Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 167819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
I was young when I realized I wasn’t like other women. When I was eighteen, Sin cornered me at a party and told me I was pretty. I knew he was lying. A way to fuck with me. Hell, a friend probably dared him or something. But then he told me that my eyes were so beautiful that he wanted to cut them out and place them in a jar in his room so he could look at them every day.
It made me wet. It also made me realize that I’m more fucked up than any patient my mother had ever seen. What would have made any woman cower made me lean into him. I convinced myself it was the two lines of cocaine I had just snorted too, but that was a lie. Deep down, I knew I’d never have a healthy relationship with a man because I’d never be happy with what society would call normal.
I want toxic. I want madness. I want someone who makes me question my sanity. And I know I won’t be happy until the masked man decides to make me his forever. I’m perfectly fine spending the rest of my life not knowing who he is as long as he continues to come see me.
CHAPTER TEN
ELLINGTON
IT’S ALMOST TWO in the afternoon when I walk into my psychology of human sexuality class. This is my last class of the day, thankfully. I have big plans to walk in my mother’s footsteps regarding my career choice. I have my own reasons, but she doesn’t have to know that.
I’m only a junior at Barrington University this year. Sex has always made me curious. And I think the fact that I learned so much at such a young age played a big role in that. I now understand why she didn’t want me to hear what was said inside the walls of her office. Put the fact that it was unethical to the side. Just the words of her clients gave me nightmares at times.
I was thirteen when I started getting curious. I’d hear words being used and google their meaning or look up images. If I’m being honest, I’d say I need therapy now. Pretty sure I can diagnose myself as a sex addict. But it’s an amazing thing to take your body to the next level. Let alone someone else doing it to you. Sex is like anything else—an act that can be used, bought, or sold. It’s addictive. It’s that high you’re constantly chasing. If you ask me, it’s the most dangerous drug out there. It makes you irrational, desperate, and a little psycho.
People look down on women who have multiple partners, but it’s acceptable to have a tobacco addiction that can kill you. In a world of everything costing a fortune, an orgasm can cost you fucking nothing. Except maybe a little bit of dignity, but I don’t care about that.
Sitting down in my seat in the front row, I open my backpack to pull out my notebook, but it’s not there. “What the …?” I unzip the front pocket and look inside. My heart starts pounding as I think about where I had it last. It was in this class yesterday. I didn’t work on it last night at home because it was finished.
“Elli, you’re up,” Mr. Hamilton states, getting my attention.
“Shit,” I hiss to myself.
“Something wrong?” he asks.
My eyes lift to his, and he arches a brow. His hands are on the hips of his Armani slacks. Pretty sure he teaches this class for shits and giggles since he lives off his daddy’s money. He’s got some Fortune 500 company based out of New York. He’s a Lord. Barrington University is for the one-percenters. You can’t escape them here.
His dark brown eyes stare at me expectantly.
“I, uh … no.” I rip my bag open again and drop my eyes to look inside it once more as if it will appear like magic. It’s not that I don’t remember it by heart. It’s just that if I don’t have it on me, then where the fuck is it? “It’s just—”
The door swings open, and all the air rushes out of my lungs when I see three guys enter the room. Three men who do not have this class. My eyes shoot to the professor, and his brows crease. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” Mr. Hamilton asks. He allows outside spectators, but these three would never willingly want to be in here.
“We’re going to join your class for the day,” Sin answers.
He looks even better than he did this morning in the kitchen, if that’s possible. He’s got on a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans and tennis shoes. That’s it. But I can’t help but notice the way his shirt pulls against his broad shoulders, and his abs are visible through the thin fabric. The jeans fit snugly on his thighs, and I look lower to see if I get the same visual as I did this morning in the sweatpants. I do.