Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
“I don’t know…” His breathing shortens. His heart pounds beneath my hand. “Maybe not that.” He swallows hard, runs his fingers through his hair a few times, and the coldness when he lets go of me feels agonizing. But I hold his neck instead, hoping he knows I’m here. His eyes are reddened. “Maybe it’s more like a need, a necessity. Like if I don’t do this…” He shakes his head, then intakes a sharper breath.
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, not understanding why he’s getting so worked up over this. I do know I hate seeing him choked for oxygen. I hate how his pulse is a quickening hammer under my hand. “Take some breaths. We don’t need to talk about it.”
“Maybe I could…” He swallows again, trying to inhale deeper.
“Ben, let’s just drop it—”
“I could stay into the holidays,” he says with a nod. “I want to stay. More than anything. I think I can.” He nods more assuredly. “I’ll be here.”
Now I’m processing rapidly. “Are you sure? We haven’t heard anything from the Honors House yet. You’d still have to stay with your brothers if you can’t complete the Kappa bet.”
“Maybe I can stay here longer too. It’s been better. Beckett has seemed okay.”
If I cling too tightly to this hope, will it just crumble in my hands? Still, I find myself clutching to this blissful feeling. “It’s the sex, isn’t it,” I tease. “It’s mind-altering. Too good to say goodbye to.”
“It’s not the sex, Fisher. It’s just you. It’s been you.” His smile emerges as soon as mine peeks, and he nods even stronger this time, his breathing deepening in a good way. “I’ll be here for longer. I’ll be here with you.”
My spirits catapult to the clouds. I pull him closer, but he’s already crashing his lips to mine, urging them apart. His sensual, devouring tongue draws me into him. His hand tightens in my hair with a dominant, needy grip. I ache to be smothered by his touch, by him.
The door clicks open so slowly, so softly, we almost don’t hear when one of his brothers enters the apartment.
“Beckett?” Ben calls out, craning his neck over his shoulder, and I wonder if he thinks it’s him because of the hushed entrance.
I have a direct view of Tom.
I’m still straddling Ben, about to spring off his lap until Tom’s despondent shuffle gives me extra pause. His head is hung, shaggy golden-brown hair hiding his eyes. My nemesis looks…defeated. And not by me, so I don’t like this at all.
“Everything okay?” Ben frowns. “Tom?”
He drops his keys on the kitchen counter, then meanders closer. “You will be happy to know, Harry…” Tom just barely lifts his bloodshot, wrecked gaze up to mine. “That my drummer just quit. And so did Warner.”
“Warner?” Ben says in confusion, like that’s inconceivable. The bassist started The Carraways with Tom seven years ago.
“That’s the whole band,” I say unhelpfully.
“Thank you so much for clarifying,” Tom says with a shrill noise. “Like I didn’t know my band just imploded.” He pushes his hair back, and my eyes bug into concerned saucers.
“Dude.” I leap off Ben’s lap. “Did he punch you?” I’m fucking pissed.
“Tom.” Ben is on his feet in seconds. Tom’s eyelid is puffy, and the inside crease is already bruising.
He slings his head back with a frustrated, distraught sound. “He lost it at rehearsal and threw a mic at my face.” He glares at me. “Go ahead and laugh it up, Harry. Tell me I deserved it. I’m an asshole. I had this coming. Rub it in.”
“You didn’t deserve to get assaulted.” I head to the fridge. “Do you have any ice packs in here?”
“Freezer,” Ben tells me while he checks on his brother.
“The bruise to the face I can take,” Tom assures him. “My pride…” He blinks back emotion. “Goddamn Warner.”
Ben rests his ass on the back of the couch, so he’s closer to Tom’s six-foot-one height. “If this is how Warner reacts, I don’t think you should work things out with him. Maybe it’s better to cut ties.”
“I don’t want him back, dude.” Tom points at his eye. “And not because of this. We can’t agree on anything anymore. Not the tempo, not a song title, not the color of a fucking EP cover.”
I return with a squishy icepack. I’m guessing Beckett being an athlete is why there were a multitude of different kinds in the freezer. I offer it to Tom.
He grabs it slowly like he’s expecting a catch to my kindness. “Thanks?”
“Any reason to flex my pre-med skills, Thomas.”
He wheezes out a laugh. “Right now I feel like I’m dying. What are you going to do about that?” I open my mouth to respond, but he’s quick to say, “Forget it.” He presses the ice to his eye, nods goodbye to Ben and retreats to his bedroom.