Page 110 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

Not that I want to think about fires.

Or Bear, Andi, Miranda, or Kate.

Talk about a mood killer.

I restart the movie once she’s settled. We only have one lamp on in the corner, adding to the scary effect. I keep flinching, spilling popcorn across my lap, which causes Maddy to cackle.

I’m not a good horror flick person.

“We’re watching Halloweentown next.” I grab my phone and head to the bathroom, although the movie keeps playing. I do not need to see the girl running from the scary chainsaw guy get caught. The faster this one is over, the better.

There’s a text from my mystery guy.

L.

Bedroom.

What?

Me

What do you mean?

The one thing that wasn’t doxed by that stupid fucking gossip page was my address.

I wait for him to reply, but there’s nothing. I finish in the bathroom, peek into the living room to make sure Maddy is still enthralled in the movie—she is—and head back to my bedroom. The door is mostly shut.

I push it open and tiptoe in, half expecting someone to be lounging on my bed. Because that would totally make sense, right? Wrong.

Should’ve known better.

Someone grabs me from behind, their hand around the lower part of my face, keeping my jaw shut and muffling the sound that squeaks out. He’s wearing thick leather gloves. He wraps a blindfold around my eyes, only releasing my mouth long enough to tie it in quick jerks. I’m walked toward my desk, until my thighs touch the edge. He folds me over, my cheek touching the surface. One hand stays on my spine.

My pants come down.

My heart is beating out of control, and I grip the edge of the desk.

He doesn’t fuck me. Instead, I feel him lower himself down, his breath warming my bruised ass cheeks. He seems to inspect it, cupping the one with Carter’s name and mauling it in his gloved hand. Then the glove disappears, and his bare fingers dig into the bruises.

I let out a whimper.

His other hand is already bare, and he parts my cheeks. My mouth opens, but I don’t let any sound come out. Not with Maddy?—

His tongue rims my asshole without warning. I jerk away from him, but there’s nowhere to go. He dances around it, then thrusts in. My fingers tighten on the desk until my nails threaten to break. His fingers go lower, slipping down my center.

I’m fucking wet. It’s embarrassing.

It’s not how I wanted to meet him.

He inserts two fingers inside me, seeming to almost experiment with how I react. Waiting for me to turn my face into the desk, for my body to shudder. He brings me right to the edge, when my muscles just start to clench and pulse, and he withdraws.

I groan.

His mouth moves across my ass cheek. Something lightweight but hard hits the desk. It sounds like a plastic cap. Then another sensation brushes my skin.

Pen?

Marker?