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)
Ollie loves roller coasters, and Cillian had promised to take him to every theme park in the world. He’s been slowly fulfilling that dream for Ollie. There will never be a promise Cil breaks. Rory and I have gone to a few with them. It’s not our thing, but we’d all do anything to make Ollie happy.
“I teach a class tomorrow morning,” I say.
I did, in fact, get my GED and then my bachelor of arts in music, and now I teach private lessons. Murder and mayhem by night, music by day.
“Kat and Fia have that fucking gala,” he reminds me.
Shit. We have a lot going on.
My mom got her life together after the incident with Jagger. She hasn’t had a drug or a drop of alcohol since. Fia took her under her wing, gave her a secretary job at a charity organization she started. Fia is forever trying to put good into the world—I think to counter the bad our family does—and now my mom does the same. She specifically works with teenage moms, trying to help them get on their feet.
We eat breakfast together. Rory heads upstairs before me, cleaning himself, then prepping for our plans. It’s been a few months since we played our hunting game, and it’s something we both still need.
I clean up the kitchen, then go find him.
“I’m stretched and lubed,” he tells me.
“Good boy.” I grin.
“Hurry and get dressed. I’m ready.” He bounces, smiling widely, his eyes big and eager.
God, I love him, more than anything in this fucking world.
“Go. I’ll be right behind you.” This is one of the reasons we live where we do. We have the expanse of our property to play our games, and the only risk we run is being seen by Ollie and Cil.
“Bring a knife,” he says.
“Oh, you’re in a mood today, aren’t you?”
“Always.” He grabs me and kisses me. “Don’t make me wait.” Rory walks away, wearing loose-fitting pants I can easily get off him.
I do hurry. Who wouldn’t when Rory’s waiting for them?
I get dressed, heart already racing, my skin prickling with anticipation the way everything about Rory makes me. I grab the knife we use when he’s in a particular mood—not that I would ever cut him with it, but it does make the game more exciting.
When I get out back, slipping into the wooded area behind the house, I swear I can smell him—amber and vanilla and all mine. “You’re close, I know it,” I say, not loudly, knowing that wherever he is, he can hear me. Leaves and twigs crunch beneath my feet as I move, stalking him in our sex game, the way he often does with me in real life. “I’m going to find you and fuck you. Hold my knife to your pretty little throat while you give me what’s mine.”
He moans, my words clearly doing their job, turning him on.
“So fucking easy,” I say, catching a glimpse of him before Rory starts to run and I chase.
It doesn’t take me long to catch him, to press him against a tree, my horny little cherry already pushing his ass out like he’s dying for it.
“You can at least pretend you don’t want it,” I tease.
“That’s not the game. We both know I want it. I just like the chase.”
I rip his shirt off, then run the knife down his spine, watching Rory tremble.
“Fuck me,” he begs.
“You’re not even naked yet.”
“Then get me naked, motherfucker,” he says, and I laugh.
I tug my pants down, cut his off him, drop the knife, press his chest against the tree, and shove into him in one quick thrust. “Fucking perfect.” I will never get tired of this, never not need him even more than I need to breathe. There is no breath without Rory. No heartbeat, no life.
I fuck him hard and fast, jerking him off while I take what he so willingly gives me. As soon as he cries out my name, his ass tightening around my cock, his slick release covering my fingers, I lose myself to the pleasure of his body, filling him, breeding him, marking what’s mine.
“God, that’s still so fucking good,” he says breathlessly, and I love that we haven’t lost this, that we’ll never lose who we are.
I pull out, turn him around, lick his cum from my fingers, then kiss him. We share his load before I press my lips to my name on his chest. He shoves my shirt up and does the same to his name on me.
“You’re mine,” he says.
“I am. There’s nowhere I wouldn’t follow you, Rory Fitzpatrick.”
“Dangerous choice,” he teases.
“But one I will always make.” I kiss him again. “Come on. Let me take care of you.”
I pull up my pants, pick his up from the ground, along with our knife, and walk him naked back to the house. We shower together, something we do basically every day if we can, and I clean him, spoil him, show him how fucking loved he is. I’ll make sure he always knows how loved he is.