Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I hope she finds a way to make some happy moments for herself soon, though—she’s still so young, and the thought of her stuck in this endless cycle of responsibility twists something inside of me.
“Me either, baby,” Waylon says, his voice taking on a huskier tone. “And I got the good stuff. I’d take a hit right off your pussy too.”
“Wow,” Hannah remarks, her eyes noticeably rounded.
“Don’t worry, Ruby, I’d eat you too. A little blow, a little pussy. My tongue is better when I’m up anyway.”
I nod, teasing Hannah by mouthing the words “Me too.”
She has to fight a giggle and playfully smacks me in the shoulder before turning away and closing her eyes in an attempt to concentrate. “Oh yeah. That feels good.”
“I bet it does, Ruby. I could give you a hit, too, if you want. You like that shit?”
Hannah turns to me quickly, looking for an answer, and I nod in the affirmative. Keeping him hooked is the goal at this point. I’ve already texted Shane about tracing his number, and we plan to bring him in for questioning, but if Hannah can somehow lead him into mentioning fent, all the better.
“Love it,” she says.
“Good. I got the good stuff for us if we meet up. Made special from one of the best guys I know.”
I laugh internally. Oh yeah, I’m sure his dealer is a real stand-up guy.
“Sounds good,” Hannah agrees. “Is your good stuff . . . high inducing?” she asks, and I cover my face with an arm. Shane’s got to be dying in the van over that one.
“Of course it is, Ruby. And then we can fuck while we’re out of our minds.”
Hannah’s chest rises and falls in heavy but silent waves, her face taking on the familiar tight expression she always gets when she’s overwhelmed.
I gently tap her hand, pulling her attention back to me, and scribble a note.
How? What position?
She nods at my words and takes a deep, cleansing breath. “So . . . how would you fuck me?”
“From behind, so I could smack your pretty little ass.”
Her eyes meet mine again, and I quickly jot down another note.
Your cock will feel big like that.
“Oh man,” she says, her voice still sounding a little stilted to my ears. “I bet your cock feels big like that.”
“My cock feels big in every position,” Waylon claims boldly. “It’s twelve inches.”
“Ha!” I scoff, before covering my mouth and shaking my head and muttering, “No fucking way.”
Hannah waves me off, which is fair. I’m definitely not helping at this point.
“Oh wow,” she says, pretending to be surprised. “I don’t even know if your ruler-size dick will fit inside me.”
Ruler-size. I have to bite my lip not to laugh.
“Oh, I’ll fit,” Waylon demands, his voice rough around the edges. “You just have to take me.”
“And I’ll take the whole thing,” Hannah says. “Suck you right in like a Dyson.”
Holy hell. I’m not sure how she manages it, but these calls are simultaneously the highest form of torture and entertainment.
I’ll be honest, when this sting is over, casework is probably going to seem incredibly boring after sitting in on Hannah’s calls.
“Oh, fuck. I can feel how wet you are.”
“Of course. We’re going to need a mop too,” Hannah continues, sticking with the theme of cleaning supplies. “A mop for my WAP.”
I sit back and buckle in for the ride I know this is going to be. There’s no other option.
“Maybe it hurts too?” Waylon suggests, and my ears perk up. Hoping for pain over pleasure takes this in a bit of a different direction than I was thinking it would go and raises some suspicion.
While there wasn’t any brutality involved in Heather’s and Gwen’s cases, so often these guys start where they feel at ease and escalate from there. If Waylon is into the idea of pain, that might be the next thing on his agenda.
I roll my hand in front of Hannah’s face, cuing her to keep him going if she can, and she sits up straighter in her chair, concentrating.
“Yeah, it is so big, so it does hurt some.”
“How much?” Waylon asks, and I hold up a finger pointing to the ceiling.
“A lot,” she says. “It hurts a lot.”
“Good,” Waylon groans. “I want it to hurt. I want to fuck you until you bleed. I want you screaming, baby. I don’t want you to be able to walk.”
Hannah’s jaw drops, but I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Her wide, vulnerable eyes lock on mine, and for a split second, all the chaos around us seems to fall away. In that moment, all I can feel is an overwhelming pull to shield her.
A large part of me wants to end the fucking call. Or, even more dramatically, wants to get on the line and tell Waylon he’s a piece of shit. But instead, I force myself to focus on the job, giving her a calming smile and a thumbs-up while I mouth, “Just keep going. Hang in there. You’re doing good.”