. I back away, clumsy this time, dash back across the landing to West’s room and close the door behind me.

      It closes too loud and I feel horrendous.

      Embarrassment burns so hot.

      I dive under the covers and pull them high over my head. Screw my eyes tight shut and try to calm my racing heart.

      Shit.

      Shit. Shit. Shit.

      What the hell have I done?

      I flinch as I hear a rap at the door, waiting for Spencer to probably order me out of here, waiting for him to demand an explanation that I don’t stand a hope in hell of giving.

      The handle turns.

      Slowly.

      So slowly.

Fuck. Fuck. I was doomed.