Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Is this a trick of some sort?
But why would he speak with me as a sick joke?
He’s implying he wants me, though, isn’t he?
Ah, I don’t know. This is so unlike anything I’ve ever done.
I try to imagine I’m reading this, not living it. If that was the case, I’d be certain Killian was interested in her, me.
But it isn’t easy to accept in reality.
We’re talking about what I’d do to you if I was there, Mia. And what it would mean. What would people say if this forty-one-year-old animal let out all his desire on a nineteen-year-old shy thing like you? We’re talking about how wrong this would look. That’s not how I see it, but that’s how most people would.
I clamp my legs together as I skim over the lines several times.
The things he’d do to me….
A warning signal fires in my mind, telling me he probably talks like this with countless women.
I’m nothing special.
But at the same time, I can’t think about that, not when my sex is aching urgently and my entire body is swelling with heat.
I try to think of a good response, something a sexy, confident woman would say.
I can’t tell him the truth – that his words are causing my body to pulse as though getting ready to give him a child, that his lust-filled declarations have got my mind leaping to the future.
Anyway, that’s just deep-within craziness, thoughts I can’t even let myself entertain.
I push my legs together even harder, my pussy throbbing like there’s a ball of heat inside of me, expanding with each reread of his words.
Why me? I reply, my hand shaking, making it seem like the phone’s trying to leap from my hand.
Maybe it is a form of self-preservation.
To stop me from falling too hard for the blazing bad boy.
But I already have fallen.
I saw your photo on the freelancing website. That’s enough to make me wild.
That photo? Really? It’s just… just a picture of me. Nothing special.
Nothing special? That’s where you’re wrong. I’m looking at it right now, and it’s got me thinking about kissing your innocent lips, making your cheeks blush an even deeper shade of red. It’s got me thinking about tearing open your shirt and massaging those big creamy breasts, sucking your nipples, making them tingle for me.
I sit up, panting, knowing he can’t do this with every one of his female clients. Or hoping he doesn’t, at least.
But what if this is a common thing for him?
What if I’m just one in a long line?
I frantically search for a way this could be a cruel trick, an angle that would explain this as something evil. But I can’t find it.
It’s not like I’m sending him photos.
Why waste his time teasing me like this?
I told myself I’d be good, he texts when I don’t respond. I wouldn’t send you messages like this, but the more I look at that photo, the more I want you. Badly. You’re making me crazy.
“That makes two of us,” I whisper into the quiet of my bedroom.
My sex is aching. My clit rubs against my panties, pulsating.
My hand – the one not holding the phone – twitches as if a message is coming from deep inside me, the same place the impossible fantasies originated.
You’re making me pretty crazy, too, I reply, hoping I’m not humiliating myself.
You’ve got no idea how relieved I am to hear that. Where are you, Mia?
In my bed.
When I click send, I mark it as the hottest message I’ve ever sent, definitely the most suggestive.
I could’ve lied and told him I was with somebody, or in public, something to make him stop.
But I don’t want him to.
Are you doing anything? he texts. Because thinking about you in bed, alone, has got me imagining I’m there. It’s got me thinking about how wet your young pussy is getting… it’s got me thinking about tearing off your pants and going down between your legs, ripping your panties off with my teeth, kissing your sex, then grinding my tongue up your lips, focusing on your clit.
My sex screams out for attention, an entirely new feeling swimming around my body.
I’m not sure I should text him the next bit.
It might put him off.
But if I’m not honest now, he may expect me to know way more than I do.
I force my thumb to press the keys, even as the trembling in my hand swims through my entire body, taking hold of me like a demon of pure lust.
I’ve never touched myself before, I send. And… how do I know this is you? What if you’re somebody else?
A minute passes. Two.
I’ve put him off with my admission.
He doesn’t want some immature….
But then he sends a photo.
It’s him, his features tight, holding up a piece of paper with today’s date on it. He’s written my name next to it in his manly script.