Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
My knee buckles so fast I damn near hit the floor.
I'm left standing there, doubled over, cum still spilling into my boxers, my goddamn thigh muscle cramping, praying I don't actually end up on the floor at her feet.
I probably look like I've lost control of my body. And there's nothing I can do about it because I have actually lost control of it.
My leg is cramping. My dick is a traitor. She's smirking like she's never been more satisfied with herself than she is right now.
And I've never wanted to kiss someone more in my entire life.
I should have seen that coming, though. I really should have. This is the woman who slapped her prick of a dance partner in the face on stage for insulting her. She's also the one who has occupied every damn space in my head for the last four months straight.
Yeah, I'm fucked. So thoroughly, it's laughable.
"Oops, my bad," she lies, sliding right past me with a wicked laugh I feel in my balls. "It's wild what happens when people try to touch me without my permission, isn't it?"
I'm not sure what's worse: the fact that I just came all over myself because she touched my cock…or the fact that Briggs is practically on the floor a few feet away, wheezing with laughter.
This was not in any of my fantasies.
Spanking her perfect ass was, though.
I'm going to get to that…just as soon as I can walk again.
Chapter Two
Sophie
"We should hit the slopes early tomorrow," Hattie says, waving her fork in the air for emphasis. "That way, we have time to go shopping afterward."
"Whatever you say, Hattie baby." My brother's expression is soft as he stares at her like that's the best idea he's ever heard.
It's a terrible idea. Hattie is a disaster on the slopes… and I'm whatever catastrophe comes after a disaster. Being thrown into the air or pirouetting across a stage, I can do. Riding death sticks down a mountain with nothing but the dubious protection of a jacket and my own questionable skill is not for me.
"I think I'll sit this one out," I mutter.
"Me too," Harlan immediately says, his eyes locked on me. I swear, the man is Satan's brother. Except, I actually like both of his brothers. Him? Not so much.
How did I get stuck sitting beside him?
I narrow my eyes at him, but he just stares at me levelly. "Never mind. Dying on the mountain sounds like a great time!" I say with false exuberance.
Harlan's right eye twitches, his hand clenching around his fork.
"That's the spirit!" Hattie cries. "You have to come too, Harlan. You can't be boring the whole trip."
There is absolutely nothing boring about Harlan Ward. Isn't that the problem? He's fascinating. He's also a dirty liar.
I've been fed a lot of bullshit in my life. It hit different coming from him, mostly because I actually believed it for once. He didn't seem like the kind of guy who just said what he thought I wanted to hear…right up until he proved me wrong.
All those lines about how I'm so dedicated, so driven, and such a talented dancer were just that—lines. He doesn't have a single shred of respect for what I do. How did he put it? Oh, that's right. Ballet isn't a sport. Comparing a ballerina to a hockey player is an insult.
Yeah, my feelings are hurt. I'm disappointed, too. I thought he was different. I thought he actually liked me. Turns out, I was wrong.
I refuse to get involved with a man who thinks the time and effort he put into learning how to shoot a puck is worth more than the time and effort I put into learning ballet. I haven't fought as hard as I have just to carve out a space in the ballet world for women my size, just for a man to shit on what I do.
It's hard enough when my own dance partner actively tries to sabotage me. And God, Greg does nothing but try. He intentionally drops me, calls me fat, and talks down to me. He makes my life hell.
He isn't the only one. There's very little space in the ballet world for a curvy woman like me. If you don't look the part, you aren't wanted…and I have never looked the part. Thanks to genetics and my thyroid, I've always been big. It doesn't matter that I dance six hours a day, every single day. The weight doesn't come off.
And that makes me a problem.
As far as most dancers are concerned, I'm taking roles from ballerinas far more deserving. They've never let me forget that I don't fit. It doesn't matter how perfectly I dance a part or how many people come to a performance just to see me; it's never enough. I'm never enough.