Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“We’re killing him. This is personal.” Conan is a lot of things, but I don’t think he would like me allowing Aislin to be there. “I’m using the Pit Stop.” It’s a house about an hour away, between Ashford and Boston, owned by our family. The tracks are well covered on most of our properties, so they can be used as hideouts, safe houses, or places to torture and kill. “Can I call you afterward and you can make him disappear?”
“Yes. Done. I gotta go.” The call ends, telling me someone must have come around who couldn’t hear what we were talking about, or who he was talking to. A better man than me wouldn’t get Conan in these situations. My father would kill him if he found out, but I’ve never claimed to be a good man.
I check in with my father next, pretending everything is business as usual. His call is quick because apparently there’s a problem at the docks, where the drugs we push come in.
There are a million things I should be doing right now, but instead, I go upstairs, pick up The Count, and lie in bed, enjoying a few moments of peace.
The security camera app on my phone alerts me when Aislin and Dean get home, and I watch them as she unlocks the door. They’re speaking, and when Dean laughs at something she says, jealousy gnaws at me again. It’s so fucked up, but I don’t care. I like that I want to possess him, that he feels like he belongs to me—one of the few choices I’ve ever had.
When I hear footsteps on the stairs, I set my phone down and pick up the book again. My lips automatically try to curl into a smile when there’s a knock at my bedroom door, but I don’t allow myself to do that. “Come in.”
Dean opens the door with two bags in his hand.
I feign surprise. “Oh, you’re back.”
“Good observation.”
“You know it gets me hard when you’re a dick, right?”
He ignores my question and gives me one of his own. “Where do I put my shit?”
“Wherever.” I shrug. “Come blow me. I cleaned my dick off for you after and everything.”
“Fuck off.”
“But you like my cock so much. You wanted it last night.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“Yes, you’ve told me.”
He drops his bags, closes the door, and walks over to me. I set the book on the mattress beside me, and he watches it, this longing in his eyes as if it’s precious to him.
Does he think I won’t take care of it? Because I will. Books are my prized possessions. I’ve loved reading for as long as I can remember, love the escapism, but this one, I’ll be even gentler with because it’s his. “I’m waiting.”
Dean unbuttons and unzips my jeans, hooking his fingers in the band and tugging them down with my underwear. Just seeing him got me throbbing, but the second he walked over and I knew he was going to do what I said, I went hard in an instant.
He wraps a hand around my shaft, giving me a long, slow stroke. “It gets me hard when you’re a dick too. Know what else does?” Dean climbs onto the bed. He’s still wearing my clothes, and I fucking love that. I shouldn’t have told him to go home and get his things, so he would have no choice but to walk around wearing my things.
“What?”
“How much you fucking want me.” He leans down and nips at my lip. “That you were up here waiting for me. That you want me in your house because you crave me.”
I don’t need the rest of his words. I need his mouth. His prickly, buzzed hair pokes at my palm when I tug him closer. We’re ravenous for each other, like we’ve been denied something we needed our whole lives and now we have it.
I push my tongue into his mouth, kissing him deeply while he strokes me.
Dean doesn’t let me enjoy his mouth for long before he rips it away. My complaint dies on my tongue when he bends over and takes my cock to the back of his throat.
My hand holds firm at the back of his head while Dean bobs on my dick. The wet suction of his mouth is to die for. Seeing him so fucking hungry for me is the best aphrodisiac, but even more than that, it makes me feel more powerful than anything I’ve ever done. Than people who do everything I say, or walking into a room and knowing I can get away with anything.
Dean is more potent than all of it combined.
“Let me fuck your pretty mouth,” I tell him, holding the sides of his head now and thrusting my hips forward. Dean takes it, gags on it, for it, his fingers digging into my hips like he doesn’t want to let me go.