Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
And I swear it looks even bigger than it did when I saw it in person. It’s obscene how good it looks, the dusky pink color, with perfect veins and Sev’s fist clutching it at the bottom.
“God damn it,” I whisper under my breath.
I’m hard already.
No one else in the house is awake, and under the covers, I grip my dick, pissed off that I’m doing this but knowing I’ll only feel worse if I don’t get it out of my system.
I stare at the photo as I pump my cock, tapping the screen every time it starts to go dim.
And I feel like a goddamn addict.
Like I have some illicit secret, here under the covers, a shameful, dark thing I can’t make sense of. My thoughts don’t even make sense to me, still bleary with sleep and alone under the covers.
I want his mouth on me again.
Make him finish the job, this time.
I want it again so fucking badly, and I hate more than anything that it has to be him. The way he fucking put his lips around me before he knew who I was…
“Fuck,” I breathe as I come hard, faster than I expected, spilling white streaks all over my own torso.
And in that brief moment, nothing feels better than coming to the thought of Sevan Berlant. My heart pounds and I catch my breath, thoughts swirling into nothing in my mind.
And then, a minute later, it’s like a fog has suddenly lifted.
I go through the texts from Sev and permanently delete every single one, starting with the picture. As I scroll past the text that said I’m going to have to fuck you, I bite my lower lip, almost angry at how much it turned me on.
I block his number, clean up, and go back to bed.
6
Sev
Wes looks like a mess when he arrives in class Friday morning.
He’s late, first of all, which is surprising for a guy who acts like a teacher’s pet. He comes in a minute after class begins and nods apologetically to Dr. Sellwood. There are dark circles under his eyes, and the messy golden swoop of his hair is less perfect than usual.
He’s not in his hoodie today. His knit sweater is more form-fitting, baby blue and tight against his body, showcasing his shape as he moves through the room and finds his seat.
As Dr. Sellwood continues on with her lecture about the execution of Marie Antoinette, I idly watch Weston.
I don’t know if it counts as spying on him, or stalking him, or whatever the fuck Kieran asked for. In reality, I have no desire to “spy” on Wes or anyone else in Onyx Society.
But I watch him because I want to.
And because the way he looked at me across the table last night made my cock hard again, and I’m far too curious for my own good.
He’s… careful.
It’s something I haven’t noticed about him before, because I tend to avoid Weston like the plague.
The way he acts all proper, sitting up with good posture on his chair, until he eventually gets tired and then slouches over a little bit in the seat, then repeats the process again.
Or how he’s trying so hard not to look my way. He pays attention to Dr. Sellwood and averts his gaze from going anywhere near me, but he chews on his lower lip, unable to hide his nerves.
Even last night at dinner he was so concerned about Noah when he poured liquor into his soda. The amount of liquor was a little excessive, but nothing a guy of his size couldn’t handle.
Why are you so bound to the rules, Sheriff?
I put the end of my pen into my mouth, biting it a little.
When class is nearly over, I’ve already forgotten that Dr. Sellwood planned to break the students up into groups for discussion.
“Ten minutes of analysis in small groups,” she says, clapping her hands together. “There are three questions on the worksheet. Get in groups of four, and Sevan and I will go around, facilitating.”
The class breaks out into a chattering murmur as everyone finds their groups. I pass out the question sheets to every desk, and naturally, Wes avoids my gaze when I drop it on his. I keep my distance as everyone works on their questions together, and I stay around the perimeter of the room helping other students with the assignment.
When there are only a few minutes left, I head over.
“Marie Antoinette was the one who said let them eat cake,” Wes is saying to his group.
Noah’s there looking like he’s half asleep. The two other girls in his group are nodding at Wes, both of them probably distracted by how obscenely good he looks in that light blue sweater.
The faint dark circles beneath his eyes only serve to highlight the lighter blue flecks in his irises, and I can see why the girls are staring.