With a smirk, my stepfather crosses his arms over his chest. This is like some weird game of chicken. It's like he's just realized that I've been staying on my stomach out of modesty rather than laziness.
"That's fine," I say. "You can stand there and watch me sleep if that floats your boat."
I shift on the bed, moving from side to side a little as I pretend to get more comfortable. With every second, I get more uncomfortable. I turn my face toward the wall so I won't have to see that he's still there, watching me.
The longer we push this weird standoff, the more my body starts to tingle. The next time I move on the bed, my lips part on a surprised breath at how the sheets brush against my hardened n*****s.
My pulse throbs between my thighs. I press them together. The discomfort I felt
