Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
But as I hear the front door of my house open, probably Roman checking to see if I indeed decide to run away, I have to put my urge to confess all our sins to our best friend on the backburner.
And then the urge is completely forgotten, when I see it’s actually Roman and Thomas standing on our front porch. My brow furrows, wondering if I’ve taken so long he’s changed his mind and doesn’t want to bother waiting to talk with me.
I learn that thought is very, very wrong as the handsome football player suddenly lifts a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lights one, places them on the table next to the rocking chair, and then states loud and clear, right in front of my husband and Bram, “You have until I take three more drags off this cigarette, little rabbit. Ready?”
My eyes dart to Roman, whose face is blank except for a slight upturn of his lips, then to my best friend right in front of me, whose expression is full of confusion.
“Set,” Thomas warns, and my heartrate explodes in my chest. Is this really happening? Right now? Right here in front of not only my husband but Bram as well? No.
No! That wasn’t part of the—
“Go,” the man says calmly, but as if he barked it at me with ferocity, my fight, flight, or freeze chooses before I have a chance to argue.
I spin on my heels, ditch my flipflops… and run.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SAVANNAH
Mere seconds later, I cry out as I’m tackled to the ground several empty houses down from our home, somehow landing in a way that doesn’t hurt, surrounded by my captor’s big body. With my heart pounding, adrenaline rushing, and breath sawing in and out of my lungs, the revulsion that came earlier just from shaking Thomas’s hand never comes.
The grass cushions my back when I’m flipped over with swift movements, which happen so fast I can’t track them. The next thing I know, he has my hands pinned above my head, my eyes pinched tightly closed. I feel the cool air of the moonlit night on the pushed-up mounds of my breasts above my bra as he wastes no time ripping the top of my romper down the front.
My face flames, knowing my captor can clearly see that part of me from where he now sits atop me. I finally pry my eyes open to face what’s happening. I want this. I asked for this. And now, it’s time to live the experience fully. While his image is dark, the light coming from behind him, I have no doubt he can see me perfectly clear with the moon nearly as bright as the streetlight several yards up the empty road.
But when my mind comprehends what my eyes are actually seeing, who I’m actually looking up at, all the oxygen in the world ceases to exist. I can’t even form the words to ask what the fuck is going on.
I hadn’t expected him to be the one to see my nipples through the lacy cups.
No. Don’t think about that.
I wore it for my husband, him alone. No one else was supposed to see me like this either. Only him.
My knees clamp together while my captor straddles me, but I can do nothing to stop him from finishing off the top half of my romper until it reaches the seam at my waist with a couple more jerks of a hand so much bigger than I thought. They never looked so menacingly large in all these years—
No!
You don’t know this man.
Right, okay, yes. This is someone who has chased me down, who hid in the shadows, waiting for me to be home alone without my husband there to keep me safe. Just like the scenario we wrote out said.
Fight back, you idiot!
Fuck! Okay.
I try to move my hands first, testing to see how firmly they’re being held in place.
They don’t even budge.
Oh. Okay. So this is really happening then. If I struggle…?
I really try to yank my hands free this time, a thrill racing through me when I’m still unable to move even an inch. I mean, of course not. If this particular person decided he needed to hold someone pinned into place and not let them move, then they damn sure would not be moving.
What about if I try to talk my way out of this? What then? Will that grip loosen? Will I be able to easily get away just by asking sweetly. It’s all I normally have to do to get my way with—
Ah! No!
My nostrils flare as I take a cleansing breath, then gathering all those acting skills I perfected this year, I plead with the man in a tone I’d use with a real captor. “Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone what happened. Just let me go before my husband gets home.”