Fredrick’s POV

“Don’t move,” I whispered, every muscle locked as the key scraped in the front lock.

Rita stayed on her knees, my cock still wet from her mouth, lips shiny and swollen. Headlights had already swept the living room once. A car door had slammed. My heart slammed harder against my ribs than it had in two weeks of numbness. The breakup had left me hollow. This was the opposite of hollow. This was my stepsister’s spit still cooling on my skin while someone stood on the other side of that door.

The lock clicked. Then nothing. Footsteps retreated down the porch. A neighbor’s laugh drifted in from the...