Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
It’s almost like it’s her hand wrapped around me when I pull myself out of my pants. Pumping up and down my length—the lotion on the nightstand helps like it did before. Except in my head, it’s her saliva coating my shaft. Or her sweet, hot pussy juices. They would gush from her while my cock pounded her until she couldn’t take anymore and begged me to stop. Though I wouldn’t stop. I would make her submit to my will.
I can see her in front of me, legs spread, all wide-eyed and innocent. My hand moves faster, and I clench my teeth, giving myself over to the fantasy. It can’t be a fantasy for much longer. I’m going to have to make it real. I need to hear her whimpers. To hear her moan my name.
“Fuck,” I groan, closing my eyes, letting the rush come over me all at once. The ache in my balls eases, and my knees are weak by the time I’m finished.
The sight of my little bird’s pillow coated in my sticky cum makes me smile to myself as I zip my fly. “Sweet dreams, Wren,” I whisper.
Within minutes, I’m back behind the wheel, plugging the address into the map app on the phone and following the directions it provides. It’s not a long drive, barely five minutes, not far enough to take me into a better part of town. If anything, this is even worse, since the buildings on either side of the street look abandoned. It’s damn depressing, but I’m about to do something that will perk up my mood.
There’s a set of stairs that runs along the outside of the building, which is what I use to get up to the second floor where Brandon is supposedly crashing. I don’t know whether he’s there alone or not, not that it’s going to change anything. This is between the two of us, anyway. Anybody else feels like getting involved, playing the hero? They’ll regret it.
I pound on the door with the side of my fist, looking around at the cigarette butts and beer cans littering the landing. A few shuffling footsteps are followed by creaking hinges as the door slowly opens. This guy is in even worse shape than Wren’s roommate, blinking hard against a cloudy day. “Yeah?” he mumbles before burping softly. He’s a charmer.
Black hair, slightly curly.
Flat, mean eyes.
Snake tattoo on the right biceps. Shitty work, too, not that I’m surprised. “What, did you get that in prison? Or was the artist stoned?” I ask, nodding to the sloppy ink.
“What the fuck did you say?” he asks, standing up a little straighter. “Who are you?”
“The question here is, who are you?” I counter with a smile, my hands folded in front of me. “I’m looking for Brandon. Are you Brandon?”
He really is a stupid son of a bitch. “Yeah, I’m Brandon,” he drawls, almost like he’s proud. Like he has a reason to be.
“Good to know.” And then I cock my right fist back and piston it forward, throwing my weight behind the blow for extra impact.
It’s always easy to take down a coward like this, though I didn’t expect him to drop so easily. “Jesus, dude,” I mutter, stepping over his prone body and shoving his legs out of the way with one foot before closing the door behind me so we can be alone.
Straddling him, I roll him onto his back, then slap him hard enough that his eyes snap open. He’s dazed, blinking rapidly, muttering thickly.
Taking him by the neck of his torn T-shirt, I pull him partway up and give him a smile. “Don’t go to sleep yet,” I croon. “I’m not done with you by a long shot.”
13
WREN
Iwish there was a way to drown out the sound of Buck and his friends partying out in the living room. It’s a little early for them—usually, they like to hang out at the bar first before bringing the party back here. I try to get myself to bed before that happens, so there’s not much of a reason for me to go out and see them. I know Buck wouldn’t have Brandon here again after what happened, but what about the rest of his friends? I’m sure before Brandon attacked me, Buck would’ve called him a good guy. How many of his friends are just like that gross, nasty pig?
The thought of a nasty pig brings a face to mind, but it’s not Brandon. It’s Briggs, and it’s a face I haven’t seen in two days. Two entire days, he’s left me alone. It’s more than a little unnerving. Expecting him to randomly show up in my path the way he always does. Maybe he wants me to let my guard down.
Or maybe he thinks that disgusting little present he left on my pillowcase was enough. Like it was his last message. Could that be true? Did he finally get tired of torturing me?