Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 14980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 75(@200wpm)___ 60(@250wpm)___ 50(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 14980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 75(@200wpm)___ 60(@250wpm)___ 50(@300wpm)
I sigh, tipsy and frustrated, pushing my way off the dance floor to the bar. I probably shouldn’t have any more to drink, but with Serena occupied and my own thoughts driving me crazy, I need something to take the edge off. I order another vodka coke and down it, cringing at the taste of the cheap alcohol. Even that does nothing to shove away the thoughts of the one man I do want. The one man I can’t have, the only man I’ve ever truly wanted.
Rhett is everything I can’t have. Twenty years older than me, a well-off professional who surely doesn’t want anything to do with a girl my age who’s just barely starting in her career. Oh yeah, and then there’s the teeny tiny problem of the fact that he’s my dad’s best friend.
But God, for years now, he’s all I want. I can’t even bring myself to kiss someone else, can’t bring myself to show interest in anyone else but him. God, I’m still a virgin because the thought of sleeping with someone else makes me cringe. He’s the only one I want, but with my luck, I’ll die a virgin before he ever notices me.
The club feels too loud and too crowded, and I stumble out the door, needing to leave. I text Serena—telling her I’m on my way home and to let me know when she gets home safe and having to concentrate very hard to type because the letters are dancing about—and order a taxi. My flat isn’t far away, and it takes no time at all before I stumble up my stairs and fight to unlock my front door. Thankfully, it clicks itself locked behind me as I fall inside, kicking off my heels and groaning.
I don’t want to be alone, and tears sting my eyes as I picture having Rhett here with me. His fancy suits would look so good on my bedroom floor, and if the outline of muscles I get glimpses of through the fabric is anything to go by, I could trace his abs with my tongue. The picture of us tangled up in my bed together is so real in my head that, for a second, I forget it can never happen.
My pity party gives way to frustration as I slump on my bed, turned on by the images and thoroughly annoyed by the fact that every time I’ve seen Rhett, he seems completely oblivious to the burning attraction between us. Surely, it’s not just me who feels it? Then why has he never given me even a single sign he feels it, too?
The frustration bleeds into determination and, fueled by drunken confidence, I launch to my feet, yanking my clothes off. I have to wrestle to get the tight sequin dress over my head, and it messes up my hair in the process, but I’m too focused on my genius plan to care. I rifle through my drawers until I find the deep scarlet lace lingerie set I bought last year and have never worn because I’ve been saving it for him. Except I’ve never had the chance to show him.
Until now.
The alcohol gives me confidence I’ve never had before, and I dress in a lacy outfit that barely covers anything. My curves are fully exposed, and even in the dim lighting of my bedroom, if you look closely, you can see my nipples through the fabric. A rush of adrenaline fills me, even as my head spins, drunkenness taking over fully.
I sit on the edge of my bed and grab my phone. My dad gave me Rhett’s number years ago in case of an emergency, but I’ve never used it before. I can’t help but grin as I open up a new text thread and click on the camera button, snapping shots of myself in the mirror, trying to pose as seductively as possible. I’ve never done anything like this before, but I want so badly to push him to see me, to see if he’s noticed me the way I notice him, that I don’t even feel nervous, just determined. And horny. Fuck, I wish he was here with me. I want him to show me what it’s like to have sex, to give me pleasure the way I just know he’s capable of. I want to make him feel so good he forgets any other woman exists but me.
If this doesn’t work, nothing will.
I send the photos, then tap out a message. I make three spelling mistakes that I have to focus really hard on through the blurry haze to correct, and when I hit send, I feel as smug as ever.
I want you so bad.
“Hah, that’ll show him!” I mutter to myself, but my voice comes out slurred, and the room around me tips sideways. I giggle as I flop back on my bed, my phone falling to the mattress beside me.