Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Pet…it would take a whole lot more than that to hurt me. My ass is fine, but I appreciate the concern. It’s weird, but…nice or something.” He walks away, heading straight for the pantry door. “I’m fucking starving. Are you hungry? Let’s eat. I swear I feel like I could eat this whole house.”
There he goes, bouncing around topics again. He doesn’t like to talk about anything serious, and I can’t say I blame him. It’s not my favorite thing either, but it feels worse when Rory does it. Why did he act so surprised that I would worry about hurting him?
“I could eat.”
“Bet. Let’s make breakfast. I fucking love breakfast. Your mom made it for me.” He winks, and I give him the finger. I know he’s just trying to get under my skin.
Still, I say, “If I’m fucking you, you don’t get to fuck her.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” He tries to walk toward the fridge, but my arm shoots out, hand wrapping around his bicep.
“I’m not kidding, Cherry. I don’t care if I owe you money or not. I’m not sticking my dick in you if you plan on putting yours in her.” There’s no doubt in my mind she would do it. And whatever, I don’t care if she fucks the whole state of Massachusetts. I’m down for her getting hers, but I’m not sharing him with her.
His gaze zeroes in on my hand, then back to my face. “I would probably let go of my arm if I were you.”
I relax my hold, before letting go altogether. “Don’t do it.”
“I’m not going to fuck your mom, pet. I just want this.” He palms my dick, and damned if I don’t whimper.
He massages my cock through my jeans, and I do my best to concentrate on this conversation rather than how good it feels. “No one,” I manage to get out.
Rory stops. “No one what?”
“You don’t fuck anyone while we’re doing this. When you’re done, you can sleep with whoever you want, but until then, you’re mine.” I have no idea why I’m saying this, why I even care what Rory does with his body, but the truth is…I want him. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here, regardless of what I owe him.
“If Cillian and Ollie want to play with me, I will never turn them down. I don’t care who I’m screwing.”
There’s something between them I clearly don’t understand, but I don’t have to. I can see it, feel it, hear it when Rory talks about them, and no matter what we’re doing, I don’t want to deny him that. I’ve never had that kind of connection with anyone. Why would I want to deprive him of it? “They’re safe?”
“They’re negative, and they’re exclusive—me being the only exception, and I’m negative too. I’m tested monthly, always go in wrapped, and you’re the only person who’s ever been inside me. I was last checked a week ago.”
Heat flushes down my skin hearing him say I’m the only one who’s ever been inside him. Fucking him. I’m the one who gets to fuck him, pleasure him, hunt and take control of him. There’s something incredibly addicting about that.
I nod. Okay. I have no idea what any of this means or why it’s going down the way it is, but I feel better knowing the parameters.
“Does my pet want me all to himself?”
“No. Just doing my due diligence. You should try it sometime.”
“I just told you I get checked monthly and always wear a rubber. I’m like a fucking saint.”
I laugh. He’s got a point. “I’m negative too. I haven’t been with anyone but you since we moved here, and I’ve been checked.”
“Good. Now can we fucking eat before I shrivel up and die?”
“God, you’re dramatic.”
“Yeah, well, get used to it.”
We make bacon, eggs, and toast. I wonder if all this food was sitting in the house, or he went and got it for this weird-ass game we’re playing.
Rory rambles nonstop while we’re cooking. Half the time, I have no idea what he’s on about, and he switches topics every other second, but it’s fun listening to him. I never know what’ll come out of his mouth next.
When the food is ready, Rory grabs a box of Golden Grahams from the pantry and milk. We sit down at the small kitchen table, a mountain of food between us.
“I love cereal,” Rory says.
“You love food, from what I’m seeing. Where do you put it all?”
He shrugs, taking a bite of eggs. “So, you’re into music?”
His question surprises me, but then I remember he’s been watching me—and had listened to me play—so there are probably a lot of things he knows about me. “Yeah. Mostly guitar. Piano would be my second favorite, but I don’t have one. I think my brain functions on music. I’m self-taught, can pick up any instrument and play.”