2. Annie
ANNIE
I’m shaking. There’s a strange man standing in my bedroom.
He’s enormous, at least a foot taller than me, with linebacker shoulders and a jaw that looks like it was carved from granite. He’s dressed in all black, but I can tell he’s built from ropes of muscle. And despite his flat expression, there’s something severe about him.
Compared to the boys my age, he looks like a warrior. Salt and pepper gray by his temples, rough hands, and something so masculine about him that I can’t put into words.
My God, he’s like a man out of one of my books…
The skin at the corner of his left eye twitches.
He’s staring at me like I’m the dangerous one in the room.
My heart pounds like a drum as I stand in front of him, wearing nothing but my soaked panties and a vintage T-shirt.
Born to Read, Forced to Work. God, why couldn’t I be wearing my Tom Petty one?
A sharp gasp hits me as a thought enters my mind.
Did he just see what I was doing?
But almost in response, this man—whoever he is—drags his eyes across my body and licks his lower lip. Yeah, he saw me. He definitely saw me.
I should be horrified. Any normal girl would be. But I’m not exactly…normal.
The thought of him watching me touching myself while reading one of my many erotic novels deepens my blush, but in a good way.
Something electric sizzles through me. My toes and fingertips tingle.
I was just reading a scene like this. What are the chances? My favorite trope: a woman caught in a vulnerable position by a dangerous older man. He has his way with her because he knows the woman secretly wants it. She’s not as innocent as she looks.
I must have touched myself thousands of times to scenes like that. But fiction is fiction, and reality is reality. Never in my wildest dreams did I think something like that could actually happen to me.
But here he is. A real man in my bedroom standing over me.
He hasn’t moved. He hasn’t touched me. And yet this is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.
Way hotter than any of the lame guys who ever tried to get into my pants. The few from school I went on dates with, maybe kissed a few times before being utterly disappointed. The one boyfriend I had for a few weeks before I got bored. He was nice, but he was just…boring.
I can’t even remember his name now.
For a while, I thought my naughty book habit had ruined romance for me. Ruined the desire for real sex. I mean, if my friends ever saw my reading history, their jaws would hit the floor.
But now, as I look at the monstrous, ruggedly handsome man standing in front of me with his bulging chest and knife-like cheekbones, I realize the truth.
I’m not ruined; I’m just specific.
“Who are you?” I ask.
The man’s lips part. He pauses. “Roman.”
“Roman what?” I reply.
“Graves.”
Despite the severity of the situation, I actually laugh. Seriously? The gigantic, terrifying, brutally sexy man who just broke into my bedroom is named Roman Graves? My Kindle’s algorithm couldn’t have invented a better man for me.
My thighs are scorching. I just had a really great orgasm, but I’m already getting horny again. And by the look on his face now and the obvious bulge in his jeans, so is he.
But he doesn’t move. He stands as stiff as a statue, his hands clenching open and closed at his sides. I feel my heart pulsing in my ears.
He’s holding himself back. But why?
He had no problem climbing up the fire escape and breaking into the window of my bedroom, but now he doesn’t want to touch me?
It almost pisses me off.
The muscles on either side of his chiseled jaw clench tighter and tighter. My nipples are hard. I know he’s noticed. If he was watching from outside, he must have seen me dancing in front of the mirror too…
…and lying in bed with my legs spread, playing with my pussy.
Maybe he wants you so badly he’s fighting not to touch you.
God, that would be so hot. I really am a freak, aren’t I? I take a step closer, and his jaw tenses even more. His hands ball into fists.
“Were you watching me?” I probe.
He glances sideways out the window, pauses, then looks back at me. “Yes.”
I’m blushing so hard now. Pins and needles sting my cheeks, and my inner thighs tingle. My pussy is still throbbing with that post-orgasmic rush, but something else is happening now. Something that I’ve never felt in the presence of a man.
“How much did you see?” My panties are tiny, barely there. And my legs were spread wide as I played with myself.
I already know the answer to my question, and Roman’s expression tells me everything I need to know.
I should be furious. I should scream, dive under my blankets, run for the closet and hide.
But when I think about him outside in the darkness—spying through my window and watching me touch myself in the most private of ways—all it does is turn me on even more.
“You like it, don’t you?” His question sets me back on my heels. This man is more than sexy. He’s sharp. Notices everything.
My immediate instinct is to deny it. What girl in her right mind would admit to being turned on by a random stranger watching her masturbate through her window? I open my mouth but can’t find the words.
My body goes tense as he lowers his jaw and stares at me with eyes like a predator. His chest expands as he takes a step closer. It’s just one step, but I swear I can feel an energy from his body. Like gravity pulling at me.
