Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve. The house sits heavy with everything they planned and everything they’re about to ruin. Jade and Kate take Mrs. Bell’s money, then crack. They don’t come back. Jade slips inside a closet, knees tucked, breath shallow. Dust and cedar stick to her skin. The door opens. Cindy. Step-cousin. Shoes in hand like relics, one after the other lined on the rug. She stares. Jade stares back. Neither moves for one long second, then Cindy shuts the door behind her, locks it, shuts out the light. Only the faint strip under the door and the low hiss of furnace keep them from complete dark. Cindy drops the shoes. One heel cracks against Jade’s bare thigh. Cindy notices. Doesn’t apologize. Instead she crawls closer, nose grazing Jade’s ankle, inhaling leather and sweat and whatever scent Jade hasn’t washed off yet. Her tongue slips out, flat and wet, tasting the skin just above the foot bone. Jade’s toes flex. The muscles in her calf jump. Cindy’s fingers work the button at Jade’s waist without asking. Cold knuckles scrape warm skin. Jade’s jeans slide down just enough. Panties get shoved aside. Two fingers slide straight in, curl, pull out slick. No ceremony. Cindy watches every twitch like it’s a secret code. Jade bites the inside of her cheek to stay quiet. The closet smells like rubber soles and cunt now. Cindy pulls her hand away, sucks the fingers, then reaches for the closest shoe—a red satin pump—and slides Jade’s foot inside. Leather presses tight against her arch. Cindy grinds the toe against Jade’s exposed clit until the girl’s hips buck once, hard. She keeps going, heel digging into the carpet for leverage, whispering numbers under her breath like inventory. When Jade comes, it’s short and violent, thighs locked, throat clamped shut so nothing slips out. Cindy smiles small, satisfied, then starts unlacing her own boot, ready for the next round before anyone downstairs misses them.