“I’m not paying for that,” Audra added.

This time Troy’s laughter filled the car.

“I’d propose a toast,” he teased Regan, “but you’re underage.” He drank one and slipped the other in his jacket pocket.

The drive was long, but when the house finally came into view, Regan caught her breath. At first everything was an eerie pitch black beyond the car windows. They seemed to be in the middle of nowhere with no street lights or signs for miles. There were not even any other cars for miles. Regan had never experienced that in her whole life. There was only the moon shining off the top of trees and the jagged rock that lined one side of the highway like a wall. Then Troy caught her attention and motioned for her to look out of the window, and that was when she saw it. Suddenly there were lights glowing against the side of what appeared to be the beginning of another jagged outcrop. But the lights were merely illuminating the outside of the house--light dancing off of glass. The word house itself was not even the right descriptive word for it. It was more like a work of art, something fit for the cover of Architectural Digest. It seemed to be completely made of glass, cornered in grey stone, growing out of the mass of rock. Regan had never seen anything quite like it. As the limo edged up the long, winding drive, Regan became more and more awed by the beauty and size of her new home.

“I can’t believe this is where you guys live.”

“Nope, sweetheart,” Troy said, “this is where you live. I‘ve got my own den of iniquity.”

As they entered the house, Regan had to remember to close her mouth. She had never seen anything so beautiful. Troy switched on the interior lights and the entryway led into one huge open space. Everything looked so clean…and so beige, even the pale wooden floors.

Audra immediately disappeared after mumbling something to Allysia. So Allysia pointed out a few things about the house to Regan.

“Your father actually designed this house. This is what we call the great room, obviously because it’s so big. Rea had this thing about being crowded.”

“Rea?” Regan turned to question Allysia.

“Yeah,” she answered smiling. “We mostly called him Rea.”

Allysia paused.

“Everyone usually hangs out in here.” Continuing on with her brief introduction to the house, she motioned to the left. “The kitchen and breakfast room are that way. There are some stairs that go to the second floor off the kitchen. Or, you can use the more formal ones there. The third floor is Ian’s.”

“He lives here?” Regan interrupted.

“Most of the time,” Allysia scoffed.

“You look exhausted,” Troy said smiling down at Regan.

The big guy really did have the sweetest blue eyes. “Let’s show her the bedroom she’ll be sleeping in,” he suggested to his wife. “She can check out the house tomorrow.” He carried her luggage up the stairs as they followed. He was extremely graceful for such a big guy.

“Now if you don’t like the room, we can redecorate it,” Allysia was telling her as they mounted the stairs. “Or you can simply move to one of the other two empty rooms. It’s up to you. You have your own full bathroom and a beautiful view. That’s why I thought you would like it best. Audra is two doors down from you. She has to take sleeping pills at night. So don‘t be alarmed if you need her and she doesn‘t respond.”

“Allysia,” Troy warned, his masculine base vibrating off the walls.

“Well, she should know just in case there is a fire or something. Someone has to drag her ass outside.”

Allysia turned on the bedroom light and Regan almost died. This was her room! She turned to Allysia in disbelief. Troy pushed past them both to sit her suitcase on the bed.

“Looks like she likes it,” he grinned.

He put his hand over his wife’s shoulder. Allysia was too proud of how she had decorated the room to think about how heavy her husband’s arm felt right now. He had been practically all over her all day. It was irritating. But she did love the look on Regan’s face: it told her all she needed to know.

“We will see you Sunday over our house for dinner,” the couple said closing the door behind them.

“My own room,” Regan whispered to herself. And, there was so much space. The room came with its own little sitting area. There was a desk. She looked over at the Queen size, four poster bed and put her hand to her chest. “My own bed.”

She ran over to it, climbed on top and jumped up and down until she fell out laughing. Regan had always wanted to do that as a child but never dared. Now, she had her own room and a bed she could do anything she wanted to in. The last year had been great with, Larry and Patricia. She had only been their foster child for a short period of time, but it was the closest she had ever come to having a real home. She had not had to worry about anyone slipping into her room at night, fondling her or even worse; and, she had only had to share it with one other girl, Stacy. Now, she had one all to herself for the very first time in her life. Relief washed over her and brought tears to her eyes. Her life was always so strange, never quite what it should be. Was it possible that things could be different now? Was it possible to somehow find some peace with this strange so called family? Not if tonight was indicative of what she was to expect here. It was going to be just a different kind of weird.

