The sound was unmistakable this time. It was the grate of sand between shoe leather and terrazzo. It came from her right, toward where the dining room doors opened onto the terrace.
She saw a shadowy bulk standing there. The moon came out from behind a cloud, and the shadow took form – a stocky, muscular form. Behind her, now, Carla let out another muffled groan, and Whit nearly bellowed with passion.
Monica glanced back and saw that his prick was bucking and pounding between Carla's pursed lips. Spots of white sperm bubbled from the wet juncture, of cock and fucked mouth and dribbled down her chin to her neck.
Whit groaned again, and Monica looked around toward the ground quickly, knowing that he could be heard. Chester's face was clearly visible in the moonlight, now, upturned and listening.
Monica drew back, nearly shaking, praying that Chester hadn't spotted her there in the shameful acts of peeping and masturbating.
After what seemed an eternity, the scrunching sound came again, and she heard the soft sound of the glass door sliding shut as Chester went back into the house.
Would he tell her grandfather what was happening up in Whit's room? Would he spare the old man another shock and come up himself? Or, horror of horrors, would he dare think that she was in her brother's room getting fucked so thoroughly by him?
She shivered again. She heard more sounds from the bedroom, but she didn't look. She didn't care what they were going to do next – or what was so important and secretive that they had to talk about. She had to get the hell out of there, right now!
She stood. She made her legs stop shaking. She climbed to the edge of the balcony and looked across the yawning space to her own. It seemed horribly far away this time.
She steeled herself and jumped. The lithe body worked independently of her and in spite of her. The landing was smooth and accurate. She clutched the railing and nearly sobbed as she lifted a leg over it and scampered shakily back into the sanctum of her room.
She hurried to her door and put her ear against it, holding her breath. She didn't hear Chester coming up the stairs. She listened for a long time. She didn't hear him go across the house to her grandfather's downstairs bedroom, either.
She straightened up finally, her heart quieted at last. Well, he didn't really need to come up to find out what was happening. The sounds made it clear enough. He knew. He most probably knew that it was Carla being fucked, too.
But had he seen her outside the French doors, watching? Would he tell that to her grandfather too, if he had?
Monica shivered and slipped out of her pants and blouse in the darkness. She slipped between the sheets and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling.
Now she didn't dare make demands of her grandfather about seeing Burke. Because she would never know for certain what he knew about her newly awakened desires.
She thought of Burke, the weight of his body against her, the warm spurting of his prick over her belly. She slid her hand to her pussy and cupped it gently, her fingers moving for a moment.
A warm smile came to her lips, and her eyes suddenly closed. They could still meet out behind the wall. They could still lie in the warm, green cover of the seagrapes and kiss each other.
And, maybe soon, they could fuck…
CHAPTER FOUR
She waited beside the wall again. She leaned against it and picked a leaf and tore it into small pieces absently, lifting her head to listen closely to each strange sound from the street.
It was pointless to wait any longer. She'd been there nearly an hour today already. She'd climbed the arbor twice to look over the wall, but she hadn't seen Burke or his pickup.
She wasn't surprised. Only disappointed again. This was the third day he hadn't been at school. The third day he hadn't come to the wall to see her.
Monica sighed despondently and brushed the leaf particles from her fingertips, smelling the aroma they'd left there. She gazed through a small aperture in the foliage toward the big house, and she couldn't help but wonder – couldn't help but think it.
Had the order been given? How would he have put it? No more of that Hammond kid for Monica, Chester – fix it.
And she couldn't help wondering darkly how much it had cost – a lot or a little – to make him stay away.
A bubble of bitterness came to her throat and left a sour taste. Just who the hell did Galt Sanderhoff think he was? What right had he to buy people off that way? First, her father. Now, her boy friend. In the name of her welfare and safety. Or was it to protect his own immense wealth?
It wasn't right, no matter what his motive was. He didn't have the right to control her life that way.
Had the same thing happened to Whit already? Was that why Whit was so rebellious and noisy? Was that why he had to sneak Carla into the house, instead of bringing her in openly the way a normal teenager would be able to do it?