Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Those look pretty good, Jack. I like mine medium-rare.” Eloise presses her hands to the chair and grunts while standing. “Let’s eat inside. The bugs are out of control tonight.”
We follow her into the house. She pulls a potato dish from the oven while Jack sets the plate of steaks on the table. I retrieve my vibrating phone from my pocket.
Archer: Iris! I’m a little drunk and a lot horny. I need to see you
I bump into Jack, knocking my phone out of my hand. “Oh! Sorry. I’ve got it,” I say, but not before he plucks it off the ground.
I try to take it from him, but his grip tightens for several seconds, just long enough to read the message from Archer. Jack loosens his grip, allowing me to slide it out of his hand while he eyes me.
I feel like an errant child, like he caught me, and now I’m in trouble. I also feel ashamed, even though I’m not meeting Archer tonight.
“I’m going to wash my hands. Be right back.” I can’t look at Jack as I slide my phone into my pocket and disappear up the stairs.
Me: I don’t do drunk. Sorry
I hide my phone in a drawer and slip into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. When I open my eyes, Jack’s reflection is in the mirror, and he’s closing the door behind him.
After patting my face dry with the towel, I turn toward him. “He’s drunk. I told him—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you told him.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out an envelope—my envelope with the money from Archer.
“Where did you get that?” I reach for it, but he holds it just out of reach. “Did you go through my purse?”
“I picked it up off the floor at the bottom of the stairs. Did you stop at the ATM? This is a lot of grocery money. Or did your massage therapist pay you for the service instead of vice versa? Is your massage therapist the same one who just texted you? What does a grand get these days? And who the fuck is Iris?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but if you want to call me a prostitute, just say it. Stop beating around the bush.”
“Have you fucked him?” Jack asks through clenched teeth.
My heart thrashes out of control in my chest. I’m in over my head, but I refuse to admit it. Archer can’t get enough of me, and the man I want touching me keeps me at arm’s length. I have blurred intentions and knotted emotions. I didn’t get a massage today, nor did I spread my legs for a grand. But I’d let Jack keep every dime if he’d just … touch me.
Kiss me.
Acknowledge that I’m more than a thorn in his side.
He tosses the envelope onto the vanity. “I don’t know how you do it. It’s beneath you, and it won’t change a damn thing.” He turns to open the door.
“I asked for the money after the fact,” I say.
Jack pauses.
“It wasn’t sex. It was …” This hurts. The shame. The loss. The confusion. “It wasn’t sex,” I whisper. “But he touched me, and I touched him. And I closed my eyes, and I imagined it was you. And it didn’t make it better, but it made it bearable. And I hate that I can’t let it go. And I’ll hate myself if I do let it go … let her get away with this.”
“Don’t fucking think of me when he’s touching you.” Jack turns, and his eyes burn with anger.
I bite my quivering lips together and nod, willing myself not to blink because tears will run down my cheeks.
His face wrinkles while he shakes his head. “Just don’t … let him touch you.”
As I draw in a shaky breath, Jack steals it, kissing me hard. My palms frame his face, and I release a soft moan. He reciprocates, causing me to come undone with need. This need works the button and zipper to his jeans while he lifts me onto the vanity, wedging his pelvis between my spread legs. His hands shove my midi skirt up my thighs before shredding my favorite panties.
I feel safe in a stranger’s arms.
I feel understood by someone I don’t understand.
How is this possible?
My hand slips into his briefs, making long strokes up and down the length of his cock as his tongue teases mine before our mouths fuse in a deep kiss again. He works his jeans and briefs just past his rock-hard ass and grips my ankles, planting my feet on the edge of the vanity (one flip-flop on, one off), forcing my knees to draw back and my legs to spread as wide as possible.
“Oh … god …” I arch my back when he drives into me, pausing long enough to shove my crop top and bra away from my breasts so he can devour them while fucking me senseless—my head against the mirror, one hand tangled in his hair and the other pressed flat to the wall beside us.