Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
I lean forward, resting my knuckles against my forehead. I try to close my eyes, but that only makes me think of her again. The moonlight shafting down in the fantasy, she turns, pulling down her shirt, her big tits spilling free. “No? Do you want to watch me instead?”
My dick surges with hunger as I imagine her spitting on her hand and rubbing all over her big tits. Then, in my hungry mind, she pushes her tits together, pursing her lips. “I’m your employee now. You can do anything you want with me. You can slide your dick in my mouth, between my tits, or in my pussy, whatever you want, wherever you want, whenever you want …”
My hand is twitching like I’m about to start stroking myself here, right at my desk. My head feels hazy like I’ve been drugged.
Taking a breath, I try to be reasonable. It’s probably the idea of fighting. It gets the blood pumping, the primal instincts rushing, but I’m not some beast. I can control myself.
I have to think about the next day, week, and month. That’s about as long as I can go. Any further, and the prospects for the sanctuary aren’t great, but if I can fight and win, I’ve got a chance.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MAYA
“You did really great today,” Miles says as he walks me toward the parking lot. “Seriously, you should be stoked. I’ve never seen Mr. Greene or Loki take a liking to anybody like they have with you.” Miles is around my age, maybe mid-twenties, with his brown hair tied back and a short beard.
“I just hope I can prove I’m helpful. Honestly, it still feels like a dream.”
Miles smiles, reaches over, and touches my shoulder. It’s not offensive or aggressive or anything. It’s more that I can’t even open my mind to that possibility. He’s not my type, but I don’t lean back. I just stand there, letting him touch my arm. Maybe I’m just trying not to be awkward. I’m just glad when he pulls it back. “It’s real, Maya,” he says, seeming to sense my mood. He turns away.
“Seriously, great work,” he calls over his shoulder.
“Thanks,” I call after him, hoping he doesn’t feel bad.
He was probably just trying to be nice. I can’t get romantically involved with anyone. It’s just the way it is. Even before Mom was sick, I was a lone wolf. Riley was my only actual link to the greater world of our high school. I was like some relic in the library waiting for her visits. Maybe that’s morbid and oversimplified, but still.
I walk to the bus stop, thinking of that weird look earlier. Well, weird … or hot? Tristan stood at his office window, which let him look over the open-air area. The reflection on the glass hid his face, but his muscular body thrummed like he was burning up. It got me hot, as in flustered, right away.
That’s just stuff for my imagination if I feel in the mood to let my mind skip away to impossible things that will never happen. As I ride the bus home—for once, it’s not late—I can’t stop thinking about his hands on me, though, imagine them flowing all over my body, squeezing hard, pulling me close.
“You don’t think I see you watching? You don’t think it makes me want you? It makes me hungry for you.”
I can almost feel him kissing down my neck, his hand moving up my thigh at the same time, pressing with more steaminess. It all feels wrong. Yet, also like it would be so hot, so wild to kiss him and taste him, but no, God. No.
“You’re coming home?” I almost yell down the phone, my heart hammering with joy.
Riley sounds all excited and buzzed up like she did in high school. There were even a few times when she dragged me to parties, and sure, I mostly just stood there feeling out of place, but at least I lived it. At least I got to people-watch. At least I got to experience life from the edges. It’s where I used to prefer it before Mom’s illness forced me to accept the real world.
“Will you have time to hang?” she asks.
“Uh, yeah, and you can come here. It’s going to be awesome. We’ll find time.”
I can hear her beaming from the other side of the phone. She sounds like she’s buzzing with excitement. “There’s actually a party the night I arrive …”
“The night after tomorrow?” I murmur, thinking of work and nursing arrangements.
“When’s the last time you let your hair down?”
“We’re not even old enough to drink,” I laugh.
“Oh, please, Maya,” she says, and we both laugh some more.
Riley has been partying since early high school. She’s thankfully never been one of those pushy friends, one of those who are constantly urging me to drink, too. She’s happy to live her life and let me live mine.