Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 89074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Rayne wants to stand up, so I immediately push my weight fully down on him now, straddling him while he struggles.
I definitely didn’t bother locking the door, and I smile wider as I see the look of dread that comes over Rayne’s face.
“Just a sec, man,” Rayne shouts out. “Give me a minute, please.”
He gives me a look like he’s about to explode.
I keep him pinned on the bed.
Knowing that the door could swing open at any moment.
As Weston talks, I lean down and press a tiny kiss right below Rayne’s ear.
“Dude,” Weston is saying. “Noah and Oliver just made boozy milkshakes. Get your ass down here or yours is going to melt.”
I take Rayne’s earlobe between my teeth, giving it a gentle bite.
As I run my hand along his chest, I discover that his nipple is slick with our cum as my fingertips trail through it.
He tries to move a little, and the frame of his bed creaks.
Rayne blows out a long breath of air near my face, then calls back to my brother. “I’ll be downstairs in a sec.”
Weston pauses, but I don’t hear his footsteps.
“You okay?” his voice finally comes through the door. “I know today’s been stressful, man.”
Rayne hisses as I pinch his nipple hard.
“I’m good, Wes. I promise. I’ll be there soon.”
Suddenly Rayne yanks the knife out of his headboard and grips it, looking up at me with his eyes raised.
I’m only inches from his face now, looking down at him.
“You don’t know what you’re doing with that knife, babe,” I whisper.
“Things will be better soon,” Weston is saying outside the door.
I hear the slurping of a straw.
I click my tongue. “My brother always goes the whipped cream at the top before drinking the shake."
“Shut the fuck up,” Rayne whispers, and I run my thumb along his lower lip.
“Anyway,” Weston says. “Get your ass down here or I’m going for yours next. Kahlua and Oreo with a scoop of mint chip.”
As I hear Weston’s footsteps finally walking off down the hardwood in the hallway, I reach up and stroke my fingers through Rayne’s glossy chestnut hair.
“You did so well.”
I lean down to claim a kiss from him again.
At first he retaliates, biting down hard on my lower lip. But after a moment, when I gently put my tongue inside his mouth, he can’t help himself.
He relaxes.
He kisses me back, letting his tongue slide along mine.
He deepens the kiss, opening for me in a way that feels so good I could come from it, all over again. He’s a fucking good kisser, it turns out, and I’m tired of caring that I’m kissing another guy, because I love this way too damn much.
Rayne still hates me. Probably always will.
But it’s clear that this feels exactly as good to him as it does to me.
I slowly pull away, sucking his lower lip a little as I leave.
“You just can’t get enough, can you?” he says, with a slight rasp in his voice.
“Go clean yourself up,” I tell him. “Or maybe you should go downstairs covered in my cum. Your choice, king.”
13
Rayne
Sometimes when you finally discover something that you’ve been looking for, it feels like finding treasure.
Other times, you wish you could retrace your steps.
Go back in time.
Reverse everything that got you to this point, because finding out the truth is even worse than being kept in the dark.
My fingers hover over the mouse and keyboard as I sit at the library computer, the glow of the screen illuminating my face.
Notorious Thornwick Crime Family Busted in Latest London Crackdown.
The headline is simple.
But what I’m looking at—the picture underneath—is making me panic more than any of the shit that’s happened to me in the last few weeks.
In the photo, three of the well-known members of London’s biggest crime family, including Renn Thornwick and Maxwell Thornwick, are standing at the edge of a bar.
But behind them is a particular head of white-blond hair.
A very particular one.
Hunter Knox, sitting at the bar behind them, looking off somewhere out of frame.
It’s clear that Hunter had no idea they were taking the picture, and something tells me that if he had known, he never would have allowed himself to be photographed.
All afternoon, I’ve been on a hunt in the lower PC lab in the library. Searching for dirt on Hunter didn’t seem like a good thing to do on my own laptop, so I came down to the dusty, dark lab two floors underground, a place where nobody seemed to go unless they desperately needed to print something out for a project.
I’d been alone in here for an hour before I came across this particular article.
Hunter wasn’t named anywhere in it, but one of the guys from the crime family, Renn, happened to be on Hunter’s friends list on an old social media account he started up when he first moved to England.