Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
And that—that is a real problem.
It’s bad enough that I slept with him, gave my virginity to him, and let him finish inside of me like a crazy girl, but now I’m actually letting him work his way into my heart like I think this is some kind of romance movie or something where men are looking out for women’s best interests and aren’t just out for whatever their dicks are telling them.
“You’re insane, Mya,” I say to myself as I look up from the bed where I’m lying—the bed that I have to admit is very comfortable, with freshly washed and made sheets that smell wonderful.
This is not even remotely what I had in mind when I came here today. The plan was to make a good impression on Ethan, or Mr. West as I was referring to him when I first arrived, get the job and remain professional. I was supposed to just head home like any other normal employee and come back tomorrow and keep up that schedule, not let him strip me naked in my office and penetrate me with his monstrous manhood.
That was mistake number one. Mistake number two is letting him convince me to come back here to this bedroom. Have I completely lost my mind?
So what if sex with Ethan was the most incredible thing I’ve ever done in my entire life? So what if he’s built like a male model who stepped straight out of the Sports Illustrated Body issue? And so what if that unit hanging down from between his legs could win an award in the adult film business? Does any of that matter?
He’s a man. And men lie. Men lie, cheat, and cannot be relied upon. Starting with my father who left me before I was old enough to vote, old enough to drive, and continuing on with every guy who was ever interested in me, Ethan is no exception. If I let my guard down and let him convince me that he’s somehow different than all the rest of the men in the world, I’ll end up one place and one place only: with a shattered heart.
“Yeah, I have to get out of here,” I say, getting to my feet.
Thankfully, I didn’t bring a ton of things with me today to work, so it’s not like I have a lot of things to pack. All I have to do is slide back into my pants and pop my shoes back on, and I’m basically ready to go. There’s a part of me (a very small part) that wants to stay, but I push that down and listen to the rational part of me instead of the emotional one and head for the door.
But when I take the handle and twist, it sticks as though it’s been locked.
I try it again, but again the handle barely turns before stopping and clicking like it’s been locked. I see the lock on the inside and try to turn it, but it won’t turn. A hint of panic hits me in the chest.
Have I been locked in?
No. That just isn’t possible. Men may be liars and cheaters and out for themselves, but Ethan wouldn’t lock me in this room—that would just be crazy. This is a ground floor bedroom and I could just go out the window, which I immediately go over to. But as I go to lift it and open it, I realize that not only has the window somehow been sealed shut and is unable to be opened, but it has also been boarded closed from the outside. There’s no way I can get out through it.
“Ethan?” I call out, not too loudly, as I don’t want to sound panicked, but loud enough that he should be able to hear me. But then I realize that that’s probably not a great idea. If I am indeed dealing with a man who has no problem locking me in my room and boarding up the window, I probably shouldn’t call out to him.
Instead, I reach into my back pocket for my phone, but to my shock and horror, find it empty. My back pocket is definitely where I left my phone, so it should be there. Quickly, I check all three other pockets. But, nope; it’s not there either!
“Where the hell is my phone!?”
Starting to freak out, I get down on my hands and knees and scramble around on the floor, checking around under the bed, dresser, and night stand, just to make sure it didn’t fall out when I took off my pants and set them aside. But sure enough, my phone isn’t on the floor either. It just seems to be absolutely nowhere. Then, as I stand, a thought hits me, and I freeze.
“No…It can’t be…can it?”
I go back to the door and twist the knob, hoping that somehow it will open and I’ll realize that I was just having a braindead moment where I forgot how to operate doors. But again, like before, the doorknob sticks as though it’s been locked from the outside, and the panic inside my chest deepens.