Page 59 of Wicked Surrender

“I won’t stand for this nonsense,” he vowed, standing up taller. “It seems like it’s too much to ask for you to be more like your sister, but mark my words. You will not have my support in this distraction to the future I’ve carefully planned for you.”

He left at last. Stewing in my chair, I slapped my laptop shut roughly and fumed a little more.

This was what Kristin had been urging me about, to defy him and do what I wanted. At least I’d be happy to go for my dreams.

But I wasn’t so sure. Would I be happy to defy him and do as I wanted? Or would this stupid guilt cling to me like it did now? He’d left me raw and wounded, second-guessing myself and hating that I lacked the clarity and courage to stand up to him—ever.

Too mad to pay attention to any of the papers again, I got up and showered. I couldn’t rinse off this ugly feeling either, so when I lay in bed and punched my pillow to try to get comfortable, I gave up the notion that I’d sleep at all.

But I did. Because in the middle of the night, I woke up with a start from another dream.

Jason.

I gulped, breathing hard before trying again to force down a swallow. My throat was parched and my mouth was dry. In contrast, the stickiness of my panties adhering to my skin proved that I was very wet in another way.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

Sitting forward as the erotic dream slipped from my mind, I covered my face with both hands.

Just how frustrated could a person get before they screamed endlessly?

Between my father berating me and reminding me that he would dictate my future and my bully taunting me to let him touch me and kiss me so naughtily in my subconscious…

I was stuck.

Unable to fight for what I wanted both in terms of my education and my physical needs.

“Fuck it all,” I whispered as I slumped back onto the bed and squeezed my eyes shut tight, willing my heart to slow and my pussy to stop aching with need.

20

JASON

Istrolled down the sidewalk and looked at my phone again.

SB:Just a reminder, the library is dealing with a water main issue again and it isn’t open for tonight’s tutoring session.

She used punctuation and all, even in texts. I shook my head, entertained, as I went to my contact list and changed her number’s information.

No moreSB, for Second-best. I typed in her name and looked over her texts once more.

Laura:I can meet you at O’Henry’s instead. It is usually quiet on Thursdays.

Laura:If you get these messages, please look for me in a booth near the back.

I shoved my phone into my pocket as I reached the diner’s door. Maybe calling it a bar was more suitable. It served some cheap alcohol, but like the dinky hole-in-the-wall that the establishment was, it was a crossover of a gathering place for people who didn’t want to spend a lot of money or be bothered by too many freshmen. The owner, an eccentric old grump, demanded that his clientele be age twenty-one and up, regardless of their buying booze or not.

I strolled toward the back, not in a rush to reach Laura. The more I measured out my steps, the longer I could try to prepare myself for the back-and-forth pulls where she was concerned.

Wanting her and despising her were wearing on me, and I was losing faith that I could keep a firm control on my desire.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

I nearly groaned as I spotted her near the back.

In a tank top—probably because the AC sucked in here—she showed me too much of her flawless skin.

Beneath the table, her bare legs proved that she was wearing a fucking skirt, not shorts or pants like usual.

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