Page 74 of Trailer Park Billionaire
I duck, mortified. But it’s too late. He definitely saw me. Saw me watching him. So, with as much dignity as I can muster, I stand back up and give a tiny, tormented wave.
My partner in crime grins. In response, I shut the curtain so fast I nearly rip it off the rod.
Smooth, Helena. Real smooth.
A smooth criminal if I’ve ever seen one.
I groan and retreat to my bedroom, flopping onto the bed in defeat. If embarrassment could kill, I’d be nothing more than a tragic cautionary tale by now. Alas, I’m not dead. Just dead horny. And if I’m feeling this way already, I might as well get something out of it. So I start searching for my magic wand in the mess of moving boxes stacked next to the bed.
Instead of pleasure, I find socks, a ton of books (he didn’t need to bring all of those), and an entire arsenal of toilet paper I had stored away in my bathroom (he definitely didn’t need to bring that).
I kick the cardboard box and discover another one just behind it. Inside is the little chest with toys I was looking for.
Thank fuck.
I flop back onto the bed, strip off my panties, turn on the magic wand, and groan loudly—when it won’t do anything. The battery is dead. Of course, it is.
I stare at the ceiling like it holds the answers to all my problems… or at least the location of the freaking charger, because it’s not in the damned chest.
Alright, seems like I have two options now: suffer in frustrated silence or take matters into my own hands. And since I’ve never been one to let a minor inconvenience stop me, my hand trails lower, brushing over my stomach, then slipping between my legs.
I start drawing gentle circles, spreading my wetness around. Although to be fair, I am so wet I don’t really require any sort of spreading. My fingers slide right in on the first try. With my other hand, I give my nipples a little tug to help this thing along. And it feels… adequate. All of this feels good. My hands should be enough. They usually are. But tonight, even after a solid twenty minutes of this, I’m having trouble finishing. Tonight, my mind is annoyingly specific about what it wants. And what it wants is the man currently sleeping outside to protect me. It wants Ben. It wants Ben close. Not just Ben standing close, all cocky grins and suggestive winks and seductive whispers. No. My mind wants him less charming con man, and more criminal with a cause and a hand around my throat.
I close my eyes, my fingers still working circles, and let my imagination take over. He’d be hovering over me, pinning me down, that deceptively charming smile gone. In its place would be something darker. Something hungry. His voice would be a low growl in my ear, asking me just how long I was going to pretend I didn’t want this. Didn’t want him.
I bite my lip, my breath hitching as I picture his hands—those talented, thieving hands—gripping my wrists, holding me in place while his mouth trails lower. A teasing scrape of teeth against my skin. A wicked chuckle against my thigh. The slow, deliberate torture of him drawing it out, of him making me beg.
Because Ben? Ben would make me beg.
A sharp gasp escapes me, my body arching into my own touch. My hips lift. My fingers press deeper, chasing the release I know is close. My breath comes faster, my skin burning as the fantasy spirals into something rougher. More desperate. Because I wouldn’t just let Ben take control—I’d make him work for it.
I’d push against him, feel the flex of his muscles as?—
A screeching noise makes me jolt upright in my bed. It sounds like someone dragging their nails across a blackboard. I freeze on the mattress, trying to calm my heavy breathing. The hairs on my neck stand up, but this time not from arousal. There’s someone outside. I swallow hard. There it is again—the dragging noise, a little quicker now. That isn’t Ben. Ben wouldn’t do that to me. Somebody else must be here, must have slipped past him. I rush to the kitchen and grab a knife. Then I remember the pepper spray and grab that too. And then I’m standing in the middle ofmy apartmentBen’s safe house, listening for that sound, and trying to decide what to do. Maybe I can make it past whoever is outside and run to Ben before?—
There it is again. Now farther away. I walk over to the door. It’s still locked.
I swallow again. “You should just leave,” I say, sounding weaker than I mean to. “I’m armed. And my… partner is outside. Smoking. He’ll be back any second now.”
I wait.
No response.
I wait some more and consider opening the door to take a look. But I have seen more than one horror movie in my life, and know that that never ends well. So instead, I take a chair and wedge it under the door handle.
Maybe it wasn’t them trying to intimidate me.
Maybe it was… just a ghost.
Or maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me.
It’s been going crazy all night anyway, what with all the dirty daydreams about Ben.
A few minutes later, I’m reasonably certain that there’s no one outside. Peeking through the curtain, I spot Ben sleeping peacefully in his RV. He’s balled up in his blanket, his head resting on a pillow against the door. He looks comfortable, buthe shouldn’t have to sleep like this. I’ll ask him tomorrow if he wants to spend the night. On the couch, that is.
Knife and pepper spray still in hand, I return to bed. I put the knife on the little nightstand and the pepper spray under my pillow. Just in case. Then I roll onto my stomach and bury my face in it.
I’m tired.
