Page 62 of A Cock and Bull Story
I almost cry at the thought, but the dean rolls his eyes.
“Stop being so melodramatic, Miss Harper. I want nothing of the such. Your womb is no use of me outside your body. I need it inside of you.”
“For what?” I ask in confusion.
“For exactly what it's meant to do, my dear,” he responds condescendingly.
“Wombs are for housing babies,” I point out.
“Exactly, Miss Harper.”
And then it dawns on me—this crazy fuck is going to use me as a breeder.
“I'm on the pill!” I shout loudly, the sound reverberating around the large empty room.
Dean Hardwick waves a hand.
“No worries. It’s nothing that my scientists haven’t already taken into account.”
Great.
The psycho has scientists.
“All we need to do is give you a shot to put you into ovulation.”
Body, if you're listening to me, don't go into ovulation. This crazy man is going to hijack our eggs—and womb—and make monster babies out of them. . . in me.
I can see the future now—a world full of slutty little Belles that can turn into God-knows-what-kind of animal.
“What we're going to do is inject you with a special serum created just for women with your blood type. You'll start ovulating, and then, we'll bring in our finest shifters.”
“I can reassure you I’ve actually already had sex with some of your finest shifters,” I say.
The dean looks a little confused, and I quickly shut my mouth. I'm probably just getting Arthur and Jack into a lot of trouble. “I mean, bring on these shifter studs.”
I want to smack my stupid self—I can't, though, because I'm bound.
“That's the spirit,” the dean praises. “I'll be right back.”
“OK, self,” I pep-talk when he’s out of sight. “This is the time where all those hidden powers that you've read about your entire life in book and movie characters needs to manifest. We need to break out of here and get away before they make us their shifter whore.”
My mind kind of sidles at that word—as if intrigued by it.
No brain! We are not intrigued about being a shifter whore!
Seriously, my hormones need to get their shit together. This could be life or death—I can't give birth to a shifter, and Dean Hardwick makes it sound like I need to pop out one or more of these puppies.
I mean, I say puppies, but who knows what they’ll be!
I wiggle my arms as best as I can, trying to break the rope. As someone who has been tied up a lot and who has tied up a lot of people, I'm actually pretty proficient with knots. Unfortunately, this one must have been done by a Shibari master.
I try for three minutes solid and only chafe my wrists as my reward. Of course, the shifter bad guys return in that time. If my life were a story—I would shut the book. I would be really pissed at the author because this sucks donkey balls.
And, thanks to Jack, I can say I've sucked donkey balls—this is by far way worse.
I would take Jack's ass tea-bagging meanyday of the week over what's about to happen to me now.
“Listen, fellas,” I start when the dean returns with another guy.
