Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Fingers tightening in my hair, RJ thrusts deep, fucking my fist and my mouth until finally he groans, “Coming,” and spills in a hot rush.
I swallow every drop, my clit throbbing so painfully I have to squeeze my legs together.
When he finally settles, I release him gently and lick my lips, and RJ’s agonized groan hangs in the air. “Oh hell, that was so hot…licking your lips like that. Goddamn it, Sloane.”
I’m not gonna lie—this guy is great for my ego.
With an impish smile, I daintily rise to my feet and smooth out my skirt. “Don’t say I never did anything for you, sweetie.”
He croaks out a laugh, his hands reaching for me. “C’mere, you brat. Time for me to do something for you.”
My pulse kicks up a notch when I see the molten heat in his eyes. And when he tugs me back onto his lap, my core begins to ache again. His dick is still out. Still hard. But he ignores it, dipping his hand beneath my skirt instead.
“Are you wet?” he whispers, pulling my head down with his other hand so he can kiss me.
“Very,” I whisper back, then tease his lips with my tongue.
“Yeah? Let me see.” His fingers inch toward my panties. They reach the seam just as his pocket starts to vibrate.
“Ignore it,” he mumbles. He clutches me tighter when I break our kiss and pull away.
“No, we should probably stop now. I can’t really stay long anyway.” I get to my feet and work on straightening myself out. If I don’t leave now, I might not be able to control myself. “Casey’s covering for me, but my dad will be home soon and start wondering where I am.”
With a frustrated sigh and an amusing glare, RJ tucks his dick back in his pants and zips up. Then he pulls his phone from his pocket to read the alert.
“Anyone I should be worried about?” I ask more as a joke, to which he raises an eyebrow.
“Do you want it to be?”
I try to get a glimpse of his screen, but he jerks it away. It was my fault for starting this game. “Well, now I do want to know what you’re up to.”
“Truth?”
“Well, yeah.”
“I’ve been digging up what I can find on the faculty.”
“Seriously?” I thought maybe a girl from back home or some Tinder townie.
“There’s this one dude. The housefather of the senior dorm. Mr. Swinney. He’s a goofy middle-aged man who wears slippers and watches TV too loudly.”
“Sounds nefarious.”
“That’s the thing. Why would such a painfully boring guy be completely invisible online? Not just scarce. This guy is a ghost.”
“Weird.”
“It’s fucking suspicious,” he says.
I know a lot of the Sandover faculty and staff, but I’ve never met Mr. Swinney. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Dad mention him, either.
“What if he’s here under an assumed name and the mafia is after him?” I offer as an explanation.
“Or,” RJ comes back, “he killed his wife and kids in Texas and has been hiding out here under bad suits and thick glasses.”
“He was in a polygamous religious cult in the Chilean mountains until he had to take a really long dump then walked out of the bathroom to realize he’d missed the fruit punch accession.”
We go on a bit of tangent, devising more elaborate and devious conspiracies that might have brought the elusive Mr. Swinney to our quiet little campus. RJ has an insatiable curiosity, which I find kind of cute. Once his suspicions are tickled, he can’t let it go.
Then another notion occurs to me. “When you say digging…”
He shrugs it off like a totally normal thing. “If someone has any presence at all online, I can find them. It’s not that hard to break into a person’s accounts.”
That gives me pause. My head starts spinning with every questionable photo or embarrassing argument I’ve ever posted. I haven’t posted much lately, but I’m not totally invisible, either. And, yes, I know the internet is forever, but I generally operate under the assumption that nobody cares about me enough to dig up an Instagram post from middle school.
“Like social accounts?” I ask.
“Sure.” He says it so matter-of-factly, oblivious to the alarms blaring in my brain. “Anything. If I wanted to see someone’s Snapchat or peek at their Amazon orders…”
“Someone like me?”
I watch the breath catch in his throat. See him swallow to buy time while his mind rushes to formulate an answer that doesn’t get him kneed in the crotch.
“Your lack of response is troubling,” I tell him, my wariness climbing fast.
RJ licks his lips for a second, then lets out a quick breath. “It’s not like that. If you remember, you weren’t all that forthcoming the first time we met.”
“So you hacked me?” I growl. The urge to slug him and put a fresh coat of paint on that black eye is almost irresistible. “That’s some dark shit, RJ.”