Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
His chuckle dies out. “Baby, you give yourself way too much credit. I wouldn't hit that again if someone paid me.”
I’m going to ignore the way that felt. “Good. We agree on something then.”
Morning creeps in through curtains, casting everything in gold. I extract myself from my bed, careful not to wake Yana, and pad toward the kitchen. UFC is on the TV as Hella and Beast talk about something to do with a dead Candle. Whatever the hell that means.
“Morning,” Beast murmurs, raising a mug to his lips.
“Morning!” Too high. Too obvious. I lower my voice back to its normal tone. “Anyone want coffee?”
“All good here,” Beast replies.
“Yep!” Hella calls out.
“No? Just me? Okay, good.” I hear Beast's quiet chuckle as I pour hot water into my mug. After stirring in instant coffee, I inhale. I hate the taste of coffee, but love the smell. Caffeine is caffeine, and I need it.
I carry my treasure to the living room, settling beside Beast on the sofa. My gaze drops to Hella, who sits on the floor with knees drawn up, massive arms resting on them. His hair is closely shaven on the sides but longer on top, and as my eyes trace the lines of his back, they fix on the number “112” tattooed at his nape, flanked by angel wings.
I sip my coffee. “So... 112? Is that your assigned cunt number?”
Beast chokes on his coffee.
Hella leans forward, eyes narrowing over his shoulder. It only reveals more of his back. Woodsmen patch tattooed across his shoulders, scripture weaving over his ribcage. Both arms wear sleeves of colour and shadow, and when he turns, I glimpse the artwork spanning his chest, crawling up his neck, and wrapping around his jawline. The lines are immaculate, the shading masterful. Whoever did it knows how to work a needle and ink.
“Let me guess. I pissed you off?” I smirk.
He shakes his head, plucking my coffee from my hands. “For you to piss me off, baby, I'd have to give a fuck about your existence.” He takes a deliberate sip, eyes locked on mine over the rim. “Which I don't.”
I reclaim my mug. “Oh really? Then why are you here?”
He laughs, turning away. “You think I'm doing this because I care about you?” He rises to his feet, and my fingers tense around the ceramic.
He leans down, breath hot against my ear, hands planted on either side of my head against the sofa. “My cock likes you, that's why. Don't flatter yourself. He'll get bored soon.”
I tilt my head, raising the mug to my lips while maintaining eye contact. “Mmm? Well, if you could hurry it along, that'd be great because I was bored by the third lick,” I lie.
His jaw flexes before his hand wraps around the back of my neck.
“Fuck.” I smirk. “Off.”
Beast taps his arm. “Brother? Play nice.”
Hella lowers his face, the tip of his nose dragging mine. A moan builds in my throat, but I swallow it down. Hard. Because no. We are not about to touch on all the bad reasons as to why we absolutely cannot get off on this type of behaviour.
His lips brush mine, a faint smell of toothpaste and cologne. I can’t breathe. Afraid if I do, I’ll accidentally kiss him.
His tongue swipes across my bottom lip.
I seal my mouth shut, thighs squeezing tight as my heartbeat pounds in my ears.
He smiles against my lips, fingers locked around my neck to keep me still. “Lie.”
I jerk away, dropping back into the cushions. “Don't flatter yourself. I just happen to like getting head.”
He rolls his eyes, resting back to his spot.
Beast clears his throat. “You two couldn't be more fucked if you tried.”
Fuck this. I need to get out of here before I do something stupid like shut him up by forcing him onto his knees.
I flip him off as I pass.
"Keep it up, baby," he calls after me. "You're only getting my dick hard."
Kitchen sanctuary achieved, I pull ingredients from our now well-stocked refrigerator. Bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, sausages.
Bacon sizzles in maple syrup while I scramble eggs and sauté mushrooms before returning to the living room. "Eat. I'm going for a shower." Because exhaustion weighs on me, but I'm not a fucking bad host.
Beast rises, giving me a swift squeeze in passing, but Hella doesn't move.
"What?" I fold my arms. "Not hungry now?"
His eyes darken, the twitch of a smirk that disappears. "Not for that."
My back turns to him. Self-restraint wasn't built for this task. "Go and eat, Hella.
Thankfully, he doesn’t follow, and I make it through the shower in triple time, since there’s no lock on the damn door and I know if he comes barreling in here, I will not be kicking him out.
After wrapping my hair in a towel and throwing on a set of Levi’s and long sleeve top, I make my way back into the living room and to the kitchen.