Finding Middle Ground

Shay finds her stepdaughter halfway through the bedroom window. Demi's sneakers are already on the floor. They both freeze. Demi knows the look. Shay draws the blinds and keeps her voice low. "The grounding ends tomorrow. What's this really about?" "You treat me like I'm still fourteen," Demi answers, arms folded across the little black dress she shouldn't be wearing. "I'm not asking to party, I'm asking to breathe." Shay sighs, gestures for the bed. For a while they sit without touching. Finally Demi blurts it out: sneaking out wasn't for friends, it's for sex. Shay swallows, rubs the bridge of her nose. She's trying not to picture it. "You know my husband—your father—won't handle that," she says quietly. "He still thinks you're the girl who had to ask to stay up past ten." Demi smirks, sharp and bitter. "At least there's one person in this house getting off." The words land like a slap. Shay leans closer, pulse loud in her ears. "If that's what you want," she murmurs, "I can help you here." Silence presses on the walls. Demi studies her stepmother's mouth, then nods, once. They move together fast. Shay peels the dress up over Demi's small breasts; Demi answers by shoving Shay's silk robe open until it pools on the carpet. They sink to the mattress. Shay's hand slides between slim thighs, finds heat, a slick sound when two fingers press inside. Demi bites her lower lip to kill the moan. Every creak of the bed sounds five times louder than it is. Shay moves lower, mouth wet and patient against Demi's clit, thighs trembling around her head while one of them keeps a palm over Demi's lips. Outside the door a floorboard shifts. They stop dead, hearts hammering, breath locked behind teeth. When the house settles again, Demi rolls Shay onto her back, works two fingers deep, thumb stroking until Shay gasps, until damp sheets bunch under her fists and the quiet room smells like sweat and cunt.