Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“Oh my God, it’s worse than I thought,” I say to my reflection in the mirror. I grab my hairbrush, working at the ends and up toward the root. Giving in to the temptation to rip the brush through my hair to get this over with quickly would be nice. The only thing stopping me is the potential to look like a poodle in a dog show. I get to work, realizing it’s going to be a slick-back style with a low pony to the side. I won’t need a whole lot of product since my hair is doing its own thing, helping me out in the final hour. I open the vanity drawer to pull out an oil to work through the ends of my hair as well as a nice hair tie, one that isn’t big and bulky and sleeker, getting to work on that while trying to think about my next move. Mascara, blush, and lip gloss. Forget concealer, highlighter, or anything else. There will be no full face of makeup tonight. Which is a shame. Given the time and opportunity, I wouldn’t have minded getting all dolled up. Maybe next time.
Now that my hair is tamed, I go about curling my eyelashes, pumping the curler while dabbing the pink cream-colored blush on one cheek, then the other, switching eyes with the curler and grabbing my brush to blend it in.
“Babe.” Trace appears behind me, hands going to my hips, sliding up one smooth inch at a time. When I was ripping the dress out of my closet, I also threw off my clothes, leaving me in nothing but a pair of lace panties.
“Trace.” There. I drop the curler, somehow managing to maintain my composure as I grab the tube of mascara.
“How much longer do you need?” I bend over ever so slightly, unscrewing the top of my mascara then swirling the wand around in the tube before pulling it out to get to work.
“Five minutes tops if you leave me alone. Longer if you keep moving your hands up my body. Then I’ll be the one to tell our parents it was all your fault.” My eyes focus on where his fingers stopped, tracing the dandelion along the underside of my breast. Anytime I’m bare, Trace either has his fingers on it or his mouth. He’s deeply infatuated with my tattoo, and it does absolutely nothing to put out the fire he creates.
“Fuck, when we get back, I want you just like this, Josie, naked, bent over the vanity, the mirror in front of us, your body writhing in abandon. I want to watch as my cock tunnels in and out of your wet, tight heat.” He keeps one hand on my breast, right where the tattoo is. His other slides down, and I watch as he hits my abdomen, the tips of his fingers skating beneath the lace of my panties, one thick finger going lower, hitting my clit, taking it a step farther and sinking inside my heat for the barest of moments, enough to tease me.
“Damn it, Trace, do you know how hard it’s going to be to sit through the night after this?” I moan, watching as he takes his hands away from my body before he steps back, and the finger he just had inside me, well, Trace licks my essence off, eyes closing, a deep guttural groan coming from his throat as he does.
“It’ll be just as hard for me. Get ready. We’re leaving in five minutes,” he throws out, smacking my ass like he didn’t interrupt me potentially being ready on time. The devious man adjusts his cock, making me stutter in my step to swipe my mascara onto my lashes. Tonight is going to be long and hard, much like the length he’s packing beneath his jeans.
30
JOSIE
“I told you tonight wouldn’t be too bad.” I roll my eyes. Sure, if he means I didn’t stuff myself with all the bread rolls at the table while waiting for our dinner. It didn’t occur to me to actually eat lunch, so busy with work, then puttering in the yard while my stomach cried in hunger pains went unnoticed. It’s a horrible habit, one I have a hard time kicking when I’m knee deep in deadlines, except that isn’t the case recently. Excitement would be the culprit. Life is getting me right in the feels—happiness, warmth, exhilaration. I’d say it’s too perfect, except for the part at dinner where Wes was brought up after my parents said their goodbyes, and Trace’s parents asked if he’d heard from him yet.
“Sure, we’ll go with that.” When we got home, Trace shooed me into the shower, telling me to go do what needed to be done. I was kind of bummed he wasn’t joining me, until he mentioned he had a few things for work he wanted to finish up, so off to the shower I went, scrubbing my hair twice to get all of the product out, exfoliated, shaved, and felt ten times better by the time I was finished, then went to work on the rest of my skin and hair routine.