Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 84289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Lol. Doesn’t mean he isn’t a cocky bastard. Anyway, I’m good. Don’t worry about me.
I check on my latest posts online, and luckily there’s nothing too creepy in the comments.
I reply to a few of the latest comments on the picture I posted with Oliver a day ago, telling people I’m having a great time at Crimson.
When I head back through the house to the living room, Oliver’s not where I left him.
And that rage inside me stirs just a little.
Or maybe it’s something else.
Worry.
Since when do I fucking worry about anything?
I go through my days clouded with anger or animosity, but I don’t worry. Why worry when you’ve got nothing to lose?
But when I can’t find Oliver, that same possessive thread winds itself through me like it did when I saw that guy trying to kiss his skin.
And I don’t like losing things that belong to me.
I make a loop all around the lower floor of Onyx House, weaving through the crowd of increasingly drunk people.
I head upstairs and swing open the door to his bedroom.
“Oh!” someone says from the opposite side of his bed.
For the first time, his roommate Percy is there. He’s on his bed with a girl I assume is his girlfriend, and for the second time tonight I see much more naked skin than I was bargaining for.
“Sorry. Enjoy,” I tell them, ducking back out of the room.
For fuck’s sake.
I toss back the rest of my cocktail and head to my room to grab a hat. It’s a cold night, and I’m almost certain Oliver must have gone outside.
I push open my own door and stop when I see him.
Oliver is in my bed.
His pants are shoved down and he has his cock in his hand, and he moans a little, shocked when he sees me.
And god, those freckles.
There aren’t even that many, but the way they’re dotted along the smooth planes of his taut muscle fucking drives me crazy every time.
The moment I see him, I want to put my tongue on every inch of him.
But I hold back.
I keep control.
“The fuck are you doing?” I ask him in a low tone.
He’s drunk.
He has a defiant look in his eyes, and he keeps stroking his cock even though I caught him red-handed.
“I have to come. Fuck you for doing whatever the hell you were doing to me on that couch downstairs. I just need to come and I’ll finally be able to think straight.”
“Hand off your cock. Now.”
He moans louder and it’s so good I almost want to take mercy on him again.
Almost.
“Niko,” he whispers.
“You’ll come,” I assure him. “When I want you to.”
“But I was so goddamn close,” he tells me, his words coming out in a soft whine.
“I need you downstairs right now. We have to be seen together, remember?”
“We can be seen together after I get off.”
All I have to do is look at him.
I don’t say another word.
I wait there, silently, holding his gaze for a few beats. I look down at his cock, hard and pink and aching there in his hand, and the temptation is practically unbearable.
But when I look back up at his eyes again he just sighs, then slides his hand away from his perfect dick.
It’s a tragedy to watch it disappear behind his boxer briefs and pants as he shoves it away, zipping up, but the fact that he’s doing what I told him is enough of a pleasure on its own.
“That’s better,” I tell him.
“Go fuck yourself.”
I hum with pleasure, watching as he crosses the room, walking a little weird at first because his cock is still too hard.
“Deciding to be my boyfriend was your idea,” I tell him, and as he heads for the door, I squeeze his ass with my hand. “Did you stuff your face up against my pillow while you were trying to make yourself come?”
He shoves me back onto the wall.
He gets in close to my face, hovering a couple of inches from my lips.
Like he’s thinking of kissing me.
But that’s something we haven’t done yet, Ollie.
He leans in and I push my fingertips up against his lips, shaking my head no.
“Fuck you,” he mutters against my fingers. “Such a prick.”
Anger flashes through me.
I reach for the door and kick it completely shut with the toe of my boot.
I shove a hand down the back of Oliver’s pants and grip his ass hard.
“Changed my mind. Get your clothes off again.”
“Not if you’re just going to tease me again and edge me until I’m losing my fucking mind. You going to disappear on me again? Like you keep doing?”
“I said get your clothes off,” I tell him, gripping the front of his shirt in my fist and tugging.
I’ve had enough.
As Ollie finally dutifully strips for me, I set up my phone camera and point it toward my bed.