Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
I expect him to say he would comply with his captors, that he would do whatever they wanted and that he would accept his fate. But I have quickly come to realize Julius Carter is an enigma and does only what he wants, not what a person expects.
His eyes glance over my face as he leans back, resting lightly against the headboard. He brings his arms up, and my fingers slip away from his skin, breaking contact, as he folds his arms behind his head, looking the picture of ease. “I’d fight. Run. Scream, threaten, tear shit apart.” His shoulders jump lightly. “Do whatever it took to get out.”
I take a deep breath and process his words. On a shaky exhale, I meet his blue eyes and confirm, “But you’re not going to let me do that, are you?”
His eyes soften to match his tone. “No, baby, I’m not.”
I nod to myself before slipping off the bed and moving jerkily, limping toward the bathroom, doing my best to ignore the stiffness in my muscles and the ache in my heel. I turn on the light, and in the corner of my eye, as I move to shut the door behind me, I see Julius straighten and move to speak. But I already know what he will say. Before he has a chance to warn me, I leave the bathroom door open an inch.
From the moment our conversation ended, something shifted, changed between Julius and me. An informal understanding was met. I know where I stand.
Comply or die.
My gut coils in restlessness as I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my pants, push them down to my knees and sit on the toilet. As I relieve myself, I whisper to myself, “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
And my mind tips its head back and laughs.
No, you’re not.
Not even close.
Therapy.
Ugh. Gross.
Julius makes me go. Over the past four years, I’ve gone through about a hundred shrinks.
As per the conditions of our working together, Julius makes the appointments, and I go. No one said I had to submit completely, but Julius is convinced I need help with my quote daddy issues and sex addiction unquote.
Pfft.
Please.
It’s pretty great to be me. I fucking love my life. I mean, it could be worse. I could be back on drugs. I could be a prostitute again. I could still be shopping at Target.
Why doesn’t anyone consider how I feel about myself? He calls them issues. I call them a shitload of fun. But Julius is no nonsense, just as Twitch was, and I don’t have much of a choice if I want to remain in this job. So here I am, in the waiting room of Dr. Maura Sternson.
I’ve seen her only twice before. It normally takes a few sessions of playing for me to break them.
A sly smile spreads at my lips.
I’m feeling exceptionally lucky today.
But as I wait, I watch the fifty-something-year-old man flicking through his magazine. I mean, yeah, he’s kind of round in the middle and thinning on top, but he’s tall, and his sensible plaid shirt and khaki slacks have me wondering how bad I could turn him. The unattractive ones more than make up for it with enthusiasm, as though they’re thanking you for spreading your legs for them. They totally worship me.
I think he’d like if I’d call him daddy.
Just then, he frowns down at his magazine before lifting his gaze to me, as if he felt my eyes wandering over him.
My smile widens and, keeping eye contact, I wink at him.
The man’s brows rise ever so slightly, but still, he looks around. Finding that he is the only other person in the room, he turns back to me, and I chuckle softly, watching the pink flush start from the bottom of his neck, rising up all the way to his scalp.
Oh damn, I like him. He’s simply adorable. I must have him.
I fight a god-awful pout and stifle the scowl that threatens.
Fuck. I hate this place. I don’t want to go to therapy. I want to play. I want Mr. John Doe over there to come while I ride his motherfucking face. I—
“Ling?” Her soft, musical voice sounds and I’m torn away from my fantasy.
I shake my head lightly to clear it and give her the once-over. It’s much harder to smother my scowl this time.
This woman has got to be no older than forty, and there she stands in her brown orthopedic shoes to match her ugly taupe cord pants and a white plaid shirt. Plaid was cute on Mr. John Doe, who now escorts his frumpy wife out the door, his sweet flush still visible.
Plaid on her however…
God, she repulses me.
My void expression changes completely when I smile and stand. “Dr. Sternson. So nice to see you again.”