Page 61 of Prey Tell
“I assume you have some work to do with your dissertation. And I need to meet with The Domme Group to finalize some things for The Hunt tomorrow.”
Oh.
I nod. “Yeah, that’s fine.” He’s not wrong. I am woefully behind on my dissertation since every ounce of free time over the last two weeks was spent researching all of this. “So we’re not…” I trail off.
The corners of his lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. “I said no sex today. And I am a man of my word. Everything else, however, is on the table.”
He turns and walks away, leaving me to contemplate his words until I see him again.
Everything else, however, is on the table.
CHAPTERTWELVE
THE SCENE
Juliet
I spend nearly twenty minutes cleaning the dirt out of my hair in the shower—because yes, lying in fresh dirt meant that I needed to shower again. I try not to overthink about the fancy shampoo and conditioner in his shower, the expensive skincare, the two sets of robes. Chase did say he hadn’t selected a submissive yet, but I can’t help but think that all of these nice things were meant for someone else.
After I’m done applying the toners and masks and lotions, I spend the next two hours too nervous to eat as my eyes scan an article about the central nervous system and its effects on human sexual behavior.Ha.It takes me way too long to pull quotes to use in my dissertation, and once I’m done formatting the reference, I pick through the rest of my saved articles. Every noise and creak makes me jump.
After nearly three hours, I start to get impatient. I close my laptop and pull out one of my newest library finds—a new adult college romance about a girl who makes a deal with the campus bad boy. I hardly have time to read for pleasure, but when I do, it usually entails something delicious and smutty. I still haven’t changed out of the massive bathrobe after my shower, and it occurs to me that perhaps I should’ve.
Just as I’m about to stand up to change, I hear the electronic beep of Chase’s door unlocking, and then the whirring sound of the lock opening. I stare down at my book and pretend to read as Chase walks into the living room in my peripheral.
Don’t look up.
Don’t be obvious.
I read the same paragraph five times, deciding to cross my legs and pretend to be invested in the paperback that, of course, has a half-naked man on the cover.
Pretend.
Don’t let him think you’ve been waiting three hours for him like a sad puppy dog.
My eyes skim over the same paragraph a dozen more times. I want to look up, but I also want him to think that I don’t care that he was gone for three hours, wondering what he was doing.
“How long are you going to pretend to read, Parker?”
My eyes snap up from the book, and I realize he’s leaning against the wall, watching me.
“I’m not pretending—”
He slowly rolls the sleeve of his flannel shirt up. My mouth falls open as his lips tilt up into a cocky smirk.
An indicator I’ve used in the past is rolling my shirt sleeves up. So, if we’re out in public and I roll them up, what does that mean for you, Parker?
“I’m going to ask again. This time, try not to lie.” He rolls the other sleeve up to his elbow, and I swear I think I might be drooling at his commanding presence. “How long have you been pretending to read?”
“Since you walked into the room,” I tell him honestly. “Sir.”
The instant the word leaves my mouth, his eyes narrow, and I swear I see the hint of a smile play on his lips.
He nods once like he expected this answer. “I want to play a game. I’m going to count to thirty, and you’re going to hide.”
“In this room?” I ask, looking around.
He pushes off the wall and puts his hands in his pockets. “We have the whole third story to ourselves.”
