Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
“What?”
“Talking to him.”
“Yeah?”
“I was trying to cheer him up,” I go on.
“Is that so?”
“Because as you may have heard, his asshole coach benched him.”
“I’m liking his coach already.”
“And do you know what a girlfriend does to cheer up her boyfriend?”
“I’m sure I’m about to find out.”
“She does whatever he wants.”
“Whatever, huh.”
“Yes. What. Ever”—again, I emphasize all the syllables—“he wants.”
“So what did you do?”
I lift my chin. “He likes the way I dance.”
“I bet he does.”
“And remember the white dress I wore the night I met you?”
“Vividly.”
Despite myself, my breath gets stuck in my throat at his vividly. “Well, he likes that dress too.”
“I don’t blame him.”
“And remember those wings?”
“I don’t think I can ever forget.”
Again, despite myself, my heart stutters. “He absolutely loves them too.”
“So then what happened, Dora?” he asks somehow both flatly and mockingly.
And I get so mad and so fucking tingly at him calling me that, that I just let loose. Or rather let loose in a way I know is going to affect him. I’ll make it affect him.
“Well, then, Stellan,” I begin, “as you can guess, I danced for my man. Actually, no, I wore that dress and those wings and then put on a show for him.”
“Yeah, what’s the difference?”
“The difference, asshole, is that when I dance, I don’t just dance, I put on a show,” I explain. “I move my body like I’m doing it for a purpose. I twist my hips like I’m doing it to drive someone crazy. To drive someone out of their mind with want. I want him to lose control, see. I want him to want me with such intensity that he forgets who he is. He forgets his rules and morals. So he not only crosses all the lines he’s drawn in the sand but also completely erases them. So he not only dreams about me in his sleep like a rational human being, but I also want him to see me when he’s awake. I want him to hallucinate about me. I want to be his delusion, his madness. So the difference is that when I dance, I dance like I’m Ecstasy and I’m running rampant in his bloodstream. When I dance, Stellan Thorne, I do it like I’m someone’s biggest temptation. Like I’m someone’s Lolita.”
Never mind that when I say someone, I mean him. Because I’ve done all that for him. Never mind that his twin just told me the same thing and I almost died with embarrassment. And never fucking mind that I have zero shame in me right now even though there’s pin drop silence on the other end.
No, wait.
There’s something beside the pin drop silence.
It’s his breaths.
Kinda like how they were when we had first started the conversation. Which makes me curious once again as to what exactly he was doing before I called. But I’m not going to make the same mistake as I did before.
I’m not going to ask him about it.
Instead, I’m going to keep going. “So, well, again, as you can guess, things got a little heated. You know, between us. Given our chemistry and all that. Which they always do when I put on a show for him, but tonight was different. Maybe it was the way he was watching me, watching my every move. Tracking it, hanging on to it like his entire existence depended on how I twisted and spun, I don’t know. Whatever it was, it turned me on. Big time and…” I sigh and then just go for it, “I got so wet.”
I can’t believe I said that.
I can’t believe I’m moaning right now. As in a little moan and a hitch of my breath as I continue, “So, so wet, Stellan. I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet in my life and that’s saying something because the way your twin brother gets me going”—I sigh and moan again—“it’s no joke. It’s no fucking joke. My panties are perpetually soaked around him and oh my God, I’m dripping right now, Stellan. I’m aching and—”
“No.”
His fervent growl makes me jump. “What?”
“We’re not doing that,” he growls.
“Doing what?”
“We’re not playing this game.”
I pretend to be innocent. “What—”
“You’re not playing this game,” he cuts me off, his voice even thicker now. “You’re not fucking with my head. You’re not fucking with me. Not anymore.”
“I’m not—”
“And just for fucking lying like that, you’re going to show me.”
His words, spoken even more roughly and commandingly, jolt me. “S-show you what?”
“How wet you are.”
“What?”
“Show it to me.”
“Y-you… What?”
“Dancing for my twin fucking brother got you wet, didn’t it?” He keeps growling. “It got you wet that he was watching you like his goddamn life depended on it. He was. He was watching like he always watches you. Like if he moved his eyes away from you even for half a second, his heart would stop beating. His breaths would stop coming and he’d fucking choke to death. And if that gets you wet, then show it to me. Show me what dancing like a fucking Lolita does to you.”