A Wild Ride (Jessica Brodie Diaries #3)(26)

Smiling to myself, and hurrying to get into position so he couldn’t back out, I reached my hand into my panties. “My middle finger is rubbing up my wet slit.”

He groaned. I faintly heard a zipper and more rustling. “Put it inside you.”

I did as instructed, laying back and spreading my legs, feeling more thoroughly.

“Now what?” he asked gruffly. His voice was already labored. It meant he wasn’t even getting time to masturbate over there. He’d be a ball of sexual frustration when he got home.

I smiled with that thought.

“I am putting my hand over my breast, teasing a nipple. My other hand is teasing my clit, pretending it is your tongue.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’m dipping one finger inside myself.”

“Talk dirty.”

Crap—I was terrible at talking dirty. I didn’t much like the p-word. Still, I wanted a happy ending so I gave it a try. “I’m rubbing my pu—*,” I said in a hushed voice, strangely embarrassed someone might overhear.

“Um hmmm.”

“I'm fu—finger f**king myself.”

“Yes, baby.”

I was actually turned on. I rubbed my clitoris harder, liking the build.

“I’m rubbing my hard nipple,” I lied.

“Where do you want my cock?” he navigated.

“Inside of me, William. I want you to pound your hard c**k inside me.”

“Yes, Jess. More.”

“I want you to take me. To lay me on the bed and push into me. Hard.”

He was breathing fast now, his movement ringing through the phone.

“I want you to f**k my pu-*, William. Fuck me.”

“Jess—“ His voice was strained, my name cut off as he spilled his load.

I took a moment to myself, keeping the p-word out of my head so I could envision his body and find my cl**ax. By the time he was finished cleaning up, I was shuttering in delight.

“Are you embarrassed?” he asked with a smile hidden through the phone.

“I’m good.”

“I like when you talk dirty.”

“I like when you are corporal.”

“Nice hedge.” He laughed. “I love you more than words.”

“I love you, too, baby. I’ll see you soon.”

“Not soon enough. Stay safe.”

I always got teary when I said goodbye to him. It was scary how much I missed the guy. How much I depended on him. It felt like he had one of my ribs and was pulling on it from the other side of the United States.

Unimpressed with the state of my Saturday night, I opened the cover of Lump’s book and started reading.

I startled awake with drool on my face and a crick in my neck. I was still in my reading chair, but the book was laying on the ground. I remembered taking a break when the heroine was walking into the house where the villain was waiting for her, and apparently my brain figured sleeping was better than being scared.

It took me a moment to realize that something was wrong. It took me another moment realize it was because Fred was standing three feet from me, hair bristled, looking toward the window across from me with a low, deep growl in his throat.

I had only ever heard this dog growl when I was playing with him, or the one time William was agitated in my vicinity. With a dog trained like Fred, growling meant warning.

The small hairs on my neck stood on end. I got up slowly and turned off the light. If someone was in the house Fred wouldn’t be looking at the window. If someone was outside, they would be able to see in if the light was on.

Those were logical thoughts that came slowly, which meant fear was trying to eat away at my senses.

First thing: make sure the doors are locked. I’d gotten lax since I moved to this cottage.

In the darkness I hastened out of the room and away from the windows to the stairwell. There were no other lights on, so I hurried down the stairs and to the front door, Fred shadowing me all the way. I grabbed the deadbolt and twisted—it didn’t move.

Good. Locked.

I let out a breath of relief. Back door would certainly be locked—I never used it.

So. I was in the locked house with a trained, hopefully lethal, Doberman Pincher. Things could be worse.

Next step: peep out the window and get a good laugh when I realized it was Lump needing…something. A chat, maybe. Perhaps she had a fight with Adam.

But Fred wouldn’t growl at Lump. Maybe some hair bristling until she got to the door, but no growl. Growl meant something was amiss.

Okay then, I need to peep out a window.

I really don’t want to.

Steeling my nerve, I tip-toed through the living room to a window facing away from the house. If there was someone out there, they would probably come through the trees and stuff, right?

There was no one there. It took me ten seconds to realize that I was stupid, and Fred was not turned this way. He was turned toward Gladis’s house. Which might be good news.

Oh God, what if Dusty got out?

Fred would eat him.

But what if he still had the gun?

Without further ado, I sprinted upstairs to my bedroom and nearly jumped into my running shoes. Whatever it was, I’d rather run like a chicken then stay and fight. I couldn’t get far in bare feet.

Shoes on, complimenting pajama bottoms and a hoodie, I tip-toed through the house—why am I tip-toeing?—to the side that Fred was still growling at. Hesitantly, I peeped through the side of the curtain.