Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
As much as I protested, part of me was relieved when he threw me over his shoulder and carried me off. Going home with Jeremy was a stupid plan. I see that now. I saw it then, but aside from going home with a stranger, I couldn’t think of another option that wouldn’t lead to me inconveniencing someone I care about.
Then Austin spanked me in the street, and my brain short circuited.
Suddenly, there was tension between my legs, like a coil winding tighter and tighter. When he kissed me and pinned me to his truck, and I felt him—hard—because of me... I nearly melted into a puddle while rubbing against him like that. I’m sure I would have soaked us both if he hadn’t set me back on the ground.
After that, things start to get a little hazy. I’m pretty sure my pants came off at some point, and I vaguely recall touching myself on the drive here. But what I recall most vividly is offering to suck Austin’s cock, and him rejecting me.
Embarrassment tightens around me like a corset. I’m pretty sure I called him Daddy a few times, too, though I’m not clear on exactly how that came up.
As I roll onto my side, I notice the glass of water and bottle of aspirin on the nightstand. I shake out three capsules and drink them down, then drop back onto the pillow.
“I’m such a fucking mess,” I murmur. In the light of day, I can’t believe I did half the things I remember doing. Though, at the time, they made all the sense in the world.
Austin was being overprotective, so I pushed back. Then he showed his hand, and I realized he wasn’t just looking after me; he wanted me for himself. If I learned anything during my brief time as a cam model, it’s how to put on a show. Austin wouldn’t touch me on the drive to the house, so I touched myself. What’s funny is that I almost never masturbate, and when I do, I imagine a faceless man who doesn’t touch me. He stands completely still and lets me move around him, touching and exploring his body the way I want to.
The fact that this faceless man is shaped exactly like Austin is a complete and total coincidence.
No, really...
I give the aspirin a few minutes to kick in and then force myself to get up. Austin must’ve come back sometime during the night, because I find my pants and underwear folded on the dresser beside my purse. I tease out my phone and then connect to Austin’s Wi-Fi. I’m in the middle of texting Hollywood about being back in time to help with dinner when my phone pings, alerting me to the forty-plus notifications on the lone social media app I barely use.
My stomach cramps. This can’t be good...
Opening the app reveals a slew of friend requests and a barrage of messages from acquaintances asking if I’m okay. A quick Google search confirms that my name is trending online. Apparently, the former Tennessee Governor, Jim Davis, is being released early from prison for good behavior.
I skim the article and resist the urge to snap my phone in half.
The prosecutor warned us when the trials started that the Davis family is well connected. The fact that either brother served any time at all for their involvement in Hoyt’s crimes was an unexpected win.
More notifications appear on the screen, text messages from an unknown number telling me my day of reckoning has finally come. Stuff like this always happens when anything involving the case hits the media. The only recourse is to ignore it.
Easier said than done.
I power my phone off and then get dressed, praying the hype will die down in a few days so I can go back to being mildly infamous.
In the bathroom, I splash water on my face and brush my teeth with the brand-new toothbrush Austin must’ve put out for me. Tension gathers in my chest as I ready myself to head downstairs and have what will undoubtedly be the most uncomfortable conversation Austin and I have ever participated in.
I find hot coffee waiting for me in the kitchen. I fix myself a cup, adding milk and sugar, amused that I can still recall where he keeps everything. Coffee in hand, I follow the thuds and cracks out the back door to the stump where Austin’s currently chopping wood without a shirt on.
As if the situation wasn’t awkward enough.
“How’s your head?” Austin asks from over his shoulder. His muscles ripple as he lifts a heavy-looking log onto the block.
I cough to clear the tightness in my throat.
“Still attached, unfortunately. Thanks for the aspirin.”
He grunts, grabbing the white tee shirt hanging from his belt loop and using it to dry the sweat from his brow. I sip my coffee and try not to stare at the shelf formed by his high, round ass in those tight jeans.