Page 60 of Unlocking Ruin

A double-shot espresso—or rather, two of his thick, calloused fingers thrusting deep into me sure sounded good right now.

Absorbing everything he told me on barely any sleep was hopeless, so I surrendered to wild fantasies of Steffen delighting my body every hour.

Hourly?

All right, maybe it was more like several times an hour. As captives, we cling to fantasies of freedom.

Freedom on his fingers?

Quiet, conscience!

Oh my gosh! I was more fucked up than my stalker.

The only people who could understand this situation and who would support me were in one specific group. The problem was that I was not part of the group. In fact, I used to ridicule them because I despised books. I detested fairytales. I didn’t want an escape.

Unless it was on Steffen’s fingers… or other parts of him.

Damn! I needed someone who was well versed in Booktok. I needed to know how to handle stalker tropes; I was living in one.

The only reason I even knew about the subject was that my headphones died when I was in line at the university coffee shop. I overheard a conversation about a book plot that made me question what the hell was going on in the publishing world. But then I turned on the evening news, and I stopped questioning why people craved escapism.

I regret not joining that trend; now I’m isolated and lost.

The next hour of my life is just as useless because it’s another fairytale that isn’t true. I imagine what life as Alister Baine’s daughter would have been like.

Torben came to my room and asked if I wanted dinner. I refused; my stomach was in such a knot it had traveled up to my throat. Even drinking water felt like a gruesome task.

I curled up in bed and tossed and turned. It felt like hours had gone by, and my stomach was in full revolt.

Kicking the covers off, I open the door expecting to see Torben, but a long, eerily silent hall meets me.

“Hello,” I call out. My stomach growls and demands food. I spot the door that leads to Steffen’s room.

Yeah, you’re not going in there. I know you.

Would that be so bad? Imagine the orgasms.

Food first, thoughts about my needy pussy later.

I quietly descend the dark hallway and glass stairs, searching for a kitchen downstairs. My hands slide over the smooth cement walls. “Ever heard of a light switch?” I mumble.

What do rich people do to turn the lights on?

“Abracadabra,” I whisper. Nope, didn’t work.

Giving up on a lighted path, I force my eyes to adjust. I discover three guest bathrooms, several sitting rooms, and then I open another door. Gold mine. An office with a laptop.

Is that Steffen’s personal laptop?

There’s that rush. The need to hack into it and see what’s inside. I rush to it, sinking into a plush leather chair. Wide-eyed and heart racing, I open it, but of course it’s password protected.

Closing my eyes, I spin around in the chair like a child.

“Disappointed?”

I yelp and plant my feet on the floor. Steffen stands in the doorway, one leg crossed over the other, clad only in sweatpants. The shadows of the night cling to him like he’s their master.

I gulp.