"Treasured" with a Special Bonus for Family Drama

Skai made up the special bonus. Who doesn’t want bonuses? Even if they are just symbolic.


“If you go out dressed like that, you’re a slut,” said Harry, looking Yaneth up and down with desirous eyes. Her white blouse was open to the chest, showing bountiful cleavage, and her skirt was pinned up, allowing her suntanned thighs to flourish against the summer breeze.

“It’s hot,” Yaneth complained, rolling her eyes. She jerked her chin at him, pointing out his shorts and loose, red, sleeveless jersey that exposed his nipples when the wind blew the right way. “And anyway, you’re practically half-naked.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s not the same.”

“Because you can’t stop staring at me, and I’m grossed out even looking at you.” She grinned proudly and sashayed out the door.

Yaneth and Harry were step-siblings. Harry’s mom had left her father and moved to Belgium to work at a European bank, seeing motherhood as an obstacle to achieving her dreams. Yaneth had never known her father. Their parents had met at an AA meeting, Yaneth’s mother serving as Harry’s mentor. From the moment their brown eyes first met, they had fallen deeply in love. At least that was what they said when they tried convincing their respective children that getting married and moving in together as a family would be a good idea.

Yaneth hated Harry from the moment they met. She found his manner insulting and creepy: the way he ogled her with his narrow eyes, the way jealously guarded her from other boys, the way he condescendingly criticized everything she wore as too revealing while he mentally undressed her.

Harry, for his part, found Yaneth inimitably attractive. Her skin always shone in the sunlight, and her nude silhouette–which he’d seen when he accidentally walked in on her in the shower–made him dizzy and his jeans too tight in the front. He had stolen a picture of Yaneth, which he kept like a treasure underneath his pillow, and at night when everyone had gone to bed, he would pull it out and hold it in his left hand while he stroked himself with his right. He wanted her, and he couldn’t bear to see how she paraded herself about like a common whore, luring in boys far leaner than he.