Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“Because you’re so focused on Alphena?” I guess.
She nods. “Mm-hmm.”
“Thank you for coming tonight. I know it was . . .” I search for a word as I press along the ball of her foot.
“Ridiculous?” she suggests. “Over the top? Stupid?”
I chuckle. “Difficult.”
She closes her eyes, laying her head over to the back of the couch to enjoy the massage as I find a particularly sensitive spot. “They’re not as bad as you made them out to be. Well, other than your dad.”
She goes quiet as I switch to her right foot, only the occasional moan and groan coming out as I work my magic. I don’t know what witchcraft she’s working on me, but words pour forth.
“He’s not that bad. Protective, mostly. Of the business, not us kids,” I explain. “We’re expected to have our shit together by this point and be able to handle it when he pushes us. But when we were young, he was the guy at our practices and games, checking our report cards, and even doctoring our boo-boos. When I was a little older, he’d look out for me, especially when he thought I was going the wrong way or making bad choices. I put him and Mom through the wringer, but they were a dream team, a united front at all times, no matter what I got up to.”
“I’m having a hard time picturing you getting into any real trouble.” She smiles at whatever image she has created in her mind. “But I can see your being delivered home by the police in the middle of the night for something like partying or trespassing. Maybe shoplifting for the thrill of it.”
“I wasn’t that kind of bad. I hate to admit it, but I was a douchebag. Entitled, didn’t understand hard work . . . lived like the world was my oyster, and I treated it like an all you can eat buffet. Dad warned me about friends, girls, and shit I was doing.” I slip my hands a little higher, working her ankles and up to her calves even as I remind myself, “That’s why I was glad when I met Zack. He’s the real deal. Smart, loyal, creative. I could see what my dad was talking about then, the difference in good people and how they can change everything. Zack helped me grow up.”
“He’s an okay brother,” she agrees. “He was too old to look out for me at school when I was younger, but he helped me learn that I’m okay exactly how I am. Kids would bully me because I’m weird. The teacher would be up at the board, and I’d be staring off into space, totally in my own world, not hearing a thing she said. But when she’d call on me, I could glance at the board and give the right answer. Stuff like that made other kids mad. And that was before I got into art. Then, I always had paint on my cheeks, charcoal under my nails, and was working on my tablet at a rapid-fire pace most people couldn’t understand. But my brain could. If I could get my fingers to move faster to keep up with my mind, I would’ve. I could look at the blank page and see what it would be, what I could help it become.” Her fingers twitch reflexively as she talks, and I wonder if she’s subconsciously drawing.
“Zack told me that he was like that . . . only with me. He could see what I would be.”
My hands have a mind of their own too, kneading and tracing over Luna’s knees and under the hem of her dress. “Luna?”
She opens her eyes, looking at me clear-eyed and focused. Her legs shift open the slightest bit, giving me greater access to her thighs and ultimately, to her core. The scent of her arousal fills my nostrils, and I have to hold myself back from diving into the source of that sweetness.
“Tell me to stop. I’m not strong enough to do it myself.” I’ve already asked so much of her, and now I’m asking more. Not for me this time, but for her.
She smiles a tiny smile of rebellion. “Don’t stop.”
I should stop anyway, but I don’t. I tell myself I’ll go a little further . . . that’s it. Nothing too bad, I vow, measuring my own wickedness by the inches of Luna’s leg I can see. I shift so I can knead the flesh of her inner thighs, working her dress higher and higher, almost immediately breaking my own promise.
Goosebumps break out over her skin, and I tease a fingertip over them. “Cold?”
She bites her lip, shaking her head. “Hot. So hot.” Her hips writhe beneath my touch. “Please . . .”
“Please what? More? Stop? Harder? Tell me, Luna. Tell me what you want,” I command, my voice a rough whisper.