Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Nobody even notices what happened. The movie is still going, fists flying as superheroes engage in epic battle.
But inside, I’m a new woman.
I sit through the rest of the film, not even pretending to watch. All I can think about is Thomas—his hands, his mouth, the way he made me feel like something dangerous and alive. My asshole clenches, and a thrill runs down my spine. I’m forever changed … but I haven’t won the bet yet.
7
THE TEXT
Andie
There’s a theory in quantum mechanics that nothing is real until you look at it. That the very act of observing a particle makes it choose. That’s how my dorm room feels at midnight: all my sensations waiting for me to notice them, for my body to decide what’s real.
I lie on my bed, propped against a stack of pillows that smell like last week’s conditioner and three years of secrets, the soft pool of lamplight turning everything into honey. Outside, the windows glow blue with city light, the glass painting the skyline into a flat, shivering movie set. My roommate, Simone, is still out, probably with her secret boyfriend again. The room is so quiet I can hear the ticking pulse of the pipes. In this slow bubble, every memory from tonight unspools in my head with impossible clarity.
I can’t decide if I’m more turned on or existentially shocked by what happened. Maybe both. My skin still hums from earlier—the burn of Thomas’s hand around my waist, the mark of his teeth behind my ear, the aftershocks rolling up my spine. The ghosts of our bodies in that dark theater row play over and over, each time more vivid, more impossible, as if my mind is working in high-def and everyone else’s world is lagging behind.
It’s not lost on me that Thomas was with another woman tonight. He didn’t even try to hide it, and why would he? She was beautiful, older, probably smarter, and her outfit probably cost more than my entire fall wardrobe. A week ago, I would’ve felt angry, but now? Now I just feel fine. After all, I’m the one Thomas kissed. I’m the one he wanted to be with. She was just for show, a nuisance at best.
Besides, I was technically on a date too, with Jake Namors. Or, at least, I had the version of Jake that the world expects me to want. The jock, the Big Man on Campus, the cocky, handsome boyfriend for girls who shop at Target and call themselves “hot messes” in their Instagram bios. The thing is, Jake made me feel less than nothing, and Thomas made me feel like a planet being pulled out of orbit. That’s the difference.
I turn on my side, letting my fingers graze the edge of my hip, tracing the place where Thomas’s palm left a tender bruise. I want to relive it, to feel again the moment where he told me to ride him, impale myself on his cock, “show Daddy how you do it, my little anal whore,” in a voice so deep it made my entire body vibrate. I shiver, remembering how he filled me up—every inch, every pulse, every fucking sound—and how my own shame just made it hotter. The way he bit my neck, or whispered things I should never have wanted to hear, and how he made me want it anyway.
It still aches, in a way. A sweet, raw ache in my asshole, like I’ve been rearranged from the inside out. I’m sore, and I love it. I love the evidence of what we did, the way it lingers after the fact, proof that I didn’t just dream all of it.
I roll onto my back, one hand behind my head, the other on my stomach. My heart beats just under my ribs, fast and out of rhythm, every flutter a reminder that I’m awake, alive, and basically insane. My phone is on the nightstand, dark and silent, but I can’t stop staring at it. I want to text someone, to spill the entire story, but I also want to keep it for myself. To savor it like a stolen chocolate in a house full of dieters.
But the silence is too much. I flip the phone on, squint at the screen, thumb through the photo album just to see the picture again. Thomas, shirt undone, sweat at his collar, his cock hanging half-hard and proud against his thigh. The memory alone makes my legs tense up, thighs pressing together in anticipation of a pleasure I can’t repeat alone.
I swipe to the home screen, thinking about texting Mary Kate. Or maybe Kayleigh, who would probably die of curiosity and then immediately ask for every detail. But I can’t. Not tonight. Not when the world feels like it might tilt off its axis if I say the wrong thing.