Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
And put a baby inside her.
I just hope I don’t disappoint you, she replies a minute or so later. I guess that’s my biggest fear. I know I’m lucky getting this gig. I’ll try my best not to let you down.
I know you won’t let me down.
I read her message again, then again, my thoughts taking it to different places. Instead of her talking about disappointing me at work, I imagine she’s talking about the bedroom.
Which would be impossible.
She could lie there naked, doing nothing else, just lie there with her heaving beautiful breasts, her belly that’s going to hold my children one day, her wide hips made for childbearing, her thick grab-me-now thighs. And most of all, her sweet twenty-year-old pussy, soaked and ready for me, ready now.
Anyway, I’ll let you go, she writes. It’s late.
Don’t worry. I’m not tired x
My thumb hovers over the send button, but I hold myself back. There’s something borderline about this, as though I’m implying she should stay up late talking with me.
That’s what I want. My woman, all night.
But then we’d be going beyond the bounds of professionalism. We’d be crossing a line.
“What were you doing all night?” I imagine Max saying.
He wouldn’t be angry, not at first. He’s too understanding for that. He’d be confused, believing there’s a genuine reason for me texting his daughter so late.
I delete the message, then type this instead. Yeah, I’m heading to bed now. All the best, Danielle X
And you. I’ll send you over my notes ASAP, hopefully, tomorrow X
Excellent.
I return to the bed, sitting down, my thumbs twitching as though trying to get me to write something else. There’s so much I could say, so much heat I could push into the words, but then she’d know.
She might tell Max.
“Dad, your friend’s being really weird toward me….”
And then there would be hellfire.
I’d hurt my best friend, the one who’s always been there for me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Danielle
I roll over in bed, the blankets feeling like they’re going out of their way to cling to me.
Sweat pricks my body, though it’s cool and the window is open.
I can’t stop thinking about the text exchange with Damien. The innocent text exchange.
Sure, he sent me a kiss, and that’s why I sent them back. But that’s just something people do, a way to show they’re trying to be polite. It’s not a sign he really wants to kiss me, though the thought keeps returning, ricocheting through me.
Closing my eyes, I’m sure I can feel his lips pressing against my neck, softly at first, then harder.
I imagine him growling like an unchained animal, eager to be close to me. I imagine those smirking lips turned to passion instead as he slides his hand up my leg, getting closer and closer to my sex.
And then my hand is between my legs.
My core is so hot, so wet. I feel like I’m burning up.
This is wrong, I think, but then my thoughts move to other places.
I see Damien standing at the edge of the bed, shirtless, his muscles bulging and rippling more than they ever could in his chef whites.
I envision him reaching down, stroking his hand up and down his pants along the outline of his heaving manhood.
Then, he removes his pants to reveal his length.
In the fantasy, I’m not sure what size to imagine him. I’ve got no clue how big he is, but my nerves shiver when I think about his manhood being as huge as the rest of him.
I try to imagine being confident and sassy when he reveals his massive length, his huge hand stroking it up and down, and maybe the tip all shiny with precome like in some of the romance novels I’ve read while imagining every hero was Damien.
It doesn’t matter if they’re a sheriff, ranch hand, or werewolf.
They always become Damien, and no character can ever live up to him.
I slip my hand into my underwear, toward my clit, my lips feeling super sensitive as though ready for his cock. Even if the rest of me feels like it’s being thrown around by giant hands of anxiety, tossing me here and there at the thought, my lips are prepared.
Something tingles inside of me.
My core.
I add this insane thought to the growing list.
As my finger brushes over my clit, I let out a shuddering breath, my mind alive with all the animalistic and possessive ways Damien will claim me.
But then the stairs creak. I know that sound well, the one the stairs always make when Dad gets home from his 3-3 shift at the hospital.
Tonight, it’s like the sound cuts through me. It slices me right up the middle and severs any sexual excitement… no, that’s not right. It’s still there, the desire, but it’s buried beneath a hundred nightmares of how Dad would react if he ever found out.