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)
“You… have a w-weird fascination with your t-teeth.”
He chuckles, or more like blows out a puff of air. “I’m a toxic snake, remember? I bite back.”
I flinch as if he really bit me. “But I…”
“Because if I can do it”—he grits his teeth and he does it so hard, I can feel his bones moving against my cheek—“take your dress apart, they can do it too.”
“Who’s t-they?”
His grip on me flexes and I have to arch my back against him. But he keeps my throat in place as he whispers, “The assholes out there who watch your every move.”
“It’s… It’s for the tips. I just told you.”
His chest moves with a breath. “Yeah, about that.”
“About what?”
Another breath, this one sharp and short. Then, “First thing tomorrow, you’re going into Gerard’s office and you’re telling him you quit.”
I forget to breathe, but it’s not as if I was able to breathe freely anyway. “What?”
“Now, I’m not an unreasonable man,” he goes on. “I know how these things work. I know you’re required to give two weeks’ notice, but the thing is, I don’t think I can last that long.”
“Last that long f-for what?”
“Before beating the shit out of someone out there for putting their eyes on you.”
It’s like he’s crushing my heart with those fingers of his. Digging them into my veins, making it into a pulpy mess. And I scratch his arm as I stutter, “What… What’s happening? Why are you… You’re acting crazy, you know that, right? I don’t understand what you’re doing. I don’t—”
He ignores me and goes on, “So I’ll give you a week, yeah? I’m not happy about it. In fact, after the way you danced for me, stumbling on your feet, almost coming down to your knees, looking like the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, I know I’m gonna be walking on broken glass all seven days you’ll work here, but”—his chest moves again, and this time his breath seems slightly fractured—“I’ll do it. I’ll make that compromise as long as Gerard knows you’re quitting.”
“His name,” I begin uselessly, “is G-George.”
“George, Gerard, whatever the fuck. You aren’t going to be working for him for long.”
I clench my eyes shut for a second before replying, “I can’t quit. This is my best-paying job.”
He shakes his head slowly. “Not anymore.”
“I-I’m sorry?”
“You have a new job now,” he declares. “And this one comes with enough money to pay off all your debt and then some.”
“My d-debt?”
“You have it, don’t you,” he rasps. “In fact, you’ve got so much of it, you’re drowning in it. You’re behind on your rent. On your phone bill. You’re behind on your sister’s medical bills too.”
I stop breathing. I really do. It really feels like he’s done his job. He’s choked me out and crushed my heart and I… I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t… All I can do is blink up at him with foggy vision as I whisper, “How do you… How do you know about my debt?”
He takes his time answering, his eyes sweeping over my face. “You sleep with your window open.”
I blink. “My window.”
“If you knew the kind of assholes walking around these days, you’d lock it and you’d lock it tight so no one gets in.”
“B-but it’s really hot at night and I don’t have… an AC.”
Anger flickers through his features like he hates the fact I have to sleep without an AC. Then, “Well, it’s a good thing then I snuck in through your open window and entered your shitty fucking life like a breeze of cool air then.”
My eyes widen and my stomach bottoms out as I realize what he’s saying. “You… You were in my… You came into my house. You—”
Something eats up my words then. Something that I feel.
His hand, on my thigh.
Super high up.
I look down to find that my skirt has ridden up and my panties are showing. White lacy ones, and his hand—the one that was on my tummy—is now on my upper thigh. Extremely close to their seam.
I get déjà vu from yesterday then. When he was touching me on my date. Except yesterday, his hand wasn’t so high up that if he decides to inch up his fingers, it won’t take a lot for him to hit the fabric covering me. Plus at the restaurant, his hand was under the table so I had no clue how it looked against my skin, but I do now. The lighting is dim and reddish but even so, I can tell. That his hand on me looks like it belongs. His rough, chafed fingers belong on my soft, unblemished skin.
But… But he was at my house. My house, while I was sleeping. Isn’t that what he meant? I was sleeping and my window was open and he…
He gives me a squeeze then. A hard one. So hard that I have to arch. I have to let go of his arm and reach up to his jaw. I have to widen my legs even more and all on my own. Like suddenly I can control my body, but only for his advantage. Only so he gets to touch me even more. I want to tell him to wait, to stop, but he squeezes me again. And again, I arch up, my hip undulating, my hand on his jaw moving up and gripping his rich, thick, soft hair.