Hunted – A Dark MMF Age-Gap (Hunted #1) Read Online Xavier Neal

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark Tags Authors: Series: Hunted Series by Xavier Neal
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Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
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“Sounds like you like it, too, Sir.” Arrogance in Kipp’s tone is impossible to miss but easy to ignore due to him continuously grinding his best friend’s balls against the little nub that can’t take much more. “Admit it.” Sloppy, wet gagging noises from me are wedged in between demands. “Admit you fucking like me here.” Sweltering juices drench his dick. Trickle past where we’re connected to join the other male’s clutches. “Admit you want me to feel you fucking come.” Both cocks suddenly bulge warning me of how close we all are to the edge. “Admit you want me to make you fucking come.”

“Be a good little cum dumpster and take my fuckin’ load,” Nolan commands through gritted teeth.

Despite all our best efforts, no one can stop themselves from falling apart once those words hit the air.

Blazing bursts burn the length of my throat as scorching spurts splash against my pulsating muscles. Attempting to pull my head off results in Kipp pinning me in my place to choke down every last drop; however, his forceful lunge forward of me instantly has our mixture of cum spilling out onto his fingers.

The same fingers he then carefully removes.

“Put that shit in your mouth, Kid,” Sir gruffly growls while I guzzle down the last bit. “I wanna watch you both fucking swallow.”

Chapter 14

Nolan

It’s one thing getting hard for her.

It’s another thing getting hard for him.

But it’s a really fucked up thing getting hard-er because he’s hard for her.

That shit shouldn’t even be possible.

A lot like one woman being able to look this fucking good in anything she puts on.

Forfuckssake, this chick could wear a Twister themed moo moo paired with an oversized sombrero and baby vomit colored Ugg boots and I’d still be calling her beautiful and bargaining with her to suck my cock in the dressing room stall.

Which she won’t.

I asked.

Several. Times.

The Kid did too.

Still.

No go.

The thing she will do?

Flash us her beautiful round ass in the tiny little navy blue ass cheek panties she’s sporting.

I think she called them boy shorts?

Not sure what kinda dudes she’s seen in that shit, but I’m hoping that’s some sorta fucking misnomer.

Awkwardly adjusting my crotch is followed by an even toned demand from Kipp, “Get all three, baby.”

Bunny sassily shoves her hands inside the red and white patterned thing she called a hobo dress.

Or maybe it was boho?

No.

That can’t be it.

That’s not even a real fucking word.

“I don’t need all three, Kid,” she sweetly insists, oversized mountaineer hat adding something – but I don’t know what – to the outfit.

“I think you do,” he argues without hesitation as he scoots to the edge of the chair he’s been occupying.

The same fucking one I can’t believe I mentally saw myself sucking his dick in a minute ago.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on this weekend.

I think Rabbit may be spiking my coffee in the morning.

How else do I fucking explain suddenly wanting something I’ve never wanted before?

Or letting him touch me in ways he never had before?

Or wanting him to do it again?

Counting down the literal moments until he can do it again.

Until I can try it?

Fuck. Me.

I know if I start being a little less tinted window honest with myself, I’ll see that I’ve wanted that shit for years. And if I stay fresh off of the lot clear about the situation, it’s also apparent that anytime before now…before her…would’ve been wrong.

She’s not the duct tape that magically holds us together.

She’s more like that limited supply missing part we’ve been waiting on.

And fuckkkkk has she been worth it.

Rabbit does her best to maintain her polite demeanor. “I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I. Really. Don’t.”

Kipp’s sharp retort is more growled than spoken, “You. Really. Do.”

And what the fuck is that shit?

When did he…learn to…have so much fucking bass in his voice?

And so much fucking weight in his balls?

Where the fuck has this shit been hiding?

Where the fuck was this shit when that tramp, he wouldn’t take to the prom keyed his car or when the bank wouldn’t give him a loan to help us expand the business?

What is it about our little cotton tail that brings out his big bad wolf side?

And why the fuck am I just waiting for my turn to be gobbled up?

“Mutt,” our woman stomps her white boot covered foot in frustration at the same time she redirects her attention to me, “tell him I don’t. Tell him I don’t have room in my bag for all three.”

“Sir,” the Kid devilishly begins, leading me to lower the shirt I’m holding to conceal the way my cock is starting to swell, “tell her she does. Tell her my closet or yours has plenty of fucking room for all three.”

Thankfully this argument – like most of the shit they put me in the middle of – is not only mostly harmless, it’s easy to fucking split from.



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