Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
He presses against my butt. “Stay.”
I grind against him as he circles harder and faster, his tongue sliding against my neck.
At any second, Kyrin is going to walk around that corner and catch us, but I can’t seem to stop. My eyes roll to the back of my head as his other hand travels up my belly, squeezing my nipples.
“This…” he whispers into my ear, all while never letting up, “will be the last time I fuck you for you. Next time I see you? It’s gonna be for me.” His finger slides between my folds and I moan softly, just as his other hand slams over my mouth. I panic, breathing in deeply to suck in as much air as I can as I feel myself dangerously close to falling over the edge. His finger curls inside of me while his thumb rubs my clit faster. I feel myself slowly coming apart as my knees shake and my legs start to give way. Pleasure splinters through my body and jolts me forward so violently my legs turn to jelly and I slowly fall to the floor. Keaton catches me, holding me up in place as the aftershocks continue to roll through me from my head down to my toes.
Retracting his hand, he brings his wet finger to my lips. “This is what I do to you. No one else.” Then he reaches for the juice with his hand that was on my lips, just as Kyrin rounds the corner while still looking at his phone.
He glares up at us just as Keaton casually but not quickly, rolls to the opposite side.
“I have shit taste in people,” Kyrin complains, and I’m seriously contemplating my choices lately.
Keaton holds my stare, stepping backward against the counter and bringing his fingers to his mouth, sucking me off him. “What a shame. Can’t relate.”
For the love of God…
They both left not long after Keaton’s near miss with finger fucking me in the kitchen before licking away any evidence right in front of my brother. Hours pass and I still don’t know what Kyrin’s punishment is going to be. Maybe he’ll just let it go and leave me to entertain myself the only way I know how, since I can’t join the family business. Feeling tired of overthinking, I busy myself with cleaning the penthouse. Picking up the collection of littered Solo cups and swiping the dried cocaine off the tables out on the patio near the infinity pool. It’s not until I’m climbing the stairs, ready to take a long hot bath, that my phone rings.
Dread punches through my heart. I pull my phone out, pushing my hair to the side. “Hey, Mom.”
“How was your brother?” I can hear talking in the background. She’s most likely at a bar without my father.
“You know… he was Kyrin. He wasn’t happy with my activities, so I’m waiting to see what kind of punishment they all have up their sleeve for me this time.”
She goes quiet, and a door closes in the background. “Is this the route you want to go? You know you can ride in Mayhem. You don’t need to pretend that you don’t want it, Cartier. Regardless of what your brother is making you agree to.” I know what she’s implying, and as much as I do appreciate it, I know that riding isn’t something I want to do in Mayhem. I enjoy it too much. None of The Brothers ride for themselves anymore because their hobby has turned into work. Except maybe Keaton, but he hasn’t uploaded any new content on Instagram of him stunting in a while. Not since he dropped into Crusty Demon’s and fucked around with them for a night a couple of months ago.
I stare blankly at the abstract art hanging on the wall directly opposite me. Strokes of black, beige, and gold that at some angles can resemble a cow staring at you. Honestly, the money this stupid piece cost my mother… “No, I’m sure. I can’t be part of the show, Mom. For one,” I say, huffing while continuing into my bedroom, “I don’t want to see Kyrin having sex with someone. I know that never bothered other older generational people, but it bothers me—and him—and two, I’d rather just wait.”
“Honey,” she says, and as soon as I hear her sugary tone, I roll my eyes. “I just want what’s best for you. We all do.”
“Mom, it’s fine. Hey! I’ve got to go. Tell Dad I miss him.”
“Will do, baby. Have a good night.”
I toss my phone onto the marble counter and peer up at myself in the mirror that occupies the entire wall in the bathroom. Shit. My mom is smart, but she dumbs herself down. Maybe she’s sniffing around something that I don’t know. I don’t get that from her. Or much of anything of myself. For one, my jaw is slightly angular, thanks to genetics probably on my sperm donor’s side, and on some angles, it could look too sharp. Thanks to my eyes, they tend to soften my features enough because of my boyish jawline. My cheekbones are soft, free of any imperfections, which I know I get from her. Everyone thinks she gets Botox, but we know she doesn’t. Not like Dahlia anyway.