Burning Offer (Trevor's Harem #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

And the game is as odd now as it was then.  
    The question asks, Have you ever had sex with a stranger in public?

CHAPTER SIX

Bridget

    I manage to record two chapters of Deadly Engagement , third in the Deadly Game trilogy and the latest in my queue from Archive Audiobooks. I’ve been enjoying the Deadly Game books quite a lot, and not for reasons you’d expect. I’ve always loved reading, so doing it for a living feels like winning the lottery. But Deadly Game is special. The books are thrillers — a genre usually read by men unless the main character is a woman. But Archive picked me as the narrator despite the action-heavy stories being a total sausage fest. It feels like a blow for equality. Or at least for me — the girl badass enough to pull them off.  
    But this session is different. I hear a phantom voice whispering in my ear at every pause.
    You’re not so fucking tough after all, are you, Bridget Miller?
    Each time I resume, I have to do two takes. The first is always hesitant. As if someone’s undermining me, trying to put me off my game. It takes two attempts to recover my confident voice each time.  
    But that’s not even the worst of it.  
    I go into the bathroom and see my dress, now hanging from the showerhead by its straps to dry.
    And I hear that hard, cold voice telling me I’m tighter than he thought I’d be.  
    I assume that if Alexander stalked me enough to find me last night, it was a simple trick to get my last name, too. And if he’s a stalker — one who’d already fucked me over the phone, giving us a history — then of course he’s probably spent some time thinking about my pussy, including (and especially) its tightness. Possibly how I trim my pubes, shit like that. So it’s creepy and gross, how familiar he acted. And maybe I should be nervous because it wouldn’t be hard to figure out where I live if he doesn’t already know. Maybe I should even go to the cops.  
    But what would I tell them?  
    Officer, a man is stalking me. He found me last night when I was at a club, watching my friend’s band play.
    I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Miller. Were you able to escape without incident?
    Mostly. Except that I did demand that he stick his dick in me first.  
    I don’t think it’ll go over well if I report him. I’m not even looking forward to telling my doctor.  
    But the biggest problem isn’t Alexander and what he’ll do next. I should be worried, but I’m not. If I’m honest — and I have a reputation for being so honest, it hurts — I’ve been thinking a lot about how he might track me down again. I’m thinking about it right now, while I finish peeing. And my hand spends more time wiping than is strictly necessary. After the toilet paper’s been discarded and I’ve already flushed. After I’ve spread my legs wider, to give my hand better access.  
    But no. I know I’m fucked up, but I’m not that fucked up, am I? I’ve never had healthy relationships, but this is another level. God help me, I’m totally turned on by the thought of my stalker. The guy who aroused me so much during our phone sex session that I broke my usual wall of professionalism. The guy who fucked me as if angry, then vanished like a shadow.
    I withdraw my hand, denying my satisfaction. I stand and hike my panties up so hard I damn near give myself a wedgie. My unsexy cargo pants come next. I stare at the girl in the mirror with her hair pulled back in a way that won’t allow bullshit. My hard blue-green eyes.  
    Fuck anyone who messes with me. That’s how it’s always been. I have no middle ground or filter. I’m black and white. I’ll fight to the death for my friends and semblance of family, and am ruthless with enemies, of which I have plenty — even if they barely know I hate them. I always say what I mean. I do what’s best for me and mine, no matter what anyone has to say about it.
    I splash cold water on my face. It plasters the nearest hairs to my skin, turning