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422 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 11, 2021
This is something he could probably play in his sleep, but now his fingers lurch over the keys—the same fingers that have brought me such rapture and such misery—and his shoulders grow stiffer with each error.
I wonder if it feels like it felt for me, that night down in the basement. Is he trying to ignore us? Is he on the verge of crying? Does he imagine he’s somewhere else—somewhere softer and kinder?
Does he want to fucking die?
I’m not sure why or how or when that happened. It’s perfectly clear that Tristian cares for me more as an object than a person. Why should it matter to him whether I’m hot or cold?
Testing this theory, I reach for the hand still on the gearshift, gently resting my palm over his knuckles. He remains still, but I don’t miss the flick of his eyes to our hands, that sulky crevice between his eyebrows disappearing instantly.
Jesus.
So easy.
She doesn’t just look like she’s sleeping.
She looks like she’s dead to the goddamn world.
My cock fills up instantly.
Story isn’t asleep. She’s drunk. Barely conscious and completely pliable. My dick gets harder the longer I watch her. Looking as though he’s testing the waters, Tristian reaches out to brush a strand of hair off her face. She sighs gently, but doesn’t wake.
The way I jerk her panties to the side is bordering on violent, but I can’t stop it now. It takes one twist of my hips and a hard shove of her shoulders to impale her on my dick. She makes this shocked, bitten-off cry, right into the cavern of my mouth, and I capture it like an animal.
I fuck her like one, too.
What do you buy someone after carving your initials into their flesh, jacking off onto their cheek, and then fucking them with the hilt of a knife and leaving them on the floor in a puddle of come, blood, and their own tears?
Hallmark doesn’t exactly make a fucking card for that.
“So what, he followed you around the country, apparently murdered your gay roommate, and you just decided…‘ hey, might as well go see those three guys who done me wrong and hope he fucking kills them ’?” He pushes a fingertip into his temple. “Are you fucking crazy?!”
“They say if you care about something, you should let it go.” There’s a long beat of charged silence, and then he finally lifts his eyes to mine. “For the record, that’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. If you really cared about something, you’d put that shit behind lock and key and never let it out of your sight. I voted to make you stay.”
These men are thugs. They get off on this lifestyle. Revenge, chaos, pain, and torture.