Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I go back to the drawing board of distraction, flipping through my journal of notes about her. Maybe there’s some basic fact I am missing, some pain point I could use to get her away from the wolf story.
Calista’s parents were killed when she was thirteen. They were very rich people who left behind enough money to ensure that their only daughter would never have to work. A tragedy followed by a windfall that did absolutely nothing to help the girl who was left behind. Reports indicate she was never the same after the loss of her parents as she had been before. There was a stay at a private residential center in her early teen years. A mental health facility by another name, designed to save the pride and image of the rich people who go there.
She was released after three years, her estate sent her to a Swiss boarding school, then she came back into the Ivy League. By the time she graduated at twenty-one, her trust had matured and she suddenly had more money to hand than most people have in a lifetime.
She gave a lot of it away, but even that wasn’t easy. The competition for her aid was intense, and as a young woman, many have tried to take advantage of her. She’s twenty-three now and basically a hermit.
She’s lost. She’s lonely. And she’s mine.
No, I tell myself. She’s not yours. This is a job.
But all the internal lecturing in the world won’t change how I feel. I knotted inside her. I filled her hot, tight pussy up and I watched it drip out of her swollen pink lips afterward. Fuck. The memory of that sight will not leave my mind for a very long time.
She was beautiful, responsive, and even submissive. I think that shocked her more than anything. She didn’t understand why her body was responding as intensely as it was, or why she came so damn hard she nearly passed out.
I keep watching her after her breeding. It’s been just over twenty-four hours and I want to get close to her again, but I know I am supposed to be keeping my distance. I’m surprised I didn’t blow my cover in that first encounter.
It’s six p.m. and she’s home, making herself a dirty martini.
She drinks more than she really should, always serving herself from the bar that used to belong to her father.
I bring up his picture from the file on my phone. He was a handsome man, and an intelligent one. He seems to have loved his family very deeply, and to have provided for them. If he had remained in her life, I am sure she would be a happy, stable young lady now.
Her mother was beautiful and deeply involved in charities of all kinds, including ones that did not at all relate to popular causes. She appears to have been deeply kind and have had strong moral fiber. She was also an absolute tycoon, taking the Hart fortune from strength to strength. If Calista could redirect her attention to making money the way her mother did, she’d soon forget about the wolves.
It’s possible that telling her what she is doing is wrong would be effective. I thought if she knew the harm it could cause, she might stop. But I already penned her a letter to that effect and she did not respond to that. You have to trust someone to explain a vulnerability to them, and as much as I am entranced by her, I do not trust her.
“Fuck,” she curses to herself. “What the fuck did I do. What the fuck did he do?”
She sits down, then squeaks and gets up again almost immediately. She has a sore ass, clearly. I smirk to myself, watching her try to come to terms with what happened. She’s not used to being told no. Ever since her parents died, the combination of people feeling sorry for her, along with her having more money than God has made her pretty damn spoiled. She doesn’t know it, but she is.
She opens her phone. A screen pops up on my laptop. Because hers is hacked. I can see everything she says and does on her phone. She’s a naughty girl.
“Werewolves who fuck women,” she types into the search engine.
What comes back is a set of explicit results that I expect her to swipe past, but to my surprise, she clicks on one.
I watch the woman I fucked to multiple rough orgasms perch on the edge of a couch that is worth more than most people’s cars and start pleasuring her pussy to a story written by someone online.
Goddamn.
I get to read along with her as she scrolls through it, missing all the exposition and character development and getting right to the filth.
I feel jealous of the story. I want to be what she touches herself to. I want to be the one who touches her. I want my face buried between her thighs, my tongue deep inside her tender pussy. I want to hear her screaming for me, the sound coming raw and desperate from her sweet throat.