Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I mean, I get that he hasn’t forgiven Wilde for drug dealing, or whatever it was that happened in South Carolina, and I also think Wilde can be a Class A asshole, but he is, actually, doing everything his dad asked of him. Taking me to school. Teaching me to drive. Working out with the WRH football team.
The fake diamond chip I wear on one nostril is annoying me. Lately, the piercing feels stuck. Too tight. I constantly have to twirl it to try to get it to loosen up.
After I brush my teeth, I decide to take it out. My mom had asked me to six weeks ago when Logan sniffed out the fact that she was four months pregnant and started coming around our house. Back when she pressured me to change my look and basically clean up to make us Logan-worthy.
I’d refused at the time. It was enough to change my hairstyle and stop with the heavy eyeliner. The nose ring felt like part of my emo identity.
But now it itches and pinches and is driving me crazy. So I’m doing it for me, not for Logan. Or my mom.
I have a hard time taking it out like the flesh doesn’t want to release the little stud. It takes me a solid five minutes. I take it with me to the bedroom where I find…oh fates.
Wilde is stretched out on my bed, legs crossed, hands behind his head.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demand, keeping my voice low because I don’t want the parents to hear.
Wilde’s grin is slow and dangerous. Definitely feral. “What does it look like, Runt?”
“It looks like you’re in the wrong room. This is my room now, remember?”
How’s that for taking up space, dickwad?
“My room, Runt. I’m tired of sleeping on the couch. And considering what I know about your extracurricular activities, I own you now.” He pulls one of the pillows out from behind his head. “You’re sleeping on the floor tonight, Rayne-bow. And if you say anything, I will tell everyone–and I do mean everyone–how you’ve been making money.”
My chest sinks back between my shoulders, caving with my determination to fight.
I would never, ever survive that secret getting leaked.
I grind my teeth and narrow my eyes. “I hate you, Wilde Woodward.”
“Hate all you want, babygirl. I still own you.”
Um…babygirl? I don’t think so.
Definitely not his babygirl.
I harumph and stomp to the dresser, where I pull out a pair of PJs. I take them back to the bathroom to change.
When I return, the light’s off. I shut the door and stand there for a minute. I’m not just waiting for my eyes to adjust. I’m pissed. Waiting for some better idea than sleeping on the hard floor to surface.
But it doesn’t.
Wilde’s right. He owns me now. All he ever has to do is dangle this shit over my head, and I will do anything he says.
The only thing that will end it is…
Ah. My best idea yet. I need to figure out how to get Wilde back to North Carolina.
I stalk over to the general area where he dropped the pillow and feel around in the dark until I find it. There’s no blanket. No padding.
I reach up to the bed and snatch the comforter off of Wilde. He catches it, and we tug-a-war for a minute until I hear it rip and release my hold. Obviously, I will never win a strength or speed contest with this guy, so I try for sugar.
“Please, Wilde? The floor is hard, and I’m not a shifter.”
It works. He releases the blanket. I fold it into vertical thirds and lie on top of it. Good thing I’m running hot these days since I have no top blanket. But it also means I will be hot in these pajama shorts. Because I can’t very well sleep in my underwear like I would if there wasn’t a very large male wolf in my room.
I lie curled on my side facing the bed and try to calm my racing pulse. Cool the feverish flush of heat that rushed through me the moment I came into the bedroom. I squeeze my thighs together, willing the slow, steady pulse between my legs to stop.
I don’t like Wilde’s scent. Why would I?
It’s just having a male my age in the same room is doing funny things to my mind.
No…not my mind. Definitely, my body that’s having the reaction. Waves of heat roll through me. The flesh between my legs squeezes.
For some reason, I start thinking about Wilde’s dick.
I swear to fate, I’ve never thought about dick before in my life. Not Wilde’s, not any guy’s. Like I said, I’ve been pretty asexual.
But suddenly, I’m picturing myself on my knees, servicing him.
Which is crazy-town. I would never. Why would I even imagine that? Why would I be thinking about what it would be like to straddle his lap and sink down onto that flagpole?