Before I could dwell on that question, the sound of a chair scraping across the dining room floor startled me. I peered through the slats in the louver door and saw something that terrified me—Mr. Pierce, pants still undone, d**k still sheathed by a condom flecked with c*m and s**t, heading toward the kitchen.
Toward me.
I had just enough time to press myself back into the corner between the wall and counter before he hit the door with one hand, bouncing it off the track and pushing it out of his way. Fortunately it unfolded as it struck the counter, hiding me from view, but I cowered behind it as he crossed the kitchen hitching up his pants. Oh God. Had he seen me? Did he know? If he turned on the light it’d all be over. Then he’d turn to put the door back on its track and find me here.
