Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
He chuffs. “I do what I can, so make sure you really include her in the experience. Let her know just how good it is. Maybe talk her through it a bit. Who knows, you might even help her finally achieve her first big O, assuming she can get wet with all that inner chaffing going on.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. My hand twitches for the gun in my bedside drawer. It would be so easy. I wouldn’t even need to get off my bed. I could aim through the paper-thin walls and say goodbye to all my problems with a simple twitch of my pointer finger. I’m just that good. But, apparently, I have some kind of moral compass. I don’t kill innocents, no matter how frustrating they might be.
They get right back to work, the walls immediately beginning to shake once again, covering me in snowy-like plaster. Hell, all it would take is one solid thrust, and the asshole’s whole damn bed would be in my bedroom with me.
“Oh Godddddd,” she groans as I hear a hand, probably hers, smack against the wall. “Fuck, that’s good. Right there. Shit!”
I roll my eyes and start to mimic their performance with a pathetically miserable tone. “Oh God, Xaden. Yes, yes, yes! Take me deeper.”
“Hey,” the girl chimes. “It’s working. She’s actually getting into it.”
“Fuck, yeah, she is. Keep it going.”
“What’s her name?”
“Kiara St. James,” he tells her. “I’ve worked out that she only likes it when you use her full name. Really helps her, you know?”
“Oh, okay. That’s weird, but I can work with that,” she says with a gasp, still getting railed within an inch of her life.
Raiden grunts and continues slamming into her as I bail on the pillow, throwing it aside and sitting up against the headboard. Surely this shit will be over soon.
Reaching for my bedside table, I pass Spikezilla and switch on my bedside lamp, filling the room with a dull light before grabbing the junk mail magazine that shows up once a month. I start thumbing through it while continuing to mimic their ridiculous performance. “Oh yes! More. Give me more. Just like that!”
“That’s right, Firecracker,” he grunts, a laugh in his tone. “Moisten those rough edges.”
I fucking hate him. I really fucking hate him.
“Fuck,” the girl groans. “I’m close. Are you with me, Kiara St. James? God, he fucks me so well. So deep. Yes, Kiara! Fuck, yes! OH GOD! KIARA ST. JAMES!”
I’ve never hated the sound of my own name so damn much.
As the girl gets closer to the edge, the walls truly shake. My bedside table rocks with the momentum coming from behind the wall, and I really consider the noise-canceling headphones. How long is this bullshit really going to go on? And I don’t just mean tonight. Is he going to torment me with his ridiculous sexcapades for the rest of my natural-born life?
Movement catches in my peripheral just moments before a loud crash fills my bedroom, and my head snaps to the left, right where Spikezilla used to be, and my chest sinks.
Immediate silence fills the two apartments as I scramble to the edge of my bed, peering over the side in fear. “What was that?” the girl whispers as I take in my beautiful Spikezilla scattered across my hardwood floors, her tiny little pot smashed into a million pieces, as her little spiky body lays on the floor, covered by her own soil.
“OH, HELL NO!”
I’m really going to fucking kill him this time.
“I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t replace in the morning,” Raiden tells her just moments before he picks up his wild thrusting once again. She laughs, and just like that, any care for their recklessness disappears. But I’m no longer playing his game. It’s gone too fucking far now. Before, it was simply about who could irritate the other the most, but now that Spikezilla has been compromised, this is a fucking war.
Throwing myself out of bed, I gently scoop Spikezilla up off the ground, not caring how her little spikes stab into my palms. Carrying her through to my kitchen counter, I lay her down before going back and scooping up as much of her soil as possible.
Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.
After putting together temporary housing for my sweet Spikezilla, I storm back to my bedroom and tear open my bedside drawer just as the floating shelf above my bed comes tumbling down, crashing onto my bed right where my head used to be.
Reaching for the gun, I pick it up, clutching it tightly in my hand before turning on my heel, only something has me pausing, and I find myself hesitating in my bedroom doorway.
I have morals.
I don’t kill innocents. But he almost took Spikezilla’s life. The jury is still out on whether she will survive, so surely I’d be justified, right? But on the other hand, it’s not as though he set out to purposefully hurt me in that way. He’s trying to get under my skin, and sure, it’s working like a treat, but I don’t believe he would intentionally hurt me like that. He’s an asshole, but he’s yet to show that there’s anything malicious about him. It’s not like he knew about Spikezilla, or how damn precious she is to me, even if she’s just a cactus.