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)
I don’t see the guy I punched.
In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the fucker ran away from the house the moment Wes conveniently shoved me in the pool.
After what I heard him say about my cousin, he better be fucking far away from here. I was by the pool talking with a girl who was thinking of majoring in mechanical engineering when I overheard some stranger saying something homophobic about Niko. I sure as fuck wasn’t going to let that go unpunished.
“Come on,” Wes is barking at me, ushering me into the house. “I’m going to wrap that up, and you’re going to explain to me why the fuck you were starting yet another fight in my house.”
“Wes, you would have punched the guy, too. Guarantee it.”
“I don’t get my rocks off with violence.”
He shoves open one of the back doors and both of us drip water as we walk through the house. Naturally, Wes is concerned about that, and he pauses at the linen closet to put down a few beach towels on the water we left behind.
The pain isn’t bothering me anymore.
Instead, I’m observing Wes like I’m watching an animal in the wild, filming a documentary.
He looks like he’s completing each task like it’s the most important thing he’s ever done, focused and intense. He isn’t smiling, but there’s still something serene about his face, even in the face of chaos.
Like he needs to keep his emotions under complete control at all times.
They’re all right there, though, if you look closely enough. His true feelings always make their way into his expression, through the small furrow at the center of his brow or a flush on his face.
Your walls aren’t as ironclad as you think they are.
He brings me down the hallway to one of the first-floor bathrooms. There’s a full first aid kit there, and after pulling my arm down into the sink and giving it another rinse, he absolutely blasts it with antiseptic.
I hiss as it hits the wound.
It’s not as deep as it looked at first, but alcohol always stings. It doesn’t go far down, but it’s definitely going to leave a scar.
“Stay still.”
“Frat Dad,” I mutter.
He coats the edges of the wound with a petroleum salve. He takes care to wrap it slowly and deliberately, first with cotton padding and then with gauze.
His lashes are still a little wet from the water.
His face relaxes, finally, as he works on wrapping me up, and he gently bites his lower lip, focusing like it’s rocket science getting the gauze fastened properly.
Fuck.
That mouth. Those lips.
God, it’s like you were made to suck my cock. And I need it again.
I want him again enough that it bothers me on a deep, visceral level. My cock starts to harden under my pants but they’re still soaking wet.
“Talk,” he finally says as he’s taping it closed, giving me a pointed look.
Don’t want to talk.
Want to fuck your pretty mouth again.
“Your eyes are so blue,” I tell him.
Maybe I am a little drunker than I realized. He frowns at my comment and glares at me, which only highlights how pretty his eyes are in contrast to the grim look he’s trying to give me.
My cock is only getting harder as I watch Wes reach up to put the first aid kit away and the muscles of his arms flex. His pecs are visible through his wet shirt, too, and I feel like a fucking animal looking at him now.
“Why did you punch that guy?”
I pull in a long breath and reach for a clean towel on the set of shelves in the bathroom. I bring it to my wet hair and scrunch it all around, then I hand it to him.
He dries off his hair a little bit too and it ends up looking shaggy, damp and messy, like he just came back from the beach.
“Unblock my number and maybe I’ll tell you why.”
“Fuck off, Sevan.”
“Unblock me.”
“That picture was… wild.”
“Did you dislike it?”
He pauses, and when he speaks again his voice is lower.
“Of course I did.”
A blush lands on his cheekbones and I can’t control how much my cock responds to that.
He liked it. He fucking loved my picture. And for some reason my dick is becoming more and more obsessed with the fact that Weston cannot hide his desire for me.
Well. My body, at least. He isn’t exactly the biggest fan of the rest of me.
He finally speaks. “You have a good cock. You’re obviously aware of it. Stop changing the subject.”
I groan, looking at Weston’s wet T-shirt as it clings around his hard nipples.
“I punched that guy because he said something homophobic about my cousin. I know you don’t like violence of any kind, and I know you’d rather go through life all neat and peaceful and rigid, but if someone is talking shit about my cousin behind his back, I’m sorry, Weston, they’re going to be punched.”