Dirty Dreams novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Thin Walls
Kenna listens to her stepbrother and his friends describe her through the wall, then wakes to her door locking and four boys in her room who think she is asleep.
On my first Friday home, I heard my stepbrother say my name through the wall.
It was after midnight.
Dylan had three friends in his room, and they were drinking beer their dads were supposed to know nothing about.
The walls in our house have always been thin.
I was in my old bed with the lights off, trying to look asleep for no one.
"She got hot," said the swimmer. "Did you see her at the pool today? That bikini."
"She's your sister, man," said the football player.
"Stepsister," Dylan said. "We're not related."
"It's still weird."
"She's nineteen," said the quiet one. He doesn't talk much, so everyone stopped. "We're all eighteen. She's been gone a year."
"Exactly," Dylan said. He sounded drunk and sure of himself. "I see her every day. Those sleep shorts. Those yoga pants. Today I almost walked into the door."
My face went hot.
I should have been angry.
I should have pounded on the wall and called them pigs.
Instead I pushed my hand into my shorts.
"What would you do?" Brody, the swimmer, asked. "If nobody ever found out."
"Her mouth first," Dylan said. "Those lips. I've thought about them around my cock more times than I can count."
"Popsicles by the pool," Tate, the quiet one, said. "I have to go inside."
I was already wet.
"I'd eat her out until she begged," Brody said. "Then I'd bend her over and watch her ass move."
"You think she's loud?" Wyatt, the football player, asked. He sounded embarrassed to be asking.
"I hope so," Dylan said. "I want to hear her say my name when I'm inside her."
I came with my face in the pillow.
I shook with it, and I didn't make a sound.
They were fifteen feet away, and I knew every one of them.
Brody had eaten pancakes at our table every Sunday of seventh grade.
Wyatt had carried my box of books up the stairs on move-in day.
Tate had fixed my bike chain once and handed it back without a word.
After that the boys moved on to video games and fall classes, and I fell asleep with my hand still between my legs.
A click woke me.
It was the door.
Hallway light came in as a thin line, and then the line was gone.
Someone had locked my door from the inside.
I knew I should sit up and shout for my mother down the hall.
I stayed where I was, with my eyes shut and my breathing slow.
The mattress dipped.
"Kenna?" Wyatt whispered, very softly. "Kenna, you awake?"
I breathed in and out, slow and even.
"She's out," Tate whispered. "Look at her."
"She sleeps like the dead," Dylan said, from near the foot of the bed. "My dad says a fire alarm wouldn't wake her."
"Is this okay?" Brody asked. He didn't sound like he meant to stop.
"She won't know," Dylan said. "We'll be careful. Just touch her a little."
I knew he was lying.
I wanted him to keep lying.
A hand settled on my ankle.
It didn't move.
Whoever it was held still, and I understood it was Tate, because his hands are long and cool.
His thumb rested on the bone and stayed there until my breathing was even.
Then he let go, and another hand landed on my thigh over the blanket.
It was Brody, bold and warm.
It slid up under the blanket and found my bare skin, and somebody sucked in a breath.
"Her skin is so soft," Brody whispered.
"Is she wearing anything under those?" Wyatt asked.
Fingers traced the front of my shorts.
"Oh my God," Tate said. "She's soaked."
"What?"
"Feel."
A finger pressed through the cotton, over my clit, and my hips almost lifted off the bed.
I stopped them.
I let it out as a small sleepy sigh.
"She's been having a good dream," Dylan said. His voice was close now. "Hasn't she?"
Nobody answered.
I could hear them breathing.
"We have until six," Dylan said. "Our parents don't get up before that. We keep it quiet. She never finds out."
"Okay," Wyatt said.
"Okay," Brody said.
"Okay," said Tate.
Okay, I thought. Please.
The blanket slid off me.
The cool air touched my legs, and I kept my hands loose on the sheet.
"Lift her," Dylan whispered.
Big hands slid under my hips and raised me an inch.
My shorts came down, and my underwear came down with them, slow, over my thighs and my knees and off my feet.
Somebody dropped them on the floor.
I lay in my childhood bed with nothing on below the waist.
Four boys I had known for years were looking at me.
"Jesus," Brody said.
"She's perfect," Wyatt said, very low.
Dylan crouched beside the bed, close enough that I felt his breath on my knee.
"Move her legs apart," he said.
I could have opened my eyes right then.
I could have said their names, one at a time, and watched them freeze.
So I kept my eyes shut, and let my knees fall open.
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