Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 155405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 777(@200wpm)___ 622(@250wpm)___ 518(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 777(@200wpm)___ 622(@250wpm)___ 518(@300wpm)
I did.
I am.
I’m poking the stupid, evil bear.
Fuck.
I don’t know how to play Dare’s games and I have no interest in learning, so as wrong as it feels not to respond, I quickly delete the message so there’s no evidence of it in my phone.
That should be enough, right?
I can’t remove the message from his phone to ensure he can’t send Anae a screenshot, but both Anae and Hannah seemed to be in agreement that a screenshot is too basic for Dare. He has to leave breadcrumbs and play mind games and make people work for the information he wants them to have, and I don’t think I said enough to give him another move.
Did I?
Now I kind of wish I hadn’t deleted the message so I could look back at what I said.
Dammit.
I wait in the driveway for several more minutes.
I’m waiting to make sure I don’t hear from Hannah, but I’m also waiting to see if he’ll message me again since I cut the conversation off so abruptly.
He doesn’t. I guess he was interested enough to engage when I reached out, but not interested enough to give chase.
I tell myself that’s probably good, but truthfully, I have no idea how to interpret Dare’s motivations. I kind of thought Hannah and Anae were drinking too much Kool-Aid before five minutes ago, but even the minimal contact I just initiated has me in my head and more anxious than I’ve been all night.
And that’s saying something.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Parker
It’s damn near impossible to fall asleep tonight.
I was up late doing homework, and before and after that, I was thinking about Hannah. Kidnapping her is getting more and more appealing. I know she wants to stay in her mother’s house that her father built for her, but how important is autonomy, really?
I just want to keep her safe.
I also want to sleep. Desperately. My eyes burn and my body is so tired, but I can’t get it to relax enough to let me drift off.
Sighing, I roll over with a huff and adjust my pillow. I resist the urge to check my phone and see what time it is, and train my gaze out my floor-to-ceiling bedroom windows instead.
My ocean view is so spectacular, I can’t believe it’s mine, but as I watch the moon’s reflection dance upon the gentle waves, I wonder if I should close the curtains.
I never close the curtains on school nights. I know I’ll be up early in the morning, and I should be asleep before it gets too bright, but tonight, I’m not so sure, and I have to get some sleep.
Mercifully, watching the tranquil waves makes me tranquil enough to finally relax.
My body, anyway.
My mind is a muddled mess, and even in my dreams, I find myself running from some shadowy threat, going through door after door trying to find the magic one that will lead to safety.
When my eyes open, I’m surprised to find the room still dark.
Why am I awake?
For a foggy moment, I’m unsure, but then I’m swept up in a wave of pleasurable stimulation I don’t understand.
My body feels alive, too alive for sleeping. Pleasure ripples through me. I don’t know why I’m feeling it, but I moan softly at the sensation, my hand finding the edge of the mattress and instinctively holding on.
Why…?
Another moan.
I try to focus, to heighten my awareness despite my sleepy confusion. Yes, it feels so nice I don’t want to question it, but where is this coming from?
My pussy is wet. Something brushes my clit and I cry out softly, still fogged from sleep and confused at the pleasure, but god, it feels so nice. All the tension in my body is drawn to one spot, and that dreamlike caress promises to ease it.
Am I dreaming?
I wasn’t dreaming of anything nice. Certainly not anything sexy, so I don’t know why I’m turned on.
I don’t feel asleep.
I gasp as the sensation heightens again, another stroke rubbing against my clit.
Sighing with pleasure, I let my eyes drift closed. Like that first night I got to enjoy the Atwater pool, I enjoy the intoxicating hit of pleasure and the quick, skillful strokes.
If it were only pleasure, maybe I could believe it’s a dream, but I’m grounded in reality when the provider of my mysterious pleasure turns greedy. When at the height of my pleasure, he stops. He kisses my pussy like it’s my mouth, then turns his head and peppers my thighs with hot, hungry kisses.
It’s the kisses. His stubble scratching against my sensitive skin.
I wouldn’t feel that in a dream.
Before I can grab onto it, he’s spreading my pussy open and feasting on me again, and as soon as his tongue swipes my clit, all I want to do is come.
Just let go.
This isn’t supposed to be happening.
My brain tries to fully wake up, but it’s like wading through quicksand. The pleasure is fighting to overpower it. I can’t stop moaning as lick after lick, my pussy is bathed in the promise of a release I desperately need.