Stone Cold Read Online Winter Renshaw

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Romance, Taboo Tags Authors: Winter Renshaw Advertisement1

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Stone nailed it on his first and only time.

“Thank you,” I take the candy to the kitchen and he follows me in. “I’ve got the movie queued up, just going to make some popcorn …”

He places his beer in my fridge, and while it’s a little move that might mean nothing to anyone else, I take it as a sign that he feels comfortable around me.

I place a bag of Orville Redenbacher in the microwave and fix myself a vodka and pineapple juice.

Three minutes later, my apartment smells like the inside of a movie theater and we’re seated side by side on my sofa, each of us sharing half of the middle cushion after I teasingly insisted that it was the best seat in the house.

I click the play button on my remote and settle back, a bowl of popcorn sprinkled with peanut butter M&Ms in my lap.

An eerie song plays over the opening credits, haunting and melodic, and Bryce Dallas Howard’s character, Tallulah Givens, wanders the winding sidewalks of a university campus at night. She’s in a rush to get wherever she’s going, and every few steps she peers over her shoulder as if she’s worried she’s being followed.

From the corner of my eye, I steal a glimpse at Stone—ensuring he’s just as entranced as I am. He pops a couple of kernels into his mouth, his gaze focused on the disconcerting scene playing out on the screen.

The music crescendos before stopping altogether … just in time for someone off screen to snatch Tallulah from behind.

I gasp.

The screen cuts to blackness.

Tallulah wakes in a dark room, her footsteps echoing and her voice bouncing off the walls as she cries for help.

We see nothing but the whites of her eyes.

I place my hand over my heart, which is ricocheting in my chest at a hundred miles per hour. For a moment, I almost forget I’m sitting in my living room with Stone, our thighs touching and the faintness of his masculine cologne mingling with the buttery tang lingering in the air. For the next ninety minutes, I hardly blink. I’m nothing but startled gasps and a bundle of nervous energy. In the final scene, when the lights flick on and Tallulah’s captor is revealed to be the wife of her college professor, I almost toss the remains of my popcorn across the room.

“I knew it,” I say. “I didn’t want to believe it, but I had a hunch …”

Stone chuckles. He always used to tease me about how involved I got when it came to watching movies. He’d always say he could tell a movie was good if I was behaving as though I were actually in the movie instead of merely watching it.

A projector fills the walls of Tallulah’s room with images of her and her much older professor in compromising positions; him plowing her from behind as she’s bent over book-covered desk; another of his head between her thighs as she melts into his leather office chair. A third video shows her riding him, her milky breasts bouncing without a care in the world as her face showed a sultry concoction of pain and pleasure.

In the final scene, the locked door swings open and the wife lets Tallulah go. As she sprints through her college campus, she sees the videos playing everywhere—projected against the campanile, along the side of the library. Her body is on full display and she stands in horror in the middle of it all, thick tears streaming down her ruddy cheeks.

She ruined the wife’s life.

The wife ruined hers.

“That’s so messed up,” Stone says when the end credits roll. With his arm splayed along the back of the couch, he tips his chin toward me. “It’s funny how you’re all about your romance books, but you watch stuff like this.”

“Movies are different,” I say. “I can appreciate the element of surprise in a good film.”

Rising from my spot, I carry our popcorn bowls to the kitchen.

“You want another beer?” I ask.

“Sure,” he calls back. “I feel like I need a cigarette after that last scene …”

I laugh. “That was certainly unexpected.”

I’m not sure if it’s the plethora of sex scenes blasting across the screen a moment ago or if it’s the abundance of vodka coursing through my veins, but I’m suddenly feeling very … awake … down there.

Then again, it doesn’t take much to get me going these days. The last person I slept with was Jason and that feels like a lifetime ago at this point. Pretty sure it’s a barren wasteland these days, tumbleweeds and all.

I hand Stone his beer and take the seat beside him, pulling my legs up and angling my body toward him. For a fraction of a moment, I find myself studying his chiseled jawline before visually tracing the curve of his shoulders as they round out to his generous biceps. Dragging in a slow breath, I briefly imagine him ripping my clothes off, taking me right here, right now, on the sofa. Having his way with me like one of the dukes or viscounts or earls I’ve written of a hundred times before.


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