Alone At Last!

Jessie Saint bounces on the balls of her feet the second her parents back out of the driveway. No more hovering, no more rules, just the whole night stretching out in her underwear and a queue full of horror flicks she’s never been allowed to finish. She starts strong, lights low, volume cranked, giggling every time the score jumps. Hours later the same sounds make her clutch the blanket to her chest. Every floorboard crack sounds like a footstep. By midnight she’s on the phone to Jane Wilde, voice small and stubborn at the same time. Jane shows up with that cocky little smirk, no big deal. She leads Jessie room to room, flips every switch, rattles every closet door. Nothing. Still Jessie’s fingers stay wrapped around Jane’s wrist. “Stay?” she asks. Jane shrugs, kicks off her shoes, and climbs in like it’s any other sleepover. They curl up, shoulder blades to collarbones, warm skin on warm skin. The first brush of fingertips along Jessie’s ribs feels accidental, then it doesn’t. Soft, slow strokes turn firmer. Blonde hair tickles brunette as they shift, legs sliding, breaths hitching. Jessie’s small tits tighten under Jane’s palm; Jane answers with a low, appreciative hum and keeps going. Fingers dip lower, find slick heat, curl in with steady purpose. Jessie gasps, pushes back, chasing more. Outside the wind rattles the windows, but in the bed there’s only the wet sound of fingers working and the sharp, needy pitch of Jessie’s moans. She’s no longer thinking about monsters—only how many times she can coax Jane to stay before sunrise.