Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Liv and Krisjen pant a steady stream of moans, and I charge into the bathroom and slam the door. Starting the shower, I climb in, the water still cold, but the sound shuts out my family’s vomitous ecstasy. I can’t help the irritation that spills over. I slam the wall as I bow my head under the spray.
I’m not jealous.
I could’ve had my own fun this morning with what’s-her-name.
I can have anyone I want.
But the little voice in my head knows that I don’t want just anyone.
Not at this particular second.
I see myself in my head, waking up in my bed and reaching over. Finding his stomach with my mouth, his cock with my hand. Blood starts to pool low in my belly, and I let it play in my head. My brother and sister happy in their rooms, and me getting it on, happy in mine, too.
He’s so smooth. So hot. He always smells good.
Quickly, I pump conditioner into my hand and grab myself, stroking as I think about what I’d be doing to him in my bedroom right now if I could.
“Fuck…” I gasp.
He’s such a piece of shit. What he did to Liv, the curfew, trying to take what’s ours…
Because my heart was in every touch, he says in my head.
He loved kissing me.
He’s still good at it.
And he’s mature, his taunt from Friday slams into me again. Knows how to take his time in bed.
I fucking know how to take my time. “No one else is touching you.” I spit out water as I stroke. “Not until I’m done.”
I’ll show the whole fucking Wolfe Room how hard he gets for me.
Squeezing my cock, I’m spilling before I even know the orgasm is coming, my fingers digging into the wall.
I grunt. “Oh, God.”
Cum coats my hand, and I lean into the tile, suddenly feeling completely exhausted.
I breathe out, trying to calm my heart.
Why the hell couldn’t I do that with the girl in my bed minutes ago?
Wringing out my hand, I rinse it under the water, pushing it all away. I have to sleep with someone else. Soon.
I finish my shower and get ready for work. After shaving and throwing on some clothes, I grab my bag and my keys and pour some coffee into a mug, then run out of the house.
Rain sprinkles my hair, fucking up the style, but thankfully, Macon had the driveaway paved, so I’m not traipsing through puddles to get to my car.
I keep the music off on the way to Marymount. I need to calm down and keep myself in check. I might fuck him the next time I see him; I might punch him. Either way, I can’t do it at the school, and nothing changes. I’m going to get some real leverage in the Wolfe Room and make the Bay—and Tryst Six—safe. He’s a tool. That’s it. He’s a means to an end.
I park and run inside, quickly slipping past a few students in the still-quiet hallway.
I head to my classroom, turn on the light, and dump my stuff on my desk, powering on my computer.
Sprinkles hit the windowpanes, and I look over, studying Anna-Katherine’s beautiful colors and how they shade the clouds and rainfall outside. I’m not sure what the administration will say about how I’ve let her paint the glass, but I should probably let them know before they confront me in front of her. I was warned by her mother about her panic attacks. Friday night was the first time I saw one.
Picking up my phone, I tap the search bar. “Horses prance through a silver storm.”
“Once Upon a December” appears on the screen, taking me to a video of an animated film.
But before I have a chance to play it, a figure sweeps through the door.
“Morning.” Anna-Katherine beams at me.
I set my phone facedown. “Hey.”
She drops her backpack on the little makeshift desk she made herself by the reading nook, removing her sketch pad, the next Percy Jackson book she’s reading, and her lunch.
Lifting my chin, I button my collar and start fixing my tie.
“Did you fall down, too?” she asks, peering over at me.
Fall?
Oh, right. Turning around, I study myself in the broken mirror next to my whiteboard. The bruise around my eye is deep purple now, and the cut on my lip is crusted with blood. I must’ve opened it again at some point this morning.
I swallow and finish fixing my clothes. “Yeah.”
“My brother looks the same.”
Nah, he looks worse, I’m sure. I hide my smile.
She says “my brother,” while he refers to her as his stepsister.
“How was your weekend?” I ask, turning around.
“Great!” She smiles big, racing toward me in her brown knickers and short-sleeve white blouse with a Peter Pan collar. “We flew to Orlando.” She twirls, her eyes wistful. “I love the princesses. What’s your favorite park?”