Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
He didn’t feel like… mine.
Maybe all I needed was to let myself open up to him and now that I have, he feels like someone I could share anything and everything with.
Not to mention, it definitely feels like he’s my boyfriend when he helps me with my assignments. Although we’ve had to make some adjustments there. That history assignment he did for me got me an A, which was a huge surprise for me because I had no idea Shepard was so into history, and also for my professor. Who’s never known me to be that hardworking. So when next time he offered to do my homework so I could focus on my upcoming play, I told him not to be so good about it. Which I don’t think he took very well.
Shepard
Why the fuck not?
Isadora
Because! You did so well the last time, my professor got suspicious. 🤨🤨🤨
Shepard
He got suspicious because you got an A?
Isadora
Yes! Because I never get As. I’m mostly a straight C student, okay, and you know that!
Shepard
Well you’re turning your life around now.
You’re going to be a straight A student if I have something to say about it.
Isadora
No, I’m not and I don’t want to be. All I want is to just fly under the radar and be able to do my play.
Because if my mom finds out that something is wrong, she could take me away. She already does her surprise drop-ins to check on me. I don’t want her getting suspicious when I’m this close to FINALLY performing on stage.
His answer came back a few seconds later and even though it was succinct, I could feel his struggle through the screen.
Shepard
Fine.
Isadora
Fine what?
Shepard
I’ll hold my genius and get you a C.
Isadora
You know, you don’t have to. You work all day and then you have games at night. I can handle it myself.
Shepard
Just send me the details.
So I did.
So I do.
Whenever I have assignments and things to do for class, I ask for his help. Because he’s not only my boyfriend but he’s the best boyfriend in the world. And while I’m very, very happy about that, I’m also very, very guilty.
Because a best boyfriend deserves the best girlfriend.
I do try to be that—that was always the plan to begin with—but I don’t think I’m succeeding all that much.
Especially when I think about him.
The Cold Thorn who feels like wildfire.
He forces me to think about him because every night, he asks me to send him my pictures. And it would be okay if they were all dirty photos—no, seriously, it would be okay if he asked me to expose myself to him on a nightly basis—because then I could put a label on it all and call him a pervy asshole and move on.
But he doesn’t.
He asks to see the most innocuous things.
My panties wet from my juices after dancing for his twin brother; yes, I dance for Shepard still. Sometimes he asks to see my wet fingers in addition to my wet panties. He doesn’t let me put my fingers inside me, though, no. That was his demand the first night he asked me to show him my fingers. He specifically told me not to put my fingers inside and when I asked him why, he said that it’s his first right to enter my body. And that made me so mad, his arrogance, his dominance, his fucking entitlement that I couldn’t help taunting him.
“But something’s already been inside me,” I told him.
“What?” he bit out.
“Tampons.”
“Tampons,” he parroted in a flat tone.
“Yup.” I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “So sorry, asshole, someone or something got to my pussy first.”
I heard his breaths for a few seconds.
“And you should thank your lucky stars that my dick can’t do the job of a tampon or you’d walk around with me in your bleeding pussy twenty-four seven for a whole week, on a monthly basis.”
I had to clench my thighs at that.
I also had to tell him, “That has to be, has to be, the craziest thing anyone has ever said to me. Or to anyone, for that matter. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So you know you’re insane,” I went on.
“I wasn’t, though. Not until you decided to barge into my life like a fucking highway crash.”
My mouth fell open. “Are you comparing me to a deadly road accident?”
“Actually, you’re more akin to a plane crash.”
I gasped. “What?”
“Because instead of barging, you flew into my life wearing a white dress and fake wings.”
“I hate you.”
“You don’t need to love me to let me fuck you.”
“I’m not fucking you, okay?” I told him firmly. “I’m so not fucking you.”
“Well, then it’s your boyfriend who’s going to pay the price for it, isn’t he?” he threatened. “Either way, someone’s getting fucked before the home game.”
I wanted to call him an asshole again.