Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Stop,” I said, but my voice was breathless and needy already.
“You can ride my face until you’re shaking and screaming and—”
“Colter,” Saint’s voice broke in, making a pained little sound escape me that, of course, only made Colter chuckle.
“Yeah?”
“Slash wants to talk to you,” he said, holding out a phone.
Colter offered me a regretful glance but took the phone and walked away with it.
One look at Saint told me he knew exactly what he’d interrupted.
“I’d say sorry, but you two are fucking like rabbits. There’s never a good time to interrupt.”
“Did you rat on us to Slash?” I asked, watching his face, daring him to lie to me.
“Rat on you?” he asked, brows scrunching. “Babe, Colter already told Slash about you two.”
“He what?”
“Yeah, short of pissing on you, he’s claimed you in every way he could think of. Wouldn’t be surprised if the whipped bastard had your name tattooed above his junk.”
“He doesn’t.”
“You would know.”
It was one thing for us not to hide around Saint and Syn. It felt like a whole other thing to know he’d had a talk with his club president about what was going on with us. To ‘claim’ me to everyone important to him.
There it was again, that little shivery sensation.
Only, it wasn’t so little anymore.
It felt like it was getting stronger each time it happened. Harder to deny. Harder still to try to call by any other name but what it was.
Though, damn, I was fighting for my life when it came to trying not to admit it to myself, let alone anyone else.
“Do you have a problem with it?” I asked, watching as Sugar scented Syn then turned and ran toward him, her tail wagging.
“With you and Colter?” Saint clarified.
“Yeah,” I said, turning to look at him.
“My only problem would be if you’re leading that guy around by the dick when he’s trying to give you his heart.”
I didn’t expect for those words to rip my defenses away like they did.
Because he had me nailed down, didn’t he?
I was trying to focus on the sex, on the simple shit.
When Colter was doing everything to show me that he wanted the complicated stuff. The stuff I didn’t even know if I could commit to.
“I’m…”
“An emotionally constipated commitment-phobe?” he cut me off. “Yeah. Trust me. Those vibes are popping off you. It’s probably something that Colter was first drawn in by. The chick who doesn’t need to be taken care of. But the one who fucking desperately needs it at the same time.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of,” I snapped.
But Saint went ahead and ignored that.
“And the thing with Colter is, he’s a caretaker. That’s his whole schtick. He wants to give. He wants you to take. He’s perfectly happy to be whipped.”
“But?” I asked, sensing it hanging in the air.
“But I want to make sure you’re not making him your own personal whipping boy. Because you’re too dense or too defensive or too fucking dumb to see what you’ve got.”
“Wow, Saint. Don’t hold back.”
“You want shit coated in sugar, I’m not the guy.”
“Clearly.”
“You can take it.”
“I’ll only take so much,” I warned him.
“Trust me. I’ve seen your handiwork,” he said, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips.
“Are you done?” I asked, glancing over to look at Colter, still walking on the path as he talked to Slash.
“This is the part where, if you were a man, I’d threaten to kick your ass if you fuck up.”
“And you’re way too moral to hit a woman,” I drawled.
Again, he ignored me and my sarcastic tone.
“So instead, this is where I remind you that man has already been fucked over by a woman who didn’t know what she had. And he doesn’t deserve to have another one dick him over again. All good?” he asked, changing his tone as Colter walked up and handed him the phone.
“Yep.”
“Alright, meet you two back at the hotel,” Saint said, walking off.
“What happened?” Colter asked.
Damn him.
He read me too well.
“Nothing.”
“You don’t have to tell me, but don’t lie to me, alright?” Colter said.
I glanced at Saint’s retreating form, his words rolling around my head. Before I could stop them, mine tumbled out.
“Saint just had some things to say about us. Well, about me, I guess.”
“He what?” Colter asked, posture stiffening. “What’d he say?”
“It’s not—”
“What’d he say, Dylan?”
Alarm bells were going off in my ears. But something about Colter right then said that he wasn’t going to give up until he got an answer.
“He just wanted to make sure I’m not dicking you around.” It was the nicest way I could think to explain our conversation.
“Did he?” Colter asked, jaw going granite.
Then he turned and stormed away, following Saint’s retreating form.
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” I hissed, jumping off the table and running after him.
But before I could catch up with Colter’s much longer-legged pace, he was right behind Saint and shoving the other man hard enough to nearly knock Saint off his feet.