Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Once he’s done that, he moves on. Slowly, carefully, almost tenderly, I feel the heel of his palm sliding up. I feel his hand going under the hem of my dress, and he doesn’t stop until he reaches mid-thigh.
I’d wonder why he stopped here, why he picked this very spot, but I already know. He did it because my flesh is the meatiest here. It’s the juiciest and softest, like I’m really a fruit, a strawberry, his little strawberry and he can’t wait to eat me.
That’s it. That’s the word. Eat.
He’s eating me with his touch, his fingers. They squeeze my flesh, knead it, pinch it. He digs the pads of his fingers into my thigh now, like all that grazing and tender touching was only a façade. He doesn’t do tender. Not even when he’s touching me under the table while my date sits only a few feet away.
And I’m sitting here, frozen, my eyes wide, my cheeks flushed and my heart racing. I should move away but I can’t. I should put my hand on his and stop him. But I can’t do that either. All I can do is take it. Whatever he’s doing to me. And like it.
Oh God, I like it, don’t I?
I like his brutal fingers and bullying touch. I like it so much that I have widened my legs. I’ve moved to the edge of my seat, brought my thigh closer to him so he has more access. I like it so fucking much, his hand on my thigh, that I’m… wet. And the realization is what makes me move in the end.
It makes me jump.
I jump so high that my knees knock against the table, clattering the dishes and spilling the water and our drinks. I also knock off his touch in the process, thank God. And four eyes turn to me. But only one set seems remotely concerned. Joe’s.
“You okay?” he asks.
My heart is pounding but somehow, I manage to nod. “Y-yeah. Sorry. Just moved a little too fast.”
He keeps frowning. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Yeah, I just…” I take in a deep breath before continuing, “I don’t know what’s taking them so long to bring our food. Can you,” I swallow at the lie I’m about to tell, “check? I’m r-really hungry.”
Joe still regards me with concern, but being the good guy he is, he nods and leaves to go find our server. I breathe in a shaky breath, then finally turn to the man who’s been wrecking my peace ever since he sat down.
I don’t know what I expected to find when I at last looked at him. Maybe I thought he’d be his usual self, smirking and amused at my expense. All provocative while being unaffected himself. But finding him angry would not have been my first guess. Actually, angry is too small a word for him. He’s absolutely seething. And it’s not just the expression on his face, which alone is brutal and grating. It’s also his body. His harshly breathing chest, the vein on his temple that’s pulsing.
Not to mention his voice, when he growls, “Lose him.”
“What?”
“Right the fuck now.”
“Are you…” I breathe out sharply. “What is the matter with you? Are you absolutely crazy? You touched me. You—”
“He started it,” he clips.
“He started what?”
His jaw pulses for a few seconds as if just the thought of it, whatever Joe started, is making him even angrier. “He touched you.”
I frown. “What?”
Another tic of his jaw. “He put his hand on you.”
It takes me a few seconds to understand what he means. I didn’t even remember that Joe put his hand on mine earlier when I was starting to get agitated. Even so, I still don’t understand what that has got to do with him touching me under the table. “So?”
“So he doesn’t get to,” he declares, his eyes hard. “Not in front of me. Not fucking ever.”
“What? That’s…” Another breath, in hopes of calming myself down. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, what?”
I clench my teeth. “This is revenge, isn’t it? This is for what I did the other night.”
Another flash of anger flickers through his features. “Is it?”
“Yes, it is,” I state. “Because that’s how your twisted mind works. Twisted and evil and… toxic. Yeah, that’s what you are. You’re toxic.” His nostrils flare with a sharp breath but I keep going. “But I’ve got news for you. First, you totally deserved that. Totally and absolutely deserved what I did at the club. In fact, you got off easy. And second, if you think you can intimidate me by coming here and crashing my date, then—”
“Tell me something,” he cuts me off. “Do you really like this fuckface or is this for my benefit?”
I draw back. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he says, his voice low and rough, “are you on a date with him because you wish you were on a date with me?”