A short while later, after showering and slipping into a pair of boy shorts and a tank top, Regan contemplated her day and her crazy life. Reagan McKrenna, her father, had died four months ago in April. The temperature had taken an unexpected dive, the last remains of a harsh winter. There had been rain. He had been driving at night. The lawyer said that his car hit a patch of black ice and ran off a road winding around a mountain. He had no chance of survival. Regan had never met him, never given him a second thought. She had not even known that her name was his name. As far as she was concerned, her mother had chosen it out of a book or off of some soap opera. She had never given any thought to what having a father would be like, period. Everyone she knew was either missing a father or missing both father and mother. Even foster parents rarely came in couples. She had no reason to think that she was any different then anyone else.

Her mother had died when she was five. Vivien Anne Brown was twenty-five and beautiful. She had not finished college, having gotten pregnant during her sophomore year and returned back home to live with her mother and little brother. Regan knew that she was smart though, because she had managed to do what no one else in her family had--she finished high school without a baby and at least managed to get into college on an academic sholarship. That much Regan knew for sure.

She also knew that her mother must have loved this man Reagan McKrenna very much. She named her only child after him and then she abandoned her to go to him. Her mother came to this town fourteen years ago, the name of which had held no significance for Regan until now. Vivien had left her daughter in her mother’s keep. Regan’s grandmother had been an overweight, homebound mother of seven. Having practically raised all her children, she was now left with a grandchild she did not want or need.

Regan had always fantasized that her mother had left her to come and start a new life for the both of them. And, if her mother had time she would have come back and collected her. If she had money she would have never left her to begin with. But the last couple of months had revealed something quite different. Regan now knew that her mother left her to come here to him, the newly-widowed, world-renowned writer Reagan McKrenna. Vivien came here and she died, leaving Regan with no one that really cared for her. And now, Regan was trying to fall to asleep in his house.

She turned over and closed her eyes, but not before turning on the small, beside lamp. She had no intentions of being left in total darkness, especially not here.

Regan was ready for sleep but it somehow evaded her. There were so many things running through her head. But, she knew how to solve that. She pulled off her shorts and panties. Her body was calling out for the attention only she could give it. She cupped her breast, spreading her fingers out and began to massage them. They were firm in her hands and it felt so good to be touched there. Her nipples immediately responded like little, dark raisons, a direct nerve to her clit. She moaned, running her thumbs across the sensitive tips. In her mind she imagined that a man was touching her. He was faceless, but wanted her like no other. He was demanding but gentle with her like no one else had ever been. He appreciated how smooth and silky she felt in his hands. And she surrendered to his demand of her. Her hands slid downward over her smooth skin, across her abdomen. She was so turned on. By the time she slipped her fingers within her nether lips, she was already wet with her own excitement.

She plunged her finger in her opening, first one and then two, pumping. She then brought them to her mouth. She was sweet. She wondered if every woman tasted as sweet as she did. Spreading the lips of her pussy wide with the fingers of one hand, she began to explore herself with the other. First she did it lightly, spreading her sweet juices over and around her clit. Her clit was firm to her touch, a knot of sensitivity, and begging for attention. She applied more pressure, drawing a line from the extremely sensitive tip of her clit downward to her moist opening.

Then as her body grew more responsive she drew circles around it, teasing herself. She flicked it. “Ahh,” she thought it felt so good. Slowing herself down was impossible now. She applied more pressure to her clit, rubbing the sensitive knob. Her breathing changed, becoming shallow and short. This was her favorite part because she could feel the energy gathering, collecting in her clit, like a warning. She mentally tried to fight it, refusing her imaginary lovers progress. But the wondrous work of her hand was relentless. When she climaxed her whole body shook. Her thighs vibrated. Her clit became so sensitive that she could not bear to continue touching herself there.

Masturbating always soothed her, it took the edge off. She felt replete. But it always followed with a strong sense of guilt. She balled into a fetal position, hugging herself. In her mind what she felt and what she did only left her with a sense of loss. Her imagined lover was never going to come for her. No man could give her that feeling; no man would rap his body around hers with appreciation and care. She would never feel that kind of passion. The males she had experienced were nothing like that. They took and only thought of themselves. No a real man, the kind she dreamed about, would not want someone tainted and rigid. She would never have regular sex with a man that loved her, not just her body.

She started to cry.

“Everything is going to be okay,” she whispered to herself wanting to believe that more than anything as she fell to sleep.

But with sleep came memories mixed with anger and fear. Nightmares.