Page 146 of Wanting What's Wrong

It’s like some PTSD or whatever and let’s be real, he could have some horrible trauma in his past and I wouldn’t know, would I? For all I know, he could be some stalker that kidnapped me.

Maybe he’s a psychopath with plans to keep me tied up in the basement as his sex slave…

I punch the pillow, flopping onto my back.

Maybe there’s a silver lining after all.

As I tossed and turned in this massive, beautiful bedroom inthe big empty bed, all sorts of stories tumbled around in my imagination.

Is he a football player at all? Yes, I believe so, because the nurses and doctors recognized him. Jackson Sanders, USC quarterback.

Go Trojans!

If I had some internet access, I could do some recon, but even on my phone, the internet browser is deactivated and there are no computers in the house. Weird but okay.

But, that doesn’t mean the gorgeous, all-American football hero doesn’t have some other skeletons he’s hiding. But, in my heart, I doubt he’s dangerous. A little hard edged, sure, but that’s sexy as heck.

Though I’ve ‘known’ him for less than 24 hours in this amnesia brain of mine, deep in my sub-conscious, I’ve known him for years. I know because he said. And even with my limited knowledge about myself, I don’t strike me as the kind of girl that would stick with a psychopath or someone abusive.

I blow out a breath, throwing my legs over the side of the bed, tossing the freakishly soft cream bedding to the side.

Jack said he was going to go blow off some steam after he stripped down to his boxers and pulled a pair of athletic shorts from the small bag he brought inside.

I watched in awe as he stripped off his shirt and pants, standing there like he was carved from bronze. Every angle of his torso was im-pecc-able. I imagined running my tongue through every muscular valley. The memory of his fingers dancing around in my wetness making the clenching down deep erupt again.

There’s truth to the idea that mating is some primal need. It’s got to be in our DNA because these feelings are not just fleeting. I want his dick inside me. Full. Stop.

That’s blunt, but it’s the truth. It’s all I can think about as my face flushes and a sheen of sweat covers my body the sunsneaking in through the closed drapes from the summer day outside.

When he kissed the top of my head and tucked me in, I wanted to reach out and grab the clear outline of his hard-on and tug at him until he was balls deep.

Alas, his super Daddy patience won out, and he left me needy and whimpering as he walked out the bedroom door headed for the workout room he said was downstairs.

I pad over to the closet where there are bags of clothes and other gifts strewn all over the floor.

I hold up a few pieces of lingerie but decide to go in a different direction, grabbing a pair of white cotton panties and a tank top with the words Brat Mode Activated written across the chest.

Seems fitting, since I feel a tantrum coming on if I don’t get my way. Andsoon.

Who would have thought it would bemepressuring a guy like Jack to do the full dirty deed? His patience is infuriating. He’s touched me, and yes, he gave me that little, baby, tiny taste of the tip of his cock, but I think that was him teasingmeand it worked.

I’m wound so tight, one push and I’m going to fly apart into a zillion pieces.

I tug my hair into a messy bun and spread some of the cherry lip gloss from one of the bags onto my lips. The tank top is a bit obscene over my triple D braless boobs but that works in my favor.

I wiggle into the panties, my ass cheeks peeking out of the elastic in the back as well. I’m a thick girl and although I think Jack and I are a bit of a mismatch, I vow to use my curves to my advantage instead of shrinking with the feelings of not being good enough.

With a few more last-minute words of encouragement intothe mirror, I make my way to the bedroom door and down the hall to the stairs.

The house is silent except for the icemaker dropping some cubes inside the freezer and the ever-present seagulls over the lake outside. I tip toe through the cool kitchen to where there is a stairway to the basement. The first floor is pretty open and logic and intuition tell me if there’s a home gym, it’s in the on the lowest level.

By the time I hit the fourth step down, I know I’m right. The low thump of rock music drifts upward as well as grunting sounds.

I slip down into the main area which is pretty empty outside of a pool table and a comfy looking sectional couch. A bar is along one wall and there are glass sliding doors that look outward to the lake, making me itch to get Jack out there for some skinny dipping…

But, first things first.

The grunting stops as I approach the open door, bright lights streaming into the other room. There’s a whirring sound then a rhythmic thumping as I reach the door and peer in, putting my plan together on the fly.

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