Slick as Ides by Chanse Lowell, K. I. Lynn, Lynda Kimpel Read Free Book Online

panties the moment I get home—the ones he got me wet in a week ago when I decided he had no place in my head anymore.
    Bastard. Kissing me? Who does that after stealing someone’s car and getting caught?
    “Aaaahhhhh!” I scream and stretch my neck, continuing to drive as fast as I can.
    At a stop light, I rip my hoodie off and chuck it in the backseat. I had to get his germs off me—couldn’t wait until I was back in my garage.
    Within moments, I’m back home, tucked up safe in my car, hidden away in my own, personal, bat cave.
    I almost roll off the seat once I have the door open.
    What now?
    I’m too exhausted to scrub my car down.
    I head inside and find a way to get a few more drops out of the last of my homemade sanitizer.
    My feet shuffle around, heavy and uncooperative as I head to my office.
    I plunk down in my seat and stare at my newest ideas I’m working on, but my eyes shift away, and I’m anything but interested in working.
    How? How did I wind up caring about what he thought about me?
    He thinks I’m repellent.
    But he kissed you . . .
    I fight off a shiver, and look for my sweater, but for some asinine reason, it’s not resting on the back of my chair as usual.
    When I pause and think about it . . . I’m not cold. And my sweater’s in the dryer. I had to wash it after I sneezed.
    And I’ve still gotta get out of these dampened undies and pants.
    I get up, preparing to strip down—feeling grimy and obnoxiously dirty.
    I kick off my Doc Martens and yank off my socks. My black jeans fall to the floor, and I have my black tee shirt off a moment later. My panties follow. I fling it all on top of my pants.
    My bra is the only thing remaining. Well, it’s the only thing still clean, even if he did make me sweat a little. I don’t have boob sweat, and I’m sensible about not wasting detergent and water, so it stays on.
    I lean over and reach into the bottom drawer of my desk. After Vapor kept making me ooze for him, I started keeping a backup pair of panties in my desk.
    I slip them on, then stare at my pile of laundry that somehow all landed under the desk, and I realize that for the first time in my life I’m being messy, and I don’t give a fuck.
    I stand there, staring and blinking for several minutes, trying to take in everything that happened tonight.
    “I don’t care,” I tell myself. “He’s a douche. I really don’t care about him or this fucking mess.”
    I kick the pile of clothes I’ve made.
    Why should I care about any of it? I was almost violated.
    Somehow, I still can’t move though. I’m caught up, staring and simply breathing. I’m numb and stuck in place.
    I finally walk back to my bedroom with my head tipped down.
    My body wants to crash on me, and when I’m within falling distance of my mattress, I allow myself to land face-first into the fluffy comforter I secretly love with all its purple ruffles and flowery patterns.
    “Well, fuck, you don’t waste time getting naked for me,” a familiar voice lilts.
    “Ahhhhhh!” I scream, and before I can jump off the bed, strong arms grip mine behind me, and I’m cuffed to the top of my black, iron headboard.
    “Oh, yeah, I’m gonna have fun with you,” Nick says with a shifty smile.
    “Let me go, you nasty fucker, and I won’t send you straight to prison for this,” I howl. “I wasn’t kidding. They’ll rape you first thing because you’re so damn pretty. Doesn’t hurt you have a tight ass, too. Makes it easier on their thrusting muscles, and makes their dicks happy, too. You’re an inmate’s wet dream . . .” And mine . . .
    He nudges my leg with his wrist. “Let’s talk some more about my ass and how much you like it.” He rubs his jaw. “Or maybe . . . Just maybe, we should talk about how I outsmarted you, breaking into your impenetrable fortress. Rumor is, not only are you invincible, and no one knows who you are, but you’re also supposed to have the most secure home in the US. Not very secure