Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
She's locked her eyes on mine, and for the first time in my life outside of maybe my sister, I've met an equal. I see zero fear in her too-young doe eyes, no loathing or disgust at the monster ordering her exposure. Internal turmoil has me fighting to maintain dominance with this soft, playful creature metaphorically sinking her teeth and claws into my heart and balls.
"There's a dress code?" She arches her back, thrusting her tits into the front of her blouse, exposing the hard little pebbles underneath. My heart skips as she makes a little popping sound with her lips, settling her knees wide enough for me to shove my face between them.
I imagine what sounds she'd make as I buried my tongue in her silky wetness. How loud would she be when she came undone? What would my name sound like on her lips as she fell into the abyss while I dug my fingers into her ass and lapped at her pleasure? Like the sounds I make slurping up that blessed ramen Ingrid orders us for lunch every Wednesday.
A spasmodic grunt catches in my throat at the thought. She quirks one brow as though she’s got that same superpower as Ingrid, reading my thoughts exposed in some girl power bubble over my head.
“Wider,” I grit out, giving up on distracting myself from the wondrous gift God or the devil has delivered to me this day.
The final inches of her spreading legs make time loop in and around on itself. Nothing is linear anymore; it’s all steep peaks and sudden drops. There's no air left as her skirt settles at the crest of her thighs and heavenly light casts away the last darkness between her legs, exposing black letters printed on that slip of fabric covering my new home.
Purrfect Girl.
Everything in my life before now turns to ash. Air turns to fire as I struggle for oxygen through the chokehold she has on me. I let my gaze travel upward, memorizing every inch on the journey to her smiling face, watching her delicate fingers walk across the desk and back to the rim of my coffee mug. They flutter around the edge as I imagine they would when tickling my fucking balls.
Through the lust haze, standing here gape-mouthed sucking in air, her cheek twitches, her shoulders hitch upward in a cute as fuck little shrug. She pulls her plump lips tight against her teeth, and twists the mug like a top, sending it spinning as her eyes lock on mine—
I motion toward the mug. "Wait, that's going to fall—" it’s too late. My little pink kitty gives it another spin, this time closer to the edge.
Her eyes narrow, her tongue runs along her upper lip before she smiles. “Oops.” Her bottom lip pops out and the porcelain mug crashes to the floor.
Chapter Two
Tabby
Riding the elevator from the lobby to the top floor of Bark and Purr Pet Supply with the Pinched-Nose Lady who looked at me like I was a sideshow, two things consumed my thoughts.
The first was how adorable my reflection in the polished elevator walls looked in my sparkly headband—a gift from Nana, arguably the meanest yet most loving human alive. She despises everyone except me, leaving cat ear headbands on my pillow weekly.
Any attempts to thank her earn a dismissive "shhh" as she points to whatever college textbook she's reading, usually by candlelight, wax dripping onto the power company's latest shut-off notice.
Cat ears define me. I remember getting my first pair from the dollar store when I was probably five or six. it was a normal Saturday morning spent roaming the aisles with Nana, as we did most weekends. My mom offloaded me from Friday to Monday so she could get loaded, and usually take one as well from the boyfriend of the moment, or some rando from whatever bar she’d graced the night before.
Now, at eighteen, cat ears adorn my gaming headphones, phone case, backpack—and my head, always. I even wear silicone ones in the shower.
Yes, I'm obsessed. But cats, amiright?
This fixation made high school in the lovely small low-end town of Durand, MI, a special kind of hell for an awkward girl with a kitty obsession. Being named Tabby while mimicking feline behaviors didn't help.
I'd watched Nana's cats for hours growing up, copying their every move—licking the back of my hand, yawning when someone spoke, occasionally batting objects off tables just to watch them fall.
My purring friends were my only companions besides Nana. Which, overall, didn’t bother me. I never craved friendships. Like a cat, I take people or leave them.
The second thought I had as the elevator doors dinged for our destination floor, was that last night I'd been dumpster diving at this very company’s Birmingham flagship store, scooping premium cat food from the bags they'd sliced open into my own Ziploc bags. I cursed whoever threw out toy after toy, spray painting them purposely ruined, so divers like myself can’t abscond with the thousands of dollars of perfectly good merchandise they throw away week after week.