Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 95765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
The blonde woman is on one side of her and a guy is on the other. I clock his black outfit. I don’t need to see him from the front to know he’s dressed as a vicar. Tarts and vicars. Of course.
I edge closer, making sure I’m always a wall of bodies from her eyeline. I’ll never make it beyond her to the shadows at the back of the garden without her seeing, so I opt to venture around to the side instead.
It’s a good call. Edgy. Borderline insane, but good. There’s an emergency exit onto the street from here, but it’s closed and latched. There’s a big wheeled recycling bin and a load of trolleys for general waste. The vents from the pub kitchen come out this way and the lights are off inside.
The sound of voices is loud enough to be invasive. I’m close enough to her group to make out almost every word.
They’re talking work. Innocuous chatter laced with drunken laughter. Abigail’s laugh is loud and free. I step closer to watch her body language.
Her legs are tense and tight on those stupid heels, and her skirt is short enough that you can see her suspenders.
It makes me prickly.
Agitated.
The guy on her right likes her. His face is turned to hers, smiling. He laughs at every fucking word she says.
His arm hovers at her back. He presses his hand to her as she regales everyone with a tale about a client at her old company. She’s either too drunk or engrossed to notice, but I do.
My gut twists. My hands are clammy.
My jaw clenches as his hand slides lower. He’s a heartbeat from her ass when I disregard every one of my sensibilities and pull my phone from my pocket.
She’s laughing as the ringtone sounds from her handbag. She looks confused at the unknown number.
I hate the way handy boy looks at her screen along with her.
I listen as she excuses herself. “Maybe it’s my mum,” she says, and presses it to her ear.
“I’m not your fucking mother,” I whisper, loving the way she stiffens.
I wait. Watch as she looks around her.
“Hi,” she says. “I, um…”
“You will say this is a family call. You will keep your phone to your ear and you will excuse yourself. You will walk to your right, down towards the emergency exit. If you’ve any sense, you’ll make sure nobody follows you.”
The prick is staring at her. Puppy dog eyes.
I almost hope he can fucking hear me.
She flicks her gaze in my direction. “Okay,” she says, but I’ve already hung up.
Twenty-Two
Jealousy is the tie that binds, and binds, and binds.
Helen Rowland
Abigail
The thrill pulses right through me – that incredible mix of excitement and fear all at once.
I’m an addict, always craving that next fix. My body is a puppet on his strings. My clit throbbing the very moment I hear his voice.
I daren’t look too hard for him, just chancing a quick glance in the direction of the emergency exit. It’s dark over there. Dark but close.
Really close – just a stone’s throw away.
I can almost feel him on me already. My legs tremble on my ridiculous heels.
I take the handset from my ear and address the now quiet group around me. “It’s my mum,” I lie. “I need to take the call. Don’t wait for me, just keep on drinking. I’ll catch you up.”
I could die inside as Jack leans in close, his mouth to my cheek. “Hurry back.”
I’ve barely noticed his ever-narrowing proximity this evening. Laughter and alcohol and a huddled group make it so easy for hints to go unnoticed.
I wonder if they’ve gone unnoticed by the stranger around the corner.
I wonder if he cares.
I hope he cares.
His call is disconnected but I press the handset right back to my ear as I walk away. “Hey, Mum,” I say. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”
Every step is dithery as I head into the shadows. My eyes haven’t even adjusted to the darkness when his hand clamps tight across my mouth.
“You wanna be real fucking quiet,” he growls. “Unless you want your friends to hear you squeal, that is.”
I shake my head.
His breath is so hot on my ear. “How about lover boy? Do you want him to hear what I’m making you take? Would that make you wet, you dirty little slut?”
Warm fingers trail up my thighs to press against my pussy. I buckle against him, breath already ragged.
My dress is short enough that he barely has to hitch it. He slips his hand down my knickers and I’m well aware I’m already soaking.
“Is this for me or him?” he whispers, but doesn’t let me speak. “It matters little, you’ll be too fucking sore to take him when I’m done with you.”
There’s an edge to his voice. A harshness.
Jealousy.
My whole body sings.