Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Ruger squeezes his eyes closed a moment. When they open, they’re cold and focused, like I’ve seen them before in many a physical altercation. This is my best friend, the killer. The violent offender. The bruiser who has been on the street since he turned twelve, left to fend for himself. His hand shoots out, catching me in the designated spot and I wheeze, dropping to my knees with a pained grunt. It’s drowned out by Ruger’s howl of anguish.
Chapter 4
Ruger
We stand in the shadows across the street from a modest house.
A light comes on inside and suddenly there is Wendy, framed in the window.
I lurch forward with a heaved sound, my entire body hardening at the sight of her. So soft and delicate in a nightshirt, her long, blonde hair loose around her shoulders.
“Steady, mate,” Klay murmurs, his voice thick with need, keeping me hidden in the darkness with a hand on my shoulder. “Thank God she’s safe. Now we have to keep her that way.” He takes a moment to let the relief settle. “Try and remember that we are two prison escapees showing up unannounced. Let’s try and not come on too much stronger than that.”
“I need to get inside of her again,” I growl, palming my straining cock through my stolen pants. “Soft. So soft and tiny around me.”
Klay is breathing harder now. Trying not to look at me.
He’s been doing that a lot lately.
I used to try and limit the amount of time I spent making direct eye contact with him, too. Doing so always made my briefs feel extra tight. Made them chafe me in embarrassing places. But I’ve given up the battle now. My best friend is royalty in my eyes. Extraordinary. He always has the plan. Always confident and smooth where I’m a bumbling idiot half the time. If I didn’t have him to guide me, I’d still be homeless and begging for food on the streets of Baltimore. I’d be lost. Klay is my compass, even if he’d like to be rid of me.
I wish I could give him what he wants, but I can’t.
Me and Klay met when we were twelve. I’d been kicked out by my single mother for eating too much, taking up too much space in an apartment filled to capacity with children. Klay had just run away to escape an abusive father, disappearing while they were on vacation in the States, hoping to get lost in the wilds of America. His dad never came looking for him—a fact that blows my mind to this day. Klay is everything a man could want in a son.
He’s quick witted. Funny.
Attractive.
A knot gets stuck in my throat and now I’m splitting a look between Wendy and Klay, the horrible throb between my legs making it hard to breathe. How can I thirst for two people, of different sexes, in the same way? I don’t know. I’m not sure it would be like this with anyone else. Just Klay and Wendy. During those too brief moments in our prison cell, I experienced a sense of belonging that I never knew enough to hope for.
If I don’t feel it again, I think I might die.
There’s a pinch in my gut when I notice Klay pressing a hand to the wound in his side.
“Does it hurt?”
“What?” He shakes himself, drops his hand. “No, it’s fine. A mere scratch.” His blue eyes travel over to me, resting briefly on the shoulder bandage. For just a split second, they darken with distress, before it vanishes and he’s once again aloof. “And yours?”
I try not to make it obvious that my pulse is racing.
Klay is concerned about me.
“Fine,” I manage thickly, remembering how my come looked dripping down his diamond cut abs. Dammit. I fucked up. I went too far. Now I’m cursed with the memory of how good it felt to release on his unblemished skin. Just like I’m cursed with the memory of how tight and wet Wendy felt sitting on my dick. How her small tongue felt tickling mine, her little hips pumping hungrily in my lap. Jesus, between Klay and Wendy, the pike in my pants is never going to subside. I’m a downed power line, sparking and dancing on the sidewalk, in need of repair and they’re the only ones who can help me.
“I think it’s late enough now,” Klay says, scanning the neighborhood. “We’ve covered our tracks well, but we don’t know what’s being broadcast on the news. It could only be a matter of time before they connect us to Wendy. We weren’t exactly subtle last week about wanting her brought back.”
“I believe your exact words were, ‘get her back in this cell or I’ll gut you all like fish.’”
“Sounds about right,” Klay deadpans, his chest hollowing and expanding quickly while watching Wendy move through the lit-up house. “Damn it to hell, she’s beautiful. I wondered if I’d imagined how much she…affects me.”