Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
I ran my finger in a circle around the rim of the downright offensive plastic cup.
Leave, I told myself. On principle because of the plastic cup and because of how presumptuous he was being about me after one night together. And because he was challenging me. I always won a challenge.
My hand circled around the cup, then I brought it to my lips. It was ice-cold, sharp and one of the best martinis I’d ever had outside of Bemelmans, and Elliot’s might’ve had theirs beat if it weren’t in plastic.
He watched me drink with a smirk that wasn’t cocky but possessive, knowing. Satisfied.
“You’ve fucked me once.” I set the drink down, leaning forward so no one else would hear me—these fucking small towns would be the death of me—and so I could get closer to him. “You know what it feels like to be inside me, that’s it.” I kept my words brash, vulgar, combative. Just because I’d lost the first battle of whatever this was didn’t mean I’d stop fighting.
Elliot’s eyes flared as they dropped to my lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing from the visible swallow he took. “I fucked you three times.” Though low, I heard what he said, over the hum of conversation and music. “I know what it feels like to have my cock, tongue and fingers inside that glorious pussy of yours.” He leaned forward even closer so that his lips were almost brushing my ear. “And I know that I’m going to be doing that right here, on this bar, in just a few hours. So you sit here, drink your martini like a good girl, and think about how I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll come apart in my hands, forgetting that you’re meant to be wound tight and in control.”
My body melted and ignited at the words, my hands wrapping around the plastic glass to the point of almost crushing it.
At his words, my tongue felt like it doubled in size, and I forgot the sharp retorts that typically came as second nature. I didn’t have time for that, anyway. The second Elliot delivered his last word, he pushed back off the bar, gave me one more lingering look then turned his attention to a patron to my left, asking about a tab or the current value of the US dollar… Fuck, who knew what he was asking them. All I could hear were those words, echoing in my ears.
Good girl.
Praise kink.
Not my thing at all. I wasn’t a girl, and I had certainly never wanted to be a good one.
Submissive, meek, soft, pliant. No. I wanted to rage against men and a society who rewarded the good girls and punished the bad. The bad being those with voices, agency and different ideas about what it was to be a woman.
But I found myself sipping my martini, settling in for the night so I could be Elliot Shaw’s good girl.
One of the most dangerous and destructive decisions of my life.
Eleven
Falling — Florence & The Machine
“I’m gonna walk you to your car,” Elliot told the last waitress left in the once-crowded bar.
Music still played over the speakers, but the volume had been lowered, quieter than the soundtrack to the rest of the evening. The staff had all cleaned up with smiles and an easy banter that communicated they liked working there.
The last waitress looked at me with a questioning and vaguely hostile eye, which amused me. It didn’t escape my notice that she was nursing a massive crush on Elliot. She’d been all but rubbing her tits in his face all night. He hadn’t so much as blinked at it, even though they were arguably nice tits, and she was gorgeous. Blonde, clear-skinned, freckles dusting over a delicate nose. Younger, maybe early twenties. An easy smile, no shadows behind her eyes. Likely a better candidate than me for Elliot.
I smiled back at her, all teeth, slightly taunting. Jealousy was not and had never been my thing. Pitting women against each other for the sake of a man was laughable to me. And no man had ever been valuable enough to me to go against another woman in the first place.
But my body heated, and my fingers curled at the idea of Elliot with someone like her, someone much better suited. Who wouldn’t have murderous ex-boyfriends lurking in the shadows, waiting to present bodies as trophies. Who had a fruitful womb to bear his babies and a soft nature that would bring out the best in him. She showed me where I was lacking. I didn’t like that. Didn’t like the thought of Elliot’s gaze being anywhere but on me.
“I’ll be here,” I promised Elliot, crossing my leg over my knee while taking the last sip of my martini. It was my second. I’d been nursing it since Elliot made a strong drink, and I had no intentions of being drunk when whatever happened was going to happen.