Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
I nod once more, and I think Trishelle might actually have some sort of fit right here in our living room. I give in and tell her what she really wants to know. “We’ve had sex.”
Just last night, and it was perhaps the most amazing experience of my life. I wish I had the nerve to tell her about the earth-shaking orgasms, about how it felt to have something as big as Tyson’s cock inside me, about how we went all night long, about how when we’re together, I let him have me in every way, and love it.
“Oh my god. You’re not a virgin anymore? You beat me!” Trishelle says with a wail that’s half excitement, half genuine dismay. “Was it painful? I’ve heard it can really hurt. Or was he not that big?”
“He’s…quite big,” I admit. “But it didn’t hurt, exactly. I think the pain depends on who you’re with. He took his time, made sure I was ready, went slow…” I take a deep breath. “It was amazing.”
“So when do I finally get to meet this mystery man?” she asks.
I stutter. “I’m…we’re kind of keeping things chill…like…”
Her eyes narrow and then widen. “You’re having an affair, you crazy girl!”
“No, it’s not like that.”
“Sure it’s not,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I guess we’re both doing things we never thought we’d do.”
I swallow and feel my eyes tearing a little as I turn to go.
“I guess we are doing things we never thought we’d do,” I mutter.
Like lying to our best friends.
Chapter 15
Tyson picks me up in a car— one of those mid-sized SUV things that still feels entirely too small to contain someone of his size. He smiles when he sees me out by the front gate of my apartment complex, like doing something so normal amuses and pleases him. I can’t tell if I’ve gotten better at reading his stone-faced gazes, or if he’s merely started expressing more emotion in front of me.
“Hi,” he says when I get in. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I say, folding my hands in my lap. We’ve never been in such a small space before, so isolated, and it makes me suddenly shy. Tyson reaches over and takes my hand, though, and I feel my hesitation melting away. What’s there to by why about, anyway? He’s seen every part of me, put his hands and mouth and body against mine in a variety of ways. Moreover, he’s gotten me to walk away from what used to be my most defining, but frustrating characteristic— my ultra responsibility. My good girl status. My fear of letting go.
“Like the car?” he asks after a moment.
“Um…yes?” I answer, looking around. It’s nothing fancy, but it is immaculately clean. It’s only as I give the vehicle this once over that I see the UPC tag in the back window, and notice the “No Smoking” sticker on the dash. “It’s a rental?” I ask.
He nods. “I didn’t want the press to see my car and follow us. It’s not a huge hearing and my father won’t be there, so it might not attract much attention…but I wanted to be safe, especially since you’re with me.”
It’s such a tender expression that it floors me, and I put my other hand over Tyson’s, sandwiching his enormous palm between mine. We talk as we make the two- hour trek, and the conversation rarely turns to sex. As much as I enjoy all things carnal with Tyson, it’s nice to have such a simple, basic conversation— like a palette cleanser after last night’s marathon session. I also get the impression that he needs this sort of conversation to quell his nerves. Powerful and confident as he may be, I can feel tension rising from him, tension that thickens with each mile. By the time we’ve pulled up to the massive courthouse framed by soaring buildings, it fills my lungs like water vapor.
“I don’t see any photographers,” I say helpfully.
“You never do, till they’re out taking pictures,” he says, gazing at the courthouse as we wait for a light to turn. “They’ll pop out of nowhere if we take the front steps. The judge closed the session to the press, though, so if we can get in and out without being seen then we’ll be fine.”
“Is there another entrance?” I ask.
He nods. “Yep. I only found it a few months ago. Before that my brothers and I all took the front steps together. Show of solidarity, you know. Plus, when there were three of us, the camera flashes didn’t feel quite so blinding.”
I look away— I don’t know how to respond. I knew Tyson felt isolated when his brothers stopped supporting their father, but now I can tell it’s more than that— he feels abandoned. I picture him and the other two Slate brothers walking side by side up the stairs, each as broad-shouldered and strong-chinned as the next. They probably looked like their own miniature army, charging on an enemy stronghold.