Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
I follow her into the bedroom, but she charges for the ensuite, closing the door behind her.
I stare at the door for a few moments, feeling like the biggest jackass in the world, with no idea what to do.
“You have to believe me,” I say and then turn for the door.
I don’t know what the fuck I’ll do if she doesn’t believe me.
I need this woman.
I’d never trick her.
As I walk down the hallway, despite how that just went, I can’t help but smirk to myself.
She’s not just my woman.
She’s my virgin.
No other man is ever going to get to claim her sweet body.
She’s mine, all mine.
Forever.
Chapter Thirteen
Macie
I wake with a feeling of dread moving over me, certain that Miller is going to kick the door open and roar at me to get the hell out of here if I’m not going to screw him.
Last night when I stormed into the bathroom I was so full of anxiety, so full of fight-or-flight panic, so convinced he was going to laugh at me or mock me, that I didn’t even stop to consider he could be telling the truth.
What if it wasn’t a lie?
What if he truly feels the same way I do?
But by the time I’d calmed down enough to maybe have a conversation, he was gone and I was left feeling like the biggest jackass in the universe.
I could’ve gone and found him, but without the heat of his lust burning through me, I found the necessary confidence difficult to latch onto, reverting back to my usual ways of sneaking around and hoping nobody noticed me.
Sleep came after hours of tossing and turning, my mind alight with what happened between us, replaying the conversation over and over and cringing every time I yelled at him and burst into tears.
But what the heck did he expect, for me to accept it right away?
It makes no sense.
I sit up and look around the room, filled with sunshine, and then grab my phone and glance at the time. It’s eleven o’clock, meaning that Miller is probably long gone by now for his office.
What am I supposed to do?
I can’t risk going back to my apartment without sorting the Derrick situation, but at the same time hanging around here feels strange and presumptuous.
I walk into the ensuite and take a quick shower, trying to blast away my thoughts with the insane water pressure. But then the water starts to morph in my mind, becoming Miller's exploring hands I have to jump out before I give into the swelling desire to touch myself at the thought of him.
I can’t use him as a freaking masturbation icon after I screamed at him to leave me alone, can I?
I’ve just gotten changed when there’s a knock at my door.
It’s not the pounding drum-knock of Miller, but a more ladylike tap-tap.
My belly drops when the truth thunders into me.
It’s his girlfriend, the one he laughs with when they discuss how they trick gullible inexperienced virgins like me, and he’s sent her here to throw me out. My throat starts to close with panic and I want to scream, but that would let her know I’m in here.
“I know you’re in there, dear,” the woman says, as though reading my mind.
She sounds older than me, more sophisticated, a woman more on Miller’s level.
“It’s Macie, yes?”
“Yes,” I say because I feel like I haven’t got any other choice.
I can’t hide in here forever.
His girlfriend probably has keys.
How was I so stupid?
“I’m just going to pack my things and then I’ll get going, okay?”
“What?” The woman titters in the most civilized way imaginable. “Why on earth would you do that? I was going to ask if you wanted some breakfast, dear. Although brunch would probably be more apt.”
“What?” I pause, staring at the door like this is another trick. “I don’t understand. Who are you?”
“I’m Miller’s mother. Kayla.”
I giggle, shaking my head, relief washing through me. “Oh.”
“Oh?” she says, with an ironic lilt to her voice.
Now that I listen closely, I can hear a little of Miller in the way she speaks. She says oh with the same tinge of sarcasm Miller would, but without any of the bullying undertones that might come with that sarcasm from anybody else.
I find myself feeling at ease and I haven’t even properly met her yet.
“Are you going to let me in? Or shall I wait in the kitchen?”
“Um, two secs. I need to get dressed.”
“That’s okay, dear. I’ll wait in the kitchen. Do you like syrup with your pancakes?”
A cruel thought slithers into my mind, a hateful taunting thought that tells me she’s going to follow up my answer with a twisted joke about my weight. I know it’s the sort of thing I should’ve grown out of by now, this constant on-alert state for insults and taunts, but somehow I still find myself expecting the worst out of people.