My Stepsister Moved Into the Guest Room at Thirty novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: The Roof

"Don't make a sound," Flora whispered in my ear, and her hand slid down the front of my jeans.

We were on her roof at eleven on a Wednesday night in October.

The wind came off the lake, cold and wet, and the city lights lay spread out below us.

I wore my long wool coat, buttoned to the neck.

Flora stood behind me with her chest against my back and her arms around me under the coat.

She had the key from the building's super, and she had made me come up here with her to see the stars.

There were no stars.

There was her mouth on the back of my neck and her fingers working the button of my jeans open.

"Flora, someone could see."

"Nobody's up here. Look around."

I looked.

The roofs across the street were dark, but a dozen lit windows faced us, small yellow squares with people in them.

A man watched television in one.

A woman stood at a sink in another.

"They can't see through your coat," Flora said. "They can only see you standing at a railing, looking at the lake."

She pulled the zipper down.

Her hand slid inside my underwear, warm against my cold skin, and she cupped me.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper.

"Good," she murmured. "Stay quiet. I'll do all the work."

Her middle finger slipped between my lips and found me already slick.

"God, you're soaked," Flora breathed. "Is this the wind or is it me?"

"It's you."

"Say it."

"It's you. It's always you."

She rubbed her finger in small, firm circles over my clit.

My knees gave a little, and I gripped the cold metal railing in front of me with both hands.

Down on the street a car door slammed, and a couple walked past laughing, and I stopped breathing.

Flora did not stop.

"They can't hear you," she said. "But I can. Let me hear you."

She slipped one finger inside me, then two, and pumped them slowly while her thumb stayed on my clit.

I leaned back into her, panting silently, my forehead tipped against her cheek.

The coat hid everything.

Under the wool, I could feel her wrist working between my thighs.

Her other hand had found its way up under my sweater to squeeze my breast.

She pinched my nipple, and a little moan came out of me.

"Shhh," Flora said with a smile in her voice. "Good girl. That's it."

Every time she called me that, something loosened in my chest.

I had spent thirty-one years being the good one.

I had never once been told it by someone who wanted to ruin me.

"Spread your legs a little more," Flora said.

I did.

Her fingers drove deeper, curling, and the wet sounds were small but obscene in the wind.

"You're doing so well," she whispered. "Look at the lake and take it."

"Flora, I can't, I'm going to."

"Not on the railing. Not yet."

She pulled her hand out.

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