Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 164828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
I bend and slowly lick her lower stomach, and her eyes flutter closed.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper. “I won’t.”
* * *
I knock on the door. I’m on a fact-finding mission.
Mercer Research.
Stephanie opens it up, and her eyes widen. “Hey, you.”
Urgency takes over.
I can’t hold it together for one minute longer. I step forward and take her into my arms, and I kiss her. My tongue sweeps through her open mouth, and she smiles against my lips.
“Now, that’s a greeting.”
I kick the door closed behind us.
I don’t want to talk.
I don’t want to feel.
I just want to find out what’s possible.
For Eliza.
We stumble forward with her hands in my hair. The kiss is wild and unbridled.
My hands are on her ass, and my hard cock is up against her stomach.
I fall onto the couch and pull her over me. She straddles my body, and I grind her over my cock as our tongues thrash between us.
She falls to the floor between my knees, and I smile darkly as I unzip my pants. I grab my cock at the base and hold it up for her.
“Suck me.”
11
Nathan
I stand under the strong stream of water in my shower, and I let the hot water pour over my head. I stare at the floor beneath me.
I feel like shit.
I drag my hand down over my face in disgust. What the hell happened last night?
One minute, I was driving around, thinking, and the next moment, I’m having a brain snap in a strip club. I get a vision of the brunette lying back on my table—the blow lined up ready for me.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Jesus.
I haven’t done shit like that in years. I thought it was well behind me.
There was a time in my life, when I first moved here, that I was broken-hearted over Robert, and nightlife like that was the only thing that kept me sane.
I lived a double life.
I would hang with Eliza through the day and take her out for dinner at night. We would care about each other and laugh. It was wholesome and pure, and then, after I dropped her home and said goodbye, I would go to my other life—the seedy one with clubs, sex, and drugs. The one where I used a fake name, didn’t care about anyone, and did whatever the fuck I wanted to do.
I tip my head back and let the water hit my face, full force, hoping it will wash this feeling of shame away.
I remember standing at the front door and Stephanie opening it. I get a vision of taking her in my arms and kissing her. I close my eyes in disgust.
Fuck. What was I thinking?
Eliza.
What I should have done was go home to her. But she doesn’t feel that way about me.
I put my head in my hands. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of feeling so torn.
My heart is still racing. I can feel it in my chest. I put my fingers on my neck and take my pulse. 200 over 120.
Fuck.
Hurry up and wear off. I want to go to sleep and forget last night ever happened.
I’ve hit a new low.
Eliza
My fingers hover over Nathan’s name on my phone. Should I call him?
It’s just so weird that I haven’t heard from him at all today. I haven’t seen or heard from him since Sunday night, and it’s now Tuesday night. This is unheard of.
Stop worrying, he’s fine.
He’s probably with her.
He texts me three times a day, normally. Something’s changed. Maybe I broke something between us at a time when he needed me. I made it all about myself.
Stuff it, I’m calling him. I dial his number, and it rings.
“Hello, you’ve reached Nathan Mercer. Leave a message.”
“Hi Nathe, just checking in.” I pause as I try to think of the right thing to say. “Are you coming over tonight?” I begin to pace. “I mean, it’s okay if you have something going on, but… call me. I’m missing you.”
I hang up and throw my phone onto the couch.
Damn it, why didn’t he answer? Now I have to wait, and I’m not good at waiting.
* * *
It’s Wednesday lunchtime, and I’m sitting in the café, scrolling though Instagram until I get to my messages from Nathan. He was last active on Sunday.
He hasn’t been on Instagram since Sunday. What’s going on?
I’m beginning to get worried, so I call him. It goes straight to voicemail.
“Nathan, call me,” I demand. “I’m getting worried.”
By 5:00 p.m. on Wednesday, I can’t stand it anymore. I dial Nathan’s office.
“Hello, Dr. Mercer’s office,” Maria answers.
“Hi, Maria.” I smile.
“Hello, Eliza.”
“Is Nathan free?” I ask.
“Umm.” She pauses. “I thought you would know. He’s taken the week off.”
I frown. What? “Oh… I’m away,” I lie. “I haven’t had any service to speak to him.”
“Yes, I sent him home on Monday. He’s so stressed at the moment. I cancelled his conference.”