Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
You’re not alone in that house.
What did he mean?
Will something happen to me?
Will they try to lock me in a trunk and push me over the side of the bridge, just like what everyone believes happened to the other Pirate girl who came here?
Will they feed me drinks and see what I do? Maybe post it online?
Will they get me to do something that gets me arrested? Will I have to run and hide in Carnival Tower?
I open my eyes, watching the shadows of the leaves on the tree outside dance across the ceiling.
Will I resist all of it or happily ask for more of some of it?
Will the nights be long? Will my bed always be this warm?
Will I scream?
Will they scare me?
You will sweat in this house…
My T-shirt grazes the sensitive flesh on my chest, and the points of my breasts harden. I close my eyes again and arch my back off the bed, drawing in another lungful of air and feeling the muscles in my body burn with the stretch.
My head swims, heat builds down low, and I press my arms close to my body, pushing my breasts together and feeling them chafe against my T-shirt.
You’re not alone in that house.
I brush my fingertips across my stomach as I lay my back on the bed again and then glide my hand down under the sheet.
I am alone.
Sliding inside of my underwear, I just touch. Let my hand wander, trying to imagine if what I’m touching is something someone else might like to feel. Pressing my finger to the hard nub, I lift a knee and push up on the bed, thrusting my back against the mattress as my hair falls in my face. I gasp, feeling his body on mine.
I won’t run. I was ready to grow up a long time ago.
Again. I rub myself and thrust again.
But just then…my phone rings, slicing through my ear, and I pop my eyes open. Shit.
I yank my hand off myself and sit up, but as soon as I do, I freeze.
Hunter sits in the corner chair.
Hunter…
I can’t swallow. The vein in my neck throbs. He was sitting there…
He’s been sitting there this whole time.
I fist the sheet, making sure I’m covered. Oh, no.
He sits there, his expression unreadable but entirely on me. His mother’s green eyes gaze at me, unyielding, as he grips both arms of the cushioned chair.
I knew I didn’t leave the window open last night.
I don’t know how long I stare at him or how long my phone rings, but he eventually tips his chin at my nightstand, telling me to answer it.
It takes a second, but I look over, grabbing my phone off the charger they’d left for me. I notice a ton of notifications that must’ve come in overnight. Texts and missed calls that were delayed. I would’ve seen some of this before I went to sleep.
Mom shows on the screen. I clear my throat, answering, “Morning.”
“Why haven’t I been able to reach you?”
Her voice is too loud for this early. I wince, knowing Hunter can hear her too. “There was a lot of wind here last night, and I don’t think I have Wi-Fi.” I sit up completely and cross my legs, feeling his eyes on me. “I’m surprised you didn’t send out a search party.”
“Well, Mr. Kelly called,” she tells me. “He let us know where you were and assured us that you were in good hands with his family.”
I meet Hunter’s eyes. “Mr. Kelly…” I muse, detecting a shred of mischief in his stare. Or a dare. Whatever it is, it’s quickly gone.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” The October wind breezes in, filling the room with the scent of leaves and chimney smoke from somewhere in the neighborhood. “I’ll be at school during the day, so if my cell isn’t working, they have a landline.”
“Text when you wake up, and text when you go to sleep,” she instructs.
“I know the drill.”
“And send me a pic of your room.”
“I have clean sheets,” I point out.
“Send me a pic,” she orders again in slow, enunciated words.
I love my mom. I’m never left wondering if she cares.
But I’m a little shocked she wasn’t aware she was speaking to a teenager instead of a parent last night when Mr. Kelly called. It’s not easy, getting something by her.
“Is Dad mad?” I ask.
“Your dad loves you to hell and back.” She pauses, not really answering the question, but that’s okay. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I think doing your own thing for a couple of weeks is exactly what he needs.”
I snort. Not what I need. What he needs…
Yeah. Fair enough.
“Just no drinking, drugs, or unprotected sex,” she goes on, “but if you do those things, just know I’m here if you need me, so call. I won’t be mad.”