Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
“Nineteen years old and a virgin.” He’s tight lipped as he hustles me toward the passenger side of his monster-sized truck, but when his hand touches the small of my back, I swear he splays his fingers as wide as they’ll go, feeling the base of my spine, just for a breath of time. “This is a terrible idea,” he grouses, gripping my waist and boosting me onto the seat, his heat and the coarseness of his hands scoring me through my shirt.
“I’m the best decision you’ve ever made!” I shout before he can close the truck door.
A moment later, he’s sitting in the driver’s side. Starting the engine.
I stare straight ahead, trying to calm my pulse. It won’t stop racing ever since he lifted me with so much ease. Ever since he touched my back. My waist.
When I finally look over at him, his chest is rifling up and down.
Sweat glistens on his upper lip.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine.”
“Can we pretend I didn’t just overshare that I’m a virgin?”
His jaw flexes in the muted moonlight. “Petra, I couldn’t pretend I didn’t hear that if my life depended on it.”
“Drama king,” I mutter, crossing my arms and slouching, like the petulant teenager he assumes me to be. “You know, since we’re going to tell everyone I’m twenty-three, that means I get to drink at the wedding.”
He snorts. “Shirley Temples, you mean.”
I snort back. “I might be a virgin, but I’ve been drunk. Twice.”
He rakes an agitated hand over his shaved head. “Please make that the last time you mention you’re a virgin.”
“Fine.” I last all of ten seconds, because now that I’ve overshared, I feel the need to explain myself. “I just grew up with a lot of bad impressions of men. Mostly through the stories my sisters told me. Or stories that I overheard.” I sit up straighter and cross my legs. “I guess I just want to be selective about who I get naked with. If a man is going to get on top of me and put his thing inside of me, I’d like to trust him. You know?”
I sneak a glance in Barry’s direction and catch him staring at my thighs.
It’s so brief, I wonder if I imagined it. But…
There’s an oddly shaped bulge pressing outward from behind his zipper.
Oh my gosh, he has an erection. He’s sweating and out of breath.
Despite all of Barry’s complaints about my age, does he have the hots for me?
Should I find out?
Before I can second-guess what is surely a bad idea, I unhook my seatbelt and slide across the bench seat toward Barry, watching the muscles tense and pop in his right arm, the leather of the steering wheel cracking beneath his grip.
“What are you doing?” he asks, low.
“Nothing.” With the tip of my index finger, I trace the cut line of his triceps. So warm and smooth, yet visibly lethal. “I just couldn’t help but notice you look a little uncomfortable.”
He laughs without humor. “So you thought you’d make it worse?”
I lay my cheek on his shoulder, my fingers continuing to strum up and down his arm. “It’s me that’s making you…uncomfortable?”
His swallow is heavy. Loud. “Like I said, I haven’t been with a woman in a long time. My body is confused. Petra, please stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Everything.”
I should be sympathetic to his tortured tone of voice. Why do I find it so…exciting? Is it the note of hunger? The implication that he’s fighting whatever is putting his body in pain? Emboldened by his reedy breaths and the darkness of the truck’s cab, I lift my mouth to his ear, whispering. “I’m only going to say this once, but you did pay for the full Girlfriend Treatment, Barry. Normally, the experience includes unlimited sex.”
He makes a choked sound. “You said earlier that you came to help me because you wouldn’t be required to have sex.”
“Maybe I changed my mind.” My right palm skims up his thigh, veering slowly into his lap where I grasp his thick ridge firmly through his jeans, massaging. Awed by the length and girth of him. Holy hell. “Maybe I don’t want an uncomfortable client.” I exhale into his ear. “Maybe you’re making me uncomfortable, too.”
“Oh fuck.” When I hear the spray of gravel, I realize Barry is pulling the truck over onto the side of the highway. He sits very still for a long moment, inhaling and exhaling through his nose. Then he’s exiting the driver’s side and slamming the door. He presses his back against the truck and at first, I just think he’s trying to get himself back under control. Until I see the muscles of his back and arms shifting. Quickly. In patterns.
A glance in the driver’s side rearview mirror shows him doing much more than centering himself.
There’s his long, stiff shaft in his hand and he’s pumping the flesh, up and down. Furiously. His head tips back and he grits a curse, the pace of his hand accelerating.