Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 91161 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91161 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Yeah, yeah I can do that,” I said. My skin prickling from his touch. And I could do it.
I think.
“What’s your name anyway?” Bear’s hand slowly traveled up the back of my leg, pushing up my skirt, it came to rest on my ass cheek, which was then exposed to anyone who might have been looking in our direction.
“Doe. My name is Doe,” I breathed.
“Fitting.” He said with a chuckle. “Well, my innocent looking little Doe.” Bear leaned in close and surprised me by planting a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth. His lips were soft, and he smelled like laundry detergent mixed with liquor and cigarettes. I was just beginning to think that the kiss meant that he’d changed his mind and didn’t want me to send me away to his friend, but no such luck. He pulled away abruptly and turned me around by my shoulders so that I was facing the stairs. He swatted me on my ass, propelling me forward. “Up the stairs you go, sweetheart. Last room at the end of the hallway. Be good to my boy, and me and you will get to play later.” He sealed his words with a wink and as I made my way up the stairs I turned back and flashed him a fake smile. I hoped the guy at the end of the hallway was like Bear, because then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Then a thought hit me that had me fighting back the tears that sprung from my eyes with a sudden force that almost took me to my knees.
I’d officially sold myself, and the price was far more than any dollar amount.
Chapter Four
Doe
Boom. Boom. Boom. Ba-boom.
It was hard to tell where the bass ended and my pulse began.
I wiped my palms on the tattered skirt I’d lifted from the Goodwill donation bin and maneuvered through a sea of bodies rhythmically writhing up against one another. A thick layer of smoke lay trapped under the low ceiling. Hauntingly robotic party goers danced and gyrated under the flickering lights on every available inch of floor space.
In the dark, with only the pulsing of the lights to guide me, I made my way up the stairs, and as Bear instructed, to the door at the very end of the hallway.
The door to my salvation.
The door to my hell.
I turned the handle, and the hinges shrieked. The only light in the room was courtesy of the dim and muted TV on the far wall. The heavy scent of pot wafted from the room.
“Hello?” I squeaked into the darkness, trying as hard as I could to make my voice sound as sexy as possible, but failing miserably.
A voice, deep and rough, broke through the silence, his words vibrating through to my very core. “Shut the fucking door.”
Snaking its way into every crevice of my already fragile mind and body, an entirely new feeling enveloped me, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I’d expected to feel hesitant, nervous, and even anxious.
But what I felt was far more than that.
It was fear.
Heart racing. Pulse pounding. Red alert. Fear.
The impulse to turn and run as fast as my trembling legs could carry me was overwhelming, but any thoughts of immediate escape were interrupted.
“Door,” the voice commanded again. I hadn’t moved an inch. As much as I wanted to run, my desperation propelled me forward.
I closed the door behind me and the chaos downstairs disappeared with a click of the latch, shutting out the noise as well as the possibility of anyone hearing my cries for help.
“Where are you?” I asked hesitantly.
“I’m here,” the voice said, offering no indication of where here really was. I took a deep, steadying breath and then a few steps toward the TV until I was close enough to make out the outline of a bed in the middle of the small room and a pair of long legs hanging over the edge.
“Ummm, welcome home? Bear sent me.” Maybe, talking would give my heart time to get a grip inside my body. But the realization of what I was about to do struck me stupid and left me standing paralyzed in front of the shadow.
Ignoring my pitiful attempt at conversation, he shuffled to the edge of the bed. Although I couldn’t make out his features, his shadowy frame was massive.
He sat up and reached out, I braced myself for his touch, but there was no contact. Instead, he grabbed a bottle off of the nightstand behind me. He tilted it up to his mouth, taking a long, slow pull. His swallows were loud in the silence of the little room.
Again, I wiped my palms on my skirt, hoping the darkness cloaked my nerves better than the perspiration on my hands.
“Do I make you nervous?” he asked, as if reading my mind. I could smell the fresh whiskey on his breath.
“No,” I answered breathlessly, the lie getting caught in my throat. A large hand grabbed my waist roughly, tugging me into the space between his legs. His fingers dug into my hips and I squealed in surprise.
“Don’t you lie to me, girl,” he growled, without a hint of playfulness. My blood ran cold. My heart raced. He took another swig from the bottle, reaching behind me again to set it down. This time when he trailed back, he did it slowly, rubbing his cheek against mine, his facial hair not long enough to be considered a beard but longer than stubble. Unexpected tingles danced down my spine, and I fought the urge to touch his face. “Do you always ignore people when they ask you a question?”
Yes, yes he made me nervous. He made me so fucking nervous I couldn’t find my tongue. I didn’t expect this. I expected to spread my legs for some drunk horny asshole so he could have his way with me in a room that was too bright.
Instead, I stood in the dark, pressed between the thighs of a man I could barely see, but the feel of him alone sent shivers up my spine.