Sixteen
I woke to Jonas sitting at my feet. He was reading and absentmindedly stroking the top of my foot while Welina meandered along under full sails.
When Jonas looked up, he smiled at me and I grinned back. Just like he had, I stretched deeply and yawned. My toes pointed, and the flexing of my muscles caused Jonas’s hand to slip further up my calf. I faced the back of the bench and wedged myself in.
Jonas chuckled and resumed running his fingers over my skin. It didn’t tickle me like it should have. It felt good, and I was loath to stop him.
Checking the time, I saw that I had slept away most of the afternoon. Rolling off the bench, I forced myself to go downstairs and make a coffee. I braced my hands against the furniture or walls as I walked around, struggling to get used to the
