I Wish I Would’ve Chosen You Read Online Whitney G

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic, Forbidden, Insta-Love, Taboo Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)

This story will hurt you a lot less if you scroll by and go in BLIND, trust me…
But if you *have* to know what you're getting into, you can read the synopsis below.

I should've known better.
I should've left her alone…

She told me she was twenty-one.
I found out that was a lie.

There was over a decade between us, and sure, she was mature for her age, but I kept my distance every chance I could.

At least, I tried to.

There aren’t too many places to hide on a boarding school's campus, and there are far more places to get caught…

I never intended for this to happen.
I was her English professor, and she was only supposed to be my student.

See? That’s why you shouldn’t have read this blurb and went in blind. Alas, this is an emotional ride of a romance with toxic undertones that will drive you to some unexpected places. The author just felt like writing this story one day, so don't say you weren't warned about what you were getting into.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



The last time I jumped off this bridge, a Good Samaritan dove into the ocean and rescued me. Without asking for permission, he hauled my body onto a nearby boat and pumped my chest until I came back to life.

“Oh my god, she almost died!” “She’s so lucky you were here!” “I bet she’s thankful!” The tourists showered him with undeserved praise.

It’s a good thing I was too cold and numb to respond, because I desperately wanted to say, “Congratulations, sir. You just ruined my life.”

There’s not a soul out here with me this evening, though, so I’m not worried about being saved. The secrets I’m hiding will drown with me, and I hope the waters will anchor us someplace safe.

Because that’s what I always promised…

I never told a soul what happened between me and the man I should’ve never fallen in love with; I assured him that the moments we shared were ours, and ours alone. That if the world ever came knocking with questions, I’d die before answering.

Even now, as tempted as I am to relive our memories one last time, I have to resist thinking about all the Saturdays we slipped away so he could spread my legs and taste me someplace private. The numerous times he gripped my hips while I rode him at the back of an empty theater. And all the early mornings he kissed me so damn deeply that every kiss after his was far too shallow to compare.

The waves below suddenly ripple, promising to catch me when I fall. As the wind runs its fingers through my curls, I inhale the salty air and pry my fingers from the railing.

Letting go on the count of three.

One, two…


“Fake it ’til you make it.”

As long as you’re not committing fraud or hurting anyone, no one ever has to know that you’re a liar…



Boston, Massachusetts

"Islide my cock against her hymen, but it's tough like a diamond." Tonight's 'master poet' leans back onstage and shuts his eyes.

"She feels warm, wet, and tight. The sensations are hard to fight." He pauses. "As my heart aches, the condom breaks…"

You've got to be kidding me…

I signal for the waitress, officially convinced that this place will let anyone with a pulse perform.

"Yes, Miss?" She takes out her notepad.

"Can I get some cranberry juice, please?"

"With vodka?"

"No, just plain juice."

"When the rubber stretched, my cock compressed…" The poet's words are getting worse.

"Vodka it is." I hand her my driver's license.

"Good choice." She smiles and tucks it into her apron. "Be right back."

I pull out my phone and stare at the email that landed me here. Somehow, I misread the event schedule and mixed up the dates for tonight and the "Confessions of a Broken Heart" reading.

I should've known something was wrong when the tables featured beer coupons and condoms instead of journals and pens. That, and my "college friends" are nowhere to be found.

I pull out my phone to text them about how horrible the poet is, but a set of messages from my dorm manager brings my night to a sudden halt.

Dorm Manager

Hey. I just walked by your room, and you weren't there.

Dorm Manager

It's way past curfew. Where are you?



Are you sure I wasn't in there?

Dorm Manager

I'm standing in your room right now. I've also called you three times...

Call me back. Now.

I swallow and look around. This place is an hour and a half Amtrak train ride from my academy, and it's way too loud.

Standing up from my chair, I squeeze through the tables and run to the restroom.

As I take my place in line, her name crosses my screen via phone call, and I can see my life falling apart as I send her straight to voicemail.

I count the number of women ahead of me, but then I notice there's no line on the men's side. Panicking, I rush to that door and slip inside.

It's empty and strikingly bare, like it hasn't seen a visitor all day.

Walking past the urinals and toward the sink, I return her call.

"Finally," she says. "Where are you really?"

"I'm in the private studio room at the library," I say. "Sorry, Heather”

"Again?" She sighs. "I know that place is cool, but I literally sat you down about curfew last weekend."

"It's the only time I get the entire place to myself."

"I can understand that." There's a smile in her voice. "I'll let this slide one last time, but you need to be back by midnight from here on out on weekends, okay?"


"Another thing," she says. "I don't think you should—Wait. What's that sound?"

The walls are pulsating with a heavy bass, meaning the master poet has added music to his performance, or a DJ has finally run him offstage.

"I don't hear anything," I say, turning on the sink and stooping down. "I mean, unless you're talking about my rain and music playlist. The volume on my laptop has been acting pretty crazy lately."