“Who were you thinking about?” His voice is low and strong, like thunder rumbling in the distance.
“What do you mean?” At first, I genuinely don’t understand what he’s asking me. But then I think about him outside in the dark, watching me reading, playing with my clit, and it hits me. “Oh, nobody. I wasn’t thinking about anyone—”
“Bullshit!” His voice snaps like lightning, causing me to jump. For a moment, I almost forgot how dangerous this man might be.
“Seriously,” I protest. “Just some guy in the book I was reading.”
“Not your boyfriend? Fiancé?”
“No,” I almost laugh. “Absolutely not.”
Roman’s eyes narrow. “You have no man whatsoever?”
My heart is racing as I shake my head. The sound of his voice has me trembling again. This is so intense. Even as I’m gripped with fear, the bad seed inside me is growing, ready to blossom. I’m getting lightheaded as I gaze up at him, the cotton of my panties soaking more as my arousal grows.
“No. I was just making him up in my head,” I reply. “Based on how my book described him.”
I know this is wrong. I know it’s bad. He’s a stranger. A dangerous stranger, and I’m lusting over him, desperate for his touch.
“What did he look like?” he demands, his husky voice penetrating my flesh deep down to my bones.
I could lie, but would he actually believe me? No, I think he’d see right through me. And that turns me on. He’s tall, big, and capable, and I can’t hide anything from him.
“You,” I say softly. His pupils dilate. “Tall, muscular, sexy…and kind of scary.”
Roman’s face shifts, betraying something deeply human. “Kind of?”
I let my eyes smile for me and shrug as he takes another step closer. His massive body blocks the light from my bedside lamp, bathing me in shadow.
“You mentioned your book.” Briefly, his eyes move to my Kindle. “What kind of books do you read?”
This is where my blush should deepen even more. Where I should nearly faint of embarrassment. But I’m suddenly filled with a sense of freedom, like I can finally share my naughty little secret with someone and not feel judged.
“Dirty ones,” I reply. “Where men break into women’s bedrooms. Climb through their windows.”
Roman’s eyes narrow. He’s so intense. Terrible, twisted thoughts flood my mind as he continues to stare at me. For the first time in my life, I’m in the presence of a man I don’t want to get away from. And given how he got here, that seems completely backward.
“Dirty books,” he replies. “But you’re not a slut, are you, Annie? You haven’t done any of those things, have you?”
His questions rock me. My lips tremble. “N-no,” I stammer.
Another step forward…
“Why not?”
He scours me with his eyes. I can almost feel their touch as he moves his gaze up and down my body. I wish I wasn’t wearing this T-shirt. Not because it’s corny but because it covers too much. A man like this deserves to see more.
Jesus, what’s wrong with me? I know I have daddy issues, but these thoughts—I should be ashamed of myself.
Still, Roman is a clear opposite to my father. Dad is a charming man with a million-dollar smile who is always dressed like he’s headed to the red carpet. But he’s also chaotic and unreliable.
My whole life I’ve watched him bail on me, disappear for months, leaving me with bills to pay and a house to take care of. As soon as I was able to move out, I did, but he still always somehow manages to mess up my life. Even from afar.
I guess I never realized it until just now, when a man who could have stepped right out of one of my books came in through my window like he owned the place—but my dad is the reason I’ve never found any of those past boys attractive.
My dad may be charming, but he’s not competent. He can’t take control, and neither could any of the other guys I went out with. That’s why I never did anything with them.
My whole life has been me making decisions, me being the adult, me mopping up Dad’s messes. Giving up control was dangerous and could lead to disaster. But when I look at Roman, a sinful thought rips through me.
Giving in to him doesn’t feel dangerous at all. In fact, it feels like the right thing to do.
My body betrays me. My expression shifts, and Roman reacts. He nearly frowns and mutters softly, his voice low and heavy, “Tell me to leave and I will.”
This is it. This is the crucial moment.
The sensible answer, the right answer, is to tell him to go.
That’s what any girl in her right mind would do. Tell the big, strong man who just broke into her apartment to get the fuck out and never come back. Right?
I glance at the window and picture him leaving…climbing out into the darkness, never to be seen again. And a pit forms in my stomach. I look down as my mind starts to spin.
This is a bad man. A dangerous man. A criminal. Any man who would watch a girl through her window and then break in must be.
Tell him to leave. Just do it. Tell him to go.
My floor creaks as he takes another step closer. “Tell me to leave, Annie. And I’ll go.”
I know what I have to say. I’ll just tell him what he wants to hear and go back to my books, read another chapter, have another orgasm, and go take a long shower. A very, very cold shower.
His eyes are on me now. I can feel them. And when I look up, my lips part, and without thinking, I say the only thing I can.
“No. I don’t want you to.”