The Wrong Mr. Right (Queen's Cove, #2)

by Stephanie Archer

“This is the part where I knew something was up,” Don, our town photographer and news blogger, said. He adjusted his reading glasses and ran his finger down the page of the book. “Yeuk gave an almighty roar and the surrounding forest shuddered. His gargantuan shaft sprayed semen all over Lady Nicoletta, so much semen. Buckets of⁠—” “Okay.” I held a hand up. “I get it, Don. Please stop.” “I saw the cover and I thought it was like The Lord of the Rings.” He swallowed and stared out the front window of the shop, lost in thought and shaking his head a little. “It’s not,” he whispered. “It’s really not.” He flipped the page. Movement over his shoulder caught my eye.

“I believe it. I believe the right book is out there for everyone.

“You’ve been worrying?” I gave her a quick nod. “Not so chill, huh?” She tilted her head and gave me a soft smile. “You don’t have to be ‘so chill’ all the time. You’re human, Wyatt.” She regarded me, thinking. “What do you worry about?”

His authoritative tone made my stomach flutter.

I felt the sharp sting of his hand on my butt before I registered the noise of the slap, and I could barely gasp before his hand smoothed over the fabric of my shorts. “How am I supposed to control myself around you when you wear little shorts like this?” His hand slipped beneath the hem, over my bare skin, and I whimpered against his mouth. “I don’t want you to control yourself.”

I know, baby. I know.

This was fun, I realized, grinning to myself. The second I stopped caring if people were staring at me, I started enjoying myself.

She laughed. More and more, she laughed. She was learning it didn’t matter if she failed. It didn’t matter if she didn’t nail that one wave, because there’d be another. There was always another.

“I like when you do things for yourself, and when you push yourself even though you’re worried or nervous or scared.”

I wonder, maybe this is who I actually am, and I was holding myself back from everything good.” I shrugged. “From trying things, from failing.” I lifted my gaze to him, where he watched and waited. “I hate failing at things. Or hated.” I frowned. “I don’t know anymore. I’m getting better at being bad at things.”

“Come here.” My stomach rolled forward. He murmured it but the authority in it, the command, made me shiver.

“Do you like that?” My other hand came to her jaw. “Do you like it when I take control?”

“You’re going to watch while I make you come. Understand?” She nodded and bit her bottom lip. “Good. Good girl.”

“I’m not going to tell you again, Hannah. Keep your eyes open while I fuck you with my fingers.”

“You’re doing so well, baby. So fucking well.”

He had complete control over me, and I loved it. The way he knew what to do, the way he touched me exactly how I wanted, it made me feel taken care of, cherished, comfortable, and so, so turned on.

“That’s my girl. Just like that, baby.”

A soft whimper escaped me, and I reached for him but he batted my hands away. “Not yet. Let me do my work.”

eyes. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, like mine. “I take care of what’s mine.”

For now, I didn’t want to be Hannah or whatever was left of me. I wanted to be someone else, so I lay down on my bed, cracked the book open, and disappeared.

I was the villain the whole time.

and because I was too scared of getting hurt, I lied to him and hurt him instead. I chose my own heart over his.

gazed down into her eyes and nearly laughed at how I could ever think this was temporary. Her name was tattooed on the inner walls of my heart.