HOUSE OF TABOOS(erotica shorts)

I rub the sleep from my eyes as I pad down the hall to the kitchen for some coffee, but I stop dead when I hear my stepdad's voice.

"Then when will you be in the mood? We haven't had sex in almost two months."

"I haven't been into it. Not that I've ever been super horny," Mom says. "You were plenty into it before we got married."

"That's not fair. It was new and exciting then. I'd only ever been with three other guys and they'd all been so tightly wound. I never had anyone tell me what to do like you did."

"Like I still want to."

I hear the huff of a sighed breath. "I thought it would keep my interest, but... Maybe I'm less sexual than I thought."

"So this is just how it's going to be?"

Guilt swirls inside me at eavesdropping on such a private conversation. I take a few steps back, missing any reply mom gives, and close the bedroom door I'd left ajar when I came into the hall.

I enter the kitchen and shuffle past my parents, pretending to be oblivious to the tension that fills the room like a suffocating smoke. When I reach up to grab a mug from the cupboard, I turn and notice my stepdad's gaze on my ass.

After overhearing their conversation, I realize that he's probably horny. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying his attention. Garrett is... well let's just say if you have a thing for big Lumberjacks, he's your ultimate fantasy Tall, gruff, wide-shouldered, chiseled, bearded, dark-haired, gray-eyed perfection.

He was even an honest-to-god lumberjack when he was younger. He used the scrap wood and taught himself how to make beautiful carvings and custom furniture. Now, people pay tens of thousands of dollars for each of his pieces. But he still lugs around huge chunks of wood and that keeps him in excellent shape.

When his gaze traces up my body to meet mine, his nostrils flare. He doesn't seem to care that I caught him staring, though my cheeks heat as if I've been caught doing something wrong.

"Morning," I say with a shy smile.

"Morning, Allie."

His voice is deeper than usual, gravely. It vibrates along my spine and

makes me shiver. My hand shakes a little as I pour coffee into my mug. I've never been nervous around Garrett. Then again, I was sure he never saw me as anything more than a kid. Technically, I was jail bait until a few days ago.

"Are your friends still coming over this weekend?" Mom asks.

"Yes." My voice squeaks a little.

When I look over at Garrett, he's smirking at me like he knows exactly

why I'm suddenly on edge.

"I'm sorry I missed your eighteenth," he says.

"It's fine. I didn't expect you to cancel your trip."

"Still, I'll have to get you a present. I was thinking I'd let you pick

something out."

"You better put a price limit on that or she'll max out your credit card,"

Mom says.

"Maybe I could take you with me the next time I have to deliver a piece

to LA."

"I'm a little old for Disneyland."

"I was thinking more about going to a beach where you can actually

swim in the water."

I nod. I'm not going to turn down Garrett in a swimsuit. The weather in

Seattle doesn't often call for swim wear.

"Talk about maxing out your credit card." Mom rolls her eyes.

"The trip is tax deductible for me. Allie's present will be the cost of her airfare."

"No missing school, though," Mom says.

Before I can answer, her phone rings and she picks it up. It's barely seven and her work is already calling her about an emergency. I slump down and rest my elbows on the counter as I bring my mug to my mouth.

"Maybe when you have a holiday," Garrett says.

"A holiday?"

"From school."

When I look up, his eyes aren't on me, or rather not on my face. Me

leaning onto the counter allows him to see straight down my shirt. And I'm in a low cut pajama top with no bra. My breasts dangle from my chest. And because my hands are on my mug, my arms press them together, making some stellar cleavage.

Garrett clears his throat. He leans a little closer. "You shouldn't dress like that around me, Allie."

I bite my lower lip. His voice and his words have my nipples contracting. And when I press my thighs together, they glide easily with the wetness between them.

"Why not?" I whisper.

"Because if you do, especially if you bed over like that, I might not be responsible for my actions."

"What," I clear my throat. "What would you do?"

His eyes burn with the heat of a thousand suns. His beard shifts as half his mouth tips up in a dirty, knowing smirk.

Garrett looks over at Mom, who's bending over her tablet, tapping away as she talks on the phone. I'm still watching mom when I feel his callused fingertips on the bare skin of my thigh.