Undulate (Alchemy, #2)

by Elodie Hart

Knowing you were on the same team as someone else, that another human had your back and was your biggest, loudest, most steadfast cheerleader forever and ever became less a blessing and more a given as the years wound on.

He’s not my type. My type is kinky and insatiable. I’m looking for Christian Grey—or a whole roomful of Christian Greys on rotation, if you please—and this guy is Gilbert fucking Blythe.

Don’t make me put you over my knee, Madeleine. Don’t make me pull down those pretty panties of yours and spank that bottom till it’s sore and pink. Don’t make me tease that wet pussy with my strong fingers and edge you into fucking oblivion because you’ve been a bad, bad girl.

<3

I take back the Gilbert Blythe comparison. This guy could definitely be a spankier version of Captain von Trapp.

She was unhappy with her circumstances, and she was unhappy with the person those circumstances made her, and she took action to change those circumstances.

Nobody gets to tell you what to believe. Nobody gets to own your mind, your heart or your body. You own them. You get to decide.

‘I hate to admit it, but you’re right. A look won’t kill me. I need to get over myself. You going to hold my hand?’

Damn my mind. That thought leads me straight, no detour, to pondering whether he goes commando at home and whether he packs a trouser anaconda in his jogging bottoms, à la the equally delicious Jon Hamm or Henry Cavill.

Because as soon as Zach’s girls saw the logo and identified me as a fellow Swiftie, we were instant besties.

‘It’s specific. To you. No matter how fucked up my home life still is—and believe me, it’s a total shit show, no matter what it looks like from the outside—my brain is so fucking full of you I can barely hold it together. All I can think about is doing unspeakable things to you. The whole. Fucking. Time. So for the love of God, please stop fiddling with your hem, because I can’t look away.’

‘Good Lord, you’ve been out of the game for too long. Bless your little cotton socks. I’m saying you should do unspeakable things to me. Maybe it would help you work through some of your issues—not your grief, obviously. But your stress.’

‘I want you to make that my problem. I want to take care of it. I didn’t get anywhere near enough of your dick on Friday night.’

I didn’t know an experience that dirty could yield such purity of thought.

‘I didn’t even think I’d get you through the doors. You can lead a horse to water, but I wasn’t expecting you to fucking drink.’

I drank from her well like a man dying of thirst, I think.

I get off on being someone’s plaything. You’re like an unexploded bomb. I want to be the one you unleash all that angst and repression on.

Yes I see your fucking cock. It’s not exactly easy to miss. Jam it inside me already, mister.

‘I’m so turned on still from having your enormous cock inside me, and my pussy needs more, and your thumb is rough, and it’s so perfect how it drags over my clit.’

‘I’m doing the best I can,’ she says. ‘My nipples are so hard and achy, and my pussy is so happy to have your big fingers pushing inside it, but I’m so aroused that you’re my master, and I want to show you how turned on I am from being able to serve y—’

‘I’d give anything,’ he says, ‘to take you home with me and curl myself around you all night.’

Just thinking about how Zach’s face must have looked when I told him my safe word was spreadsheet. I wonder if I’ll ever need to use it.

‘There are people in this life who are takers by nature, and that makes them drains, and those are the ones we avoid, hmm? But there are also truly good, wonderful people who have so much to give when they’re in a good place, but who may end up draining us all the same when they’re struggling, without either party being remotely aware of it.’