Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“I need another beer,” I announce to my brother and anybody else nearby. I’m not even sure why I’m here, with the mood I’m in. Like there’s always something over my shoulder, watching me, hanging on me and dragging me down. I can’t shake it.
I can’t shake her. It doesn’t matter how many warm, soft bodies are pressing against me as I make my way back down the hall through a crowd that’s getting thicker all the time. The kitchen is packed by the time I reach it, with the doors to the backyard open so people can walk freely in and out.
“Easton! We’re doing chicken fights!” A pair of long, slim arms wrap around me from behind. I don’t even know who they belong to. I only know there’s a pair of firm tits pressed against my back and a few strands of blonde hair brushing my arm. “Be my partner? I’ve always wanted to sit on your face—I mean, shoulders,” she adds with a giggle.
I should, shouldn’t I? It’s the kind of thing I’ve done more times than I can even remember. Stupid, fun shit that gives me an excuse to have a girl’s legs wrapped around me. Falling down and grabbing a few good feels underwater never hurts, either. And it usually ends up leading somewhere even better.
I should agree. I should go straight out there, strip down, and jump in headfirst.
“Or maybe I can just sit on your face instead?” The blonde slides one hand down my abs, then teases my waistband with her fingertips. “There are plenty of ways to get me wet without going in the pool.”
There’s something wrong with me. I hear her. I know what she’s saying. I feel her touch. I smell her perfume and shampoo, and all that. I should be hard as a rock, ready to go. We should be on our way to my truck right now, where I can recline my seat so she can ride my face until the shocks wear out.
But all I can do is stare out at a sea of heads and wish one of them had blonde curls. That’s all I want. To feed her my cock until she chokes on it, then force her to keep going until I’m satisfied.
“Not right now,” I decide, and at least I’m gentle when I pull the girl’s arms away from me. I don’t even know who she is for sure, and I don’t bother taking the time to figure it out, continuing through the kitchen to the bathroom. Beyond that is the garage, which seems quiet and dark. I almost wish I was in there alone so I can get my shit together.
But the bathroom will do fine for now. There’s nobody waiting—a small miracle. I waste no time going in and locking the door behind me before leaning against it, scrubbing my hands over my face. Am I sick? I’m almost wishing I was. At least I could explain away the discomfort tearing me up insides. Is it because I’m tired of all the same people doing the same shit we’ve always done? So bored that I need a distraction, even if that distraction is somebody I wish I’d never met?
Somebody Preston painted a target on yesterday in class?
Maybe he’s glad we’re not the only ones paying attention to her now, but I’m not. That was our thing. Nobody else has as much of a reason as we do to make pearls wish she was never born. I’m not trying to outsource this to a bunch of people who change opinions whenever somebody tells them to.
I’m also not trying to make her feel uncomfortable around school. I’m looking to own her for what she’s done to us. I need her to know she made the biggest mistake of her life the night she decided she would become a crusader.
Her second mistake: what she did to me in the elevator.
One memory leads to another, and I can’t help but close my eyes and see her in my head. Looking up at me with wide eyes full of fear and dread. My dick thickens until my shorts are too tight. That smart mouth of hers would feel so good wrapped around me. She can’t be shitty and insulting with my cock hitting the back of her throat.
Fuck, it’s too much. There’s a wet spot soaking into my shorts by the time I shove a hand under my waistband and pull my aching dick free. The precum leaking from the tip makes it easy for my fist to slide up and down my length.
Only it’s not my fist. It’s pearls. Emma. Emma on her knees, running her tongue over me, pressing it against my underside. I can hear her strangled groans. Her panicky whimpers when I cut off her air by shoving her hard against my base. The feeling of filling her mouth, choking her.