Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“I thought you’d have time to come home first.” The disappointment in his tone brings a grin to my face.
“This is home now,” I tell him, wishing I could see his face fall at that news. I’m a horrible person.
“You know what I mean,” he moans, and I can picture the creases on his forehead.
“How’s my father?” I change the subject, ignoring his sigh.
“Fine. Same as always. Your mom would be so proud of you, Ally.”
She would be more for herself than me. She’d be calling everyone she knew, putting up banners, baking a celebration cake she’d refuse to let me have a slice of.
“Sugar rots you from the inside out.”
A knock on my door gives me an excuse to hang up. “I have to go, Clint.” I end the call without waiting for a response and jump up from the bed.
When I open the door, Megan is standing there, holding out a piece of paper with an address on it.
“The girls with scholarships usually work part-time to make some extra money. We have set you up with a position that works around your commitments to the school.”
Wow, this place just keeps getting better. They go above and beyond.
“Thank you.” I take the slip of paper, running my eyes over the ink.
Leto Vino Bar
I didn’t sleep well, and it shows in my movements as I make use of the empty space in the studio.
Classes don’t start for a few days, and I’m the only one who has been up at dawn training every day in preparation, pushing my limits until everything hurts.
I feed off the pain like a ravenous dog on a bone. My mom used to say I dance angry. My coaches called it passion. I call it hunger—hunger to escape my life. It’s my ticket out.
I want to go into the city and find where I’ll be working and get a feel for the place, so I grab my stuff and head to the showers, rolling my eyes at the obvious sexual grunting coming from one of the cubicles.
Debating for a second whether to let them finish and come back, I decide to just hit the shower a couple cubicles down and make it quick.
Turning on the spray, I step beneath it and sigh.
The pressure is incredible. The pitter-patter over my shoulders loosens the tight muscles.
The shower at home was like having someone piss on you from above.
Everything is better far, far away from there.
Whoever’s getting off reaches their climax, and I smile to myself thinking of Clint’s face if I told him I share a communal shower and people fuck in them.
Rinsing the soap from my body, I grab my towel and step out, greeted by a blonde girl putting on makeup in front of the fogged-up mirror.
“Hey,” I jerk my chin, straining the water from my hair.
“Sorry you had to hear that.” She grins, swiping a pink color across her lips. “We usually fuck in his room, but his roommate watches and it creeps me out.”
“No problem,” I shrug. “I promise I didn’t look.” I add with a sly smirk.
She turns to me, pointing her lipstick. “I like you.” She winks, clutching up her toiletry bag. “By the way,” she calls from the exit, “you’re bleeding.”
My gaze turns to the mirror. The tiny scab on my lip must have gotten saturated in the shower, slightly re-opening the wound.
Dark blue eyes filter into my mind. The firm grip that left a light bruise on my jaw wakes my libido, my nipples aching. Pinching them through the fabric of the towel does nothing to ease the desire.
Entering my room, I chuck the towel to the floor and inhale the cold air kissing my fevered skin. I check my lip in the mirror, smearing the blood just like the asshole did that day.
My breathing accelerates, and I close my eyes, conjuring up his image, imagining his rough fingers touching me as I trace down my torso over the mound of my pussy. Separating my lips, I feel the liquid heat there.
Fuck, I need more.
Pulling open the top drawer, I clutch onto the small, stained pocket square I stole from Blue Eyes and move to the bed.
Laying back, I drop my knees and rub the cloth over every inch of my body. Pushing two fingers into my greedy pussy, I force the heel of my palm down on my clit and writhe against it.
I cover my face with the small piece of cloth until my walls throb around my fingers, a warm rush pulsating through my body, peaking my nipples and curling my toes.
The noise and traffic are a huge culture shock.
Everywhere feels crowded and suffocating. I lived in a town with two thousand residents’ total. There seems to be two thousand people for every hundred yards here.
A group of women in stilettos carrying handbags larger than my suitcase scurry past me to avoid the sprinkling of rain falling from above, their squeals playful as they rush inside a clothing boutique.