victims) and even from this distance Nicholas could tell that she had a body that just wouldn’t quit. Absolutely perfect for his intentions for the day.
Twelve years at most, the girl wore tiny blue polyester shorts that showed off long tan legs and just a hint of well-rounded buttocks peeking out from each side. A midriff-baring shirt featured spaghetti-thin straps hanging over her shoulders, which served as the backdrop for her glorious hair. Best of all – most exciting of all, to Nicholas, at least – her pert, slightly upturned breasts had already blossomed like daffodils turning their faces to the morning sun. No bra, of course. Who in the hell needed a bra when you had tits like that?
Nicholas nodded approvingly at the way the girl’s hard nipples poked like tiny diamonds through the flimsy fabric of her flower-patterned shirt. Nice piece of ass, that much was for sure. A real fine piece of machinery he wouldn’t mind checking under the hood. Still, hot as she might be, Nicholas knew that not even Claire Bishop presented any match for him when it came to looks.
Nicholas wasn’t conceited – no way in hell his mother would ever stand for such self-centeredness, not on his part, at least – but even he knew that his sparkling green eyes looked like shining emeralds encased in a face that had been carved out of solid granite. His strong jaw line was set firmly beneath high cheekbones that did a fine job of accentuating his pleasant features, and his short brown hair never seemed out of place, not even when he rolled out of bed first thing in the morning. Not an ounce of fat to be found anywhere on his body. Not so much as the trace of a blemish on his handsome face when so many other boys his age were suffering from the dreaded ‘pizza-face’ syndrome brought about by their own raging hormones. What’s more, Nicholas knew that he would only grow even handsomer as the years passed. Hell, his genetics dictated that much. Just take a look at his mother. Apples – even the rotten ones – never fell too far from the tree.
Nicholas breathed in deeply through his nostrils and caught a faint whiff of the marijuana the girls were smoking before closing his eyes, feeling a renewed sense of excitement flood through his crotch at the thought of his mother. Perverted as though it might sound to others, Nicholas had already memorised almost every last inch of Annabeth Preston’s exquisite body from a distance, and he would’ve happily jumped at the chance to memorise the inches of her that still remained a mystery to him. The inches of her in which he’d always been the most interested. The inches of herself that she selfishly covered up in her lacy undergarments each night shortly before bedtime.
Nicholas opened up again his eyes and shook his head while he leaned down to chain up his bicycle to the rack, realising that it was probably just the testosterone shots to blame, mixed in with more than just a dash of his thoroughly screwed-up psychology. That being said, the simple fact of the matter was that everything about his mother seemed to drive him crazy these days, even more so than when he’d been eight years old. The seductive shape of her gorgeous mouth. The soft swell of her ample breasts. The way she’d sometimes kick off her blankets on hot summer nights to expose a beautiful figure usually encased in little more than a sheer white negligee that clung to her shapely body like plastic wrap and made Nicholas’s entire soul quiver with desire. To make matters worse, his mother had recently ramped up the dosage on Nicholas’s daily testosterone shots – ‘to make things more natural’, she’d said. To make up for the areas in which he was sorely lacking, thanks to her. Only time would tell where that would eventually lead him, but to be honest that time felt like now. Like, right now.
It felt like today.
Just as Nicholas had known she would all along, Claire Bishop made the first move. And why would he be surprised by that? Luckily for him, he’d never been the kind of boy who’d ever needed to put in too much work when it came to girls, which made his life that much easier. Not that anything in his life could possibly be considered easy, of course. Not with a mother like Annabeth Preston.