Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
People move around us, dancing slow, lost in the deep thump of the vibrating bass. A couple make out on the couch. Liam has Jolena pressed against the wall in an alcove in the foyer, her hands pinned above her head as he kisses her. She hooks a leg around him and tugs him closer. His hands lift her skirt up from behind and I tear my eyes off them.
Chance kisses me as his hands slip under my peasant blouse and brush against my stomach. “Babe, you feel so good. I promise I’ll go easy.”
I glance around.
Nobody is looking at us.
Except for him.
Knox.
He isn’t dancing, but unbidden, my eyes keep going back to him, keeping tabs as he sits on a loveseat in a dark corner, his position separate from the rest of the crowd. His figure is shadowy, but the broad shoulders and muscled arms splayed out along the top of the seat give him away. I know he’s there; I feel the menace emanating from him, like a king watching his subjects. There’s a pretty girl standing behind him, someone random. I don’t know her. She has her hands in his hair, scraping her nails over his scalp then drifting down and massaging his neck and shoulders, the movement of her languid ministrations sensual and slow, sliding from his silky hair to his chest. Another girl sits at his feet and rubs his thighs, her hands caressing. Don’t know her either.
With a sly look up at him, she moves to the crotch of his jeans.
My heart races, and it has nothing to do with Chance’s fingers caressing my skin. I barely notice.
His voice groans. “Don’t you want me, Ava?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, picking me up and sitting with me on the couch, maneuvering me so I straddle him.
I still see Knox.
He won’t take his eyes off me.
I watch with fascination as Knox bites his lower lip, digging in deep, so hard I expect to see blood bloom there.
I return his glance, letting him see that no, I haven’t forgotten seeing him nearly naked in that locker room, and yes, somehow he’s crawled inside me, sitting behind me in class, those long looks he gives me at lunch when I sit next to Chance.
The girl asks him something and I wish I could hear what she says, but I figure it out when she unzips his jeans and her head lowers.
My stomach drops.
“What are you doing?” Chance asks when I jump up off the couch. My chest rises and I put my hand on my flushed cheeks. I lift my eyes to Knox, and he’s a statue, body tense, watching me.
“Bathroom,” I mumble, slipping away from his hands when he reaches out to grab me.
“Babe—”
“Give me a few minutes,” I say firmly then slide farther away from him, jostling between people dancing.
I march past Knox with my hands clenched, my face turned from him so I can’t see his expression, so he doesn’t know he’s in my head instead of Chance.
What is wrong with me?
Thank goodness the bathroom down the hall is empty. I dart inside and stand for a moment and stare at myself in the mirror. I should leave. I should just walk out the front door of this house and go back to the group home, but my car isn’t here. I rode with Piper and she’s out there having a good time. Last time I saw her, she was making out with a guy from Hampton High.
“I just need a minute,” I mutter to myself in the mirror. I shove the shower curtain to the side and step into the pristine clawfoot tub, jerking the curtain back into place. Maybe, just maybe, if I hide here long enough, the party will end, Knox will leave, and Piper and I will go back to her house.
I lean back against the rim of the tub and will my body to relax.
Fat chance of that when the door opens. Dang it—I didn’t lock it.
Peeking out around the edge of the curtain, I see Knox leaning against the door, his head thrown back, his breathing heavy. My eyes search for the girls from the den. They aren’t here. My lip curls. Well, that blowjob didn’t take long.
Peeking, I watch as he scrubs his face and walks to the sink, turns on the cold water, and splashes his face. Once. Twice. Water drips down his cheek to his tan throat, slipping inside his tight black shirt. He looks up at his reflection and grimaces, his fingers trailing down his face. “Ugly, stupid, asshole motherfucker.” I hear him grunt. “You can’t have her.”
Leaning over the sink, he clutches the edge with one hand while he unzips his pants and takes out his shaft. It’s long, thick, and hard, like the rest of him. My breath hitches when he strokes himself, groaning, eyelashes fluttering against his chiseled cheeks. My ears tingle at the sounds he makes, the slap of his fist around his length as he works himself. He grabs his mushroom-shaped head and twists it, shuddering and rubbing the drops of white at the tip down his skin. “Hades and Persephone,” he mutters, almost angrily, as he shoves his jeans and underwear farther down. Slick, slick, so slick and wet, he thrusts into his hand in a greedy way, a flush starting at his neck and working its way to his face. Every second he leans down and groans stretches out and lingers, every tick of the clock dense and thick with anticipation. I bite my lip before the sound I want to make escapes.