Page 14 of Small Town Secrets

“I’ll have the lasagna, please, with a side of garlic bread,” I answer, clearing my throat. I order this because it’s what I always have, not because I want it. I’m not even hungry. And too late I realize garlic bread is not a very sexy food item given that my breath’s going be odorous afterwards.

But no one notices, and instead, Conor leans towards me.

“I love a girl with a healthy appetite,” he whispers so quietly I think I must have imagined it. Because when I look up at him to meet his eye, he’s talking animatedly to my mother again about something I can’t follow. If he’s as unsettled by this sudden turn of events as I am, he’s not showing it at all.

I need to pull it together. Conor is about to become my stepbrother. The thought revolts me, and yet does nothing to stop my cunt from creaming in my panties. Mom, Henry, and Conor are caught up in a hilarious story of some kind, while my mind wanders in dazed circles. Is his cock semi-hard right now? Doesn’t he want me? How can he sit here and pretend he’s never met me before, when his tongue has made me tremble? How can he be this cool, while last night he pushed his fingers into my ass until I cried out in rapture? The memory of it has me so soaked I fear I may need to excuse myself to settle down in the bathroom, but fortunately, lunch is somehow already over.

While Mom and Henry fight laughingly over the check, I finally dare to glance up at Conor and am shocked to find him smiling knowingly at me from my right. His blue eyes hold me tight, and I swallow the lump in my throat away.

“You barely ate a thing, Carrie,” he says with a smile.

“Not… not hungry,” I stutter.

“No,” he says in a barely audible growl. “But maybe you’ll have an appetite for something else later?”

I have just enough time to wonder whether our parents can hear what we’re saying when his fingers start running up my thigh under the table. But our parents are teasing each other while still play-fighting, and don’t notice a thing. I stiffen even as my cheeks flush hot.

Conor’s fingers now reach the edge of my panties, causing my breath to stick in my throat.

“What are you doing?” I manage in a hiss. But the handsome man only grins at me. He doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. He doesn’t allow my eyes to break away from his as he slips a finger into my panties, testing the wetness that his presence has caused. I see the lust growing in his eyes. He knows I’m creaming for him. Shame engulfs me, and as he strokes my slippery folds with one gentle finger, I’m worried I might fling my untouched meal over in one fell stroke while launching myself at him in a lustful frenzy. But I don’t. I don’t move an inch, trembling silently as the man strokes my sweetest spot.

And giving my clit a last nudge, making my heart hiccup in my chest as my cunt throbs in my panties, he pulls his hand casually back to his side of the table. To my horror, he licks his finger while holding my gaze, and then dabs his mouth with his napkin, all as if merely finishing the last crumbs of a meal. Conor’s still grinning coolly like the cat that got the cream. How can he be this laid back?

But there are no answers, and after the stiff goodbyes, I’m still wondering this on the car journey home, my thighs pressed together desperately with need.

“Carrie, are you sure you’re okay?” my mother asks, worried now. “It’s so unlike you not to eat a bite, especially since lasagna is your favorite.”

“They overcooked the lasagna, that’s all,” I lie. I had meant it to come out as a casual comment, but the surliness in my voice makes me sound like a spoiled brat.

“We could have sent it back, sweetie,” Elaine continues.

“I didn’t want to make a fuss,” I dismiss. My mom sighs then before taking a deep breath and shooting me a look from the corner of her eye. Her fingers are suddenly tense on the steering wheel.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this marriage, Carrie?”

“Of course, Mom!” My reply comes too quick and sounds forced. “Henry seems like a really nice guy,” I add, in the hopes it comes off as sincere. Mom smiles a bit, although it’s a little unsure.

“He really is,” agrees. “His son’s nice too, isn’t he?” I swallow heavily.

“Yes, very nice,” is my croak. But Mom doesn’t notice.

“Did you know Conor’s a very successful entrepreneur? Made his first million years ago. So impressive. And at his age! He gets it from his father,” Mom rattles on. But honestly, I couldn’t care less about my new stepbrother’s millions. Because what’s happening is so wrong. We’re going to be siblings, for crying out loud, and yet Conor just touched me intimately under the table with our parents mere feet away.

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