Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Masquerades are meh. I’ve had better.
I look up at him to get his reaction, and he’s staring at me. I smirk and arch a brow. He seems to take a deep breath and then starts typing again.
Charm. You’re being mean.
Fine, fine. He wants me to tell him, and I want him to get as hot and bothered as I am right now. I hunker down and type.
My favorite position is me in his lap on a couch or a chair. He pulls my panties to the side and fucks me under my skirt. We might get caught if someone comes in the room.
Are you facing him or is he behind you? Is the TV on or is music playing? What time of day is it?
Seriously? You writing an article for Penthouse or what?
TELL ME.
Fine. “With or Without You” by U2 is playing. I’m facing him. He fucks me slow but rough, his hands digging into my hips as we stare at each other.
Excellent song. Slow but rough? That doesn’t make any sense.
This is my favorite and you asked so STFU.
Have you done it lately? he asks.
I’ve never had sex exactly like that, but I can’t tell him. Maybe he thinks I get around more than I do. Sure, I hook up when I want, but it’s not willy-nilly, one-night stands. It’s a careful plan, and I’m always in control. That way no one gets hurt.
No, but I will soon.
With who?
The pain in my head sharpens, and I rub my forehead.
You okay? he sends.
Headache. A cold sweat breaks out over me, and I can barely get the words typed out.
The phone slips from my hand, and I lean my head back on the seat. Penelope and Margo’s voices penetrate my fog as the pain kicks in more, asking if I’m okay, and I nod and close my eyes. Sometimes if I can get really still, it will pass and—
“Charm, what’s wrong?”
It’s him.
Damn, he got here fast.
Penelope is standing over me too. Ah, shit. I hate the attention. “I’m cool. Just a headache.”
“Where are your meds?” Penelope asks, already grabbing my backpack and riffling through it.
“My rescue medicine is in the bathroom at home. I forgot to put it in my bag this semester. I just need to get to my car and go get it…” I swallow as another twinge hits, and it hurts to even hold my head up.
“You’re not driving anywhere,” Blaze states, his voice firm.
“I can run you home.” It’s Penelope, and she’s already sitting next to me. “I don’t have a class for another couple of hours.”
“I’ll take her home.” Blaze again. I wave him off.
My eyes peek open and the pain sharpens. I wince. “No, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Come on.” Without waiting for a reply, he grabs my backpack and puts a hand out.
I take it and he pulls me up.
“Are you sure? Don’t you have a class?”
He doesn’t reply, just wraps his arm around my shoulders, leading me away from the pizza place. We take the stairs down to the exit, my body pressed against his. He handles me as if I’m small and delicate, stopping periodically to stare down at me and ask if I’m still good.
We leave the student center, and the sun makes me flinch. My stomach lurches as the pizza I just ate decides to roll around. If I puke in front of him, I’m going to die.
I stumble down one of the steps, and his hand is the only thing that keeps me from falling.
“Baby, you’re a mess,” he mutters as he pulls me to a stop and sweeps me up in his arms. My head rolls to his chest, my nose pressing against his shirt. God, he smells so good…fresh and crisp, like summer and woods and…
“You’re so gallant…a real Southern gentleman with broad shoulders and a slow drawl. Ma warned me about guys like you,” I mumble, my voice close to a whisper.
“Smart lady. Somehow I don’t think you listen to her.”
“Nope.” I peek out, and he’s staring down at me.
I see where he’s headed, the reserved parking lot close to the student center. “Good thing your truck is close.”
“Special athlete parking,” he says back.
“Lucky duck.”
He opens the passenger side of his truck for me. “Hang on,” he says softly as he runs his hands over my body, getting me settled and buckling me up.
“Don’t cop a feel there, football player.” I close my eyes and lean back against the leather.
I’m aware of him chuckling as he gets in and cranks the truck. “Sick and still feisty.”
16
My eyes crack open. I come to slowly, blinking as I realize I’m in my bed under the covers and a fan I keep on my nightstand blows softly in my face. It’s winter, but I love the noise, plus Penelope keeps the thermostat a bit high for this New York girl.