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)
Mercer doesn’t care. I get the feeling that Mercer doesn’t care about anything outside of work. We have our little professional relationship, but there’s nothing personal about it. He doesn’t leer at me, or flirt with me, or make advances.
He’s kind of cold, actually.
Which is a turn-on, if I’m being honest.
What doesn’t turn you on, Nova?
So what if I’m easy to please? It’s not a crime.
The point is—I leave the lab every day and I do this for a reason.
I’m looking for him. And over the course of the next week, I follow my stranger into the woods three more times and even find him waiting for me in the downstairs Trapp hallway one afternoon
Our time together almost never deviates. He leads, I follow. He stops, I approach. He takes my hand, I let him. He shows me what he wants, I do it. He kisses me like we’re lovers, I kiss him back like I’m dying for his mouth. Then he comes on my hand, takes it, leads me out of whatever semi-private public place we’re at, and leaves me to continue my day.
We do not talk. I don’t call for him when he leads me to a secret spot away from spying eyes. I don’t ask questions. We just do it like this every single time.
And every afternoon he leaves me hanging.
The woman staring back at me in the mirror looks very different than she did just one short month ago. She looks… wiser.
I like that about her.
I feel wiser too. I feel… I dunno. Very satisfied.
Even though I’m dying for an orgasm.
An entire week of stranger jerk-offs has left me feeling more in control than I’ve ever felt in my life. Which is strange, but also makes sense in a weird way.
I smile at the mirror, then turn away, satisfied that my summer skirt and tank top are just fine for my Fourth of July dinner with Olsen. He’s cooking something on his patio. My cottage doesn’t have a patio, so when he told me this, I started becoming keenly interested in what his place might look like.
I don’t bother with a purse or anything. I don’t even lock my door when I leave for work. Olsen and I have the only cottages over this way. And it’s not like anyone on the island would need anything I have, anyway. There’s nothing in here really worth stealing.
So I just take myself over to Olsen’s door and leave mine unlocked.
I straighten my skirt, then tap my knuckles on the door, pressing my ear forward, trying to hear what’s going on on the other side.
There is a faint sound of music, then footsteps. A moment later, Olsen is smiling down at me. His eyes are a little bit hooded and lazy. It’s a sexy look on him. He’s wearing a tight, white t-shirt and a pair of old, faded jeans. “Come in.”
I smile up at him as he fully opens the door so I can pass. So I’m a few paces in, and Olsen is already closing the door behind me, when I see him.
My stranger is here. Standing in the middle of Olsen’s living room with a smirk on his face and a brightness in his eyes that is an unmistakable sign of mischief.
I stop where I am, which is only a few paces in. But these cottages are so small that my stranger is just an arm’s length away.
“Um.” I’m so confused. “Hi. Am I early?”
“Nah, come on in. Have you met Locke?” Olsen breezes past me towards the little kitchenette on the far side of the space. “I don’t remember if I introduced you.” He points to ‘my guy’. Who is apparently called Locke.
I look at Locke. He’s staring at me like he wants to kiss me. The throbbing between my legs begins immediately. Then I look back at Olsen. “I thought this was my check-in meeting.”
“It is,” Olsen says. He squints his eyes. Watching us. “What’s going on?” He’s asking Locke this question with narrowed eyes. “Do you two know each other?”
“She’s been jerking me off in public for the past month.”
My face heats up and my mouth drops open. I gasp. Blink at him. Did he just say that? Out loud? In front of—I turn to look at Olsen. Then back at Locke. “What. The fuck?”
Locke just laughs. Which kind of pisses me off.
“Dude,” Olsen says, “I hope you’re fucking with me.”
Locke cocks his head at Olsen. “You’re making dinner for her? Or me?” Pauses here. Maybe for dramatic effect. “Or both of us?”
Olsen just smiles good-naturedly. Like this isn’t awkward at all. “Hey, I figured the two of you might hit it off. But how come you never said anything?”
Locke shrugs. “I was gonna. Eventually. I mean…” He looks at me. “Looks like tonight’s the night.”