Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Now I’m in my underwear and he’s looking at me with that now-familiar hunger.
I want him to walk over here and kiss me. Touch me. At the very least let me touch him.
But he just stands there, watching me become more and more uncomfortable about the awkward silence.
I want to ask questions. What are we doing? Should I take off all my clothes? Should I suck your dick? Will you fuck me?
But I force myself to stay silent and just let him look at me.
He’s thinking. Plotting. Planning. Conniving.
And I love this.
I cannot wait to hear what he says and does next.
“Turn around.”
I let out my breath and turn.
“Lift your arms above your head and place your hands on the tree.”
I do this.
“Spread your legs.”
I open them up. My pussy is throbbing with anticipation.
“Now tell me, Ryan. What should I do now?”
Oh, God. I bite my lip and think, his words from earlier coming back to me. Life is nothing but a game. Every decision is a move on the board.
This is my move. I need to make it count.
“I want you to touch me.”
“Where?”
I want to say ‘anywhere.’ Because I seriously do not care. I just crave his touch. But I need to be specific. I need to play this game at his level. I need to show him that I’m capable of doing that. “I want you to kiss my back.”
“What if I say no?”
Shit. “I will be disappointed.”
“What if I said… ‘Stay here. And I’ll be back. Stay just as you are. Don’t move, don’t put your clothes on. Just stay here.’ What would you say?”
“How long will you be gone?”
“You won’t know.”
I let out a breath and decide to make a limit. I’ve been with enough dark men over the years to know this is part of the game. Maybe not Locke’s game. I’m not sure I’ve ever played his game, but all I can do is be honest. “I will wait fifteen minutes.”
“You will wait twenty-five.”
I hesitate. I’ll wait two fucking hours if he wants me to. So I’m not sure if I should counter.
“Don’t move.”
Then the choice is taken away and all I hear is footsteps. About a minute later I hear the gate creak and he’s gone.
At first, I don’t mind. I’m imagining what he’ll do to me when he comes back. But then the minutes tick off and I lose track of time. How long has it been? I don’t even have my phone. I left it in the lab. And my watch is turned around on my wrist, so I can’t see the face. I could check it. Just… pick up my hand and look.
But he said, “Don’t move.” So if I move, I would be cheating.
I don’t like to cheat when I play games like this with men. It defeats the whole point of the game. If I cheat, I might as well not play. And if I were the one making demands, I would expect Locke to live up to his word and play fairly.
So I don’t check my watch. I just stand there until my arms ache and I get a cramp in my calf from standing in this unnatural position.
Finally, after what seems like years, the gate creaks again. I suck in a deep breath, then bite my lip to stop the smile as I listen to the approaching footsteps.
I want to call out to him. I want to complain. I want to—
“Nova?”
I spin around, eyes wide. “Olsen?”
“What are you doing?”
I scan behind him, lean to the side a little. “Where’s Locke?”
Olsen laughs. “Did he put you here? Did he tell you to wait for me?”
“No. Shit.” I lean down, pick up my skirt.
But Olsen comes over to me. “Hold on.”
“I’m sorry. We were—” But how do I explain this?
“It’s fine.” Olsen puts a hand on my arm. Then takes my skirt, folds it neatly back up, and places it back on top of my blouse. “Locke called me. Said he had a surprise for me.”
I can only imagine the look on my face.
Olsen touches my cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re my surprise. And I have to say, it’s a nice one. We haven’t seen each other since the other night.”
“I’ve been working late.”
“I know. Locke is worried that you’re working too hard. That Mercer is being merciless. That’s probably why he brought you here.”
And I don’t know why, but I’m stuck on the last part of that sentence. Brought you here. Like this is a place one might be brought to on occasion.
“Why did he bring me here?”
Olsen huffs. “Ryan. You’re under a tree, in your underwear, waiting for a man to appear. Why do you think he brought you here?”
There are only two answers. And only one fits. “He brought me here for you.”