Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 143633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 718(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 718(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
I opened the drawer at the bottom, too heady to avoid snooping. He had posh patterned socks, and some boxers. Nothing major. But wait. There were some other things in there… things I caught sight of as I fumbled through his socks… what the–
Marker pens and rope. A strange place to put them. And more. Three big dildos and a string full of beads. And some photos… wow, fuck. Some actual printed out photos of a girl with blonde hair, her hands bound up over her head. In that rope. A dark shade of red. I ran my fingers over it.
She had slut scrawled on her chest in marker pen, and one of the dildos jammed tight in her pussy, and she can’t have been much older than me. Nineteen, tops.
Shit.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I stumbled backwards, slamming the drawer closed like an invader, because I was one. I sat on the bed, still naked with my heart racing, feeling like I should be embarrassed, or intimidated, or squicked out, but I wasn’t any of those things. Blame it on romance novels, or imagination, or my own dirty fantasies, but I was curious. More than curious. I was needy. Excited.
I wanted to be the girl in that photo.
I took a swig of water from the glass on the bedside table, and I thought through my options.
It’s not your mother I’m going to be wanting, Rosie, it’s you.
Maybe this would be my only chance. Maybe after tonight it would be eyes down in the hallway again for the rest of time. Julian didn’t seem like he’d be inviting me up here for coffee unless I really needed him. I’d likely get pushed away like my mother.
Now or never…
I could do this, or I could try to. I could seduce the man upstairs and behave like the girl in the photo. I could do it. I could be that girl. I’d heard plenty of story heroines attempt it and come up trumps. Why not me?
It’s not your mother I’m going to be wanting, Rosie, it’s you.
I hoped he’d meant it. I hoped I had the courage to find out.
I put on one of the shirts from his wardrobe, making sure I left a few buttons undone, and then I scooped my pizza uniform up into my arms, taking a breath as I headed in his direction. I pushed my glasses up and closed my eyes as I opened the living room door. Now or never…
He was sitting on the chesterfield with his eyes on the blank TV screen, and a shot of whisky on the coffee table. His eyes were still dark as he looked my way, and he swallowed as I appeared before him.
“I was wondering if I’d be able to do some laundry? I’ll need this outfit for my shift tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Of course, yes. I have a washer tumble dryer.”
I knew that. I’d seen it.
He got to his feet, and I wished I was brave enough to look down at his crotch. I knew my nipples must be showing through his shirt fabric.
“Here, let me take that,” he said, and I handed him my bundle of clothes. “I’ll make sure I have them ready for you in the morning.”
He didn’t look at me. He wouldn’t look at me. He disappeared into the kitchen, and I heard him working the washing machine. He waited there too long before reappearing, and I stood there like an idiot in one of his shirts, flushed pink and embarrassed as he sat back down again with nothing more than a smile.
I guessed he didn’t want me after all.
For once, I got a taste of what my mum must be living in. Self-questioning. Self-doubt.
Maybe I wasn’t as good as the girl in the photo? Maybe after our conversation, I’d put him off somehow? Was I too desperate? Too needy? Too stupid for a professor like him? Were my tits not big enough? Or was I too awkward?
I didn’t have the chance to ask him.
“Goodnight,” he said again, dismissing me with a wave.
“Goodnight,” I said, hating every step as I retreated.
I threw myself flat on the bed, cringing inside at my stupid attempt at seduction, and wished I’d been better at it. More experienced like most of the girls at college. Damnit. I switched off the lamp and got under the covers. It made it even more embarrassing that they smelt like him.
Ok, it was done. Over. I’d made a goof up, and read him all wrong.
Or had I?
I heard footsteps outside in the hallway… I heard them stop dead.
Was he out there? Really? Was he outside the bedroom door? My heart thumped like crazy, tingles all over me, because he was definitely there, outside in the hall…
Maybe… just maybe…
I held my breath.
Please, PLEASE.
I prayed he’d come in…