Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“This thing with me and your brothers isn’t right.”
He laughs. “Nothing, when it comes to me and my brothers, is ever right. Who cares if it’s a little fucked up. Feels good.”
That it does.
Feels a little too good.
“I’m the worst captive ever,” I say with a smile. “I slept with my captors.”
“Stockholm syndrome. It’s not your fault. We convinced you to fall in love with us.”
“I’m not in love with you guys.”
“Liar.”
He runs his fingers through my hair, calming me back down into a relaxed state. I could spend hours in his arms, daydreaming, talking, touching, kissing. It’s like I’ve stepped away from my real life for a bit and am playing in a fantasy one.
“What if they do link you guys?” I ask, unable to keep away from the topic. “What then?”
“I think we’ll have a buffer,” Sully assures me. “We may be Mannfords, but we’re under the Morelli umbrella. Back when Winston destroyed us, we didn’t know about our Morelli blood. Now, he’d be a fool to fuck with us. The Morellis have tons of shit on the Constantines. They’re not going to do anything to jeopardize their name.”
I know I should feel somewhat settled by his words, but I don’t. Just because the Constantines won’t publicly go after the triplets, it doesn’t mean my father won’t. My father beats his own children—and worse. He’d take great pleasure in a public flogging where my captors turned lovers are concerned.
I’m safe for the time being.
Even if it isn’t promised for forever, I’m going to enjoy it while I can.
Chapter Thirteen
Sparrow
Elegant piano playing from somewhere in the expansive eighty-first floor Penthouse and the glass of champagne I downed when I arrived at this party do nothing to calm my erratic heart. I’d rather be literally anywhere than in the hoity-toity home of some city politician, rubbing elbows just to “make an appearance as Sparrow Mannford” as Scout described it.
Fuck appearances.
I want to be at home. With Landry. Watching her as she gives herself up to me—to us. It was exhilarating watching Scout fuck her. I liked it. A lot. Not that I get off on seeing my brother’s dick. I just like watching Landry battle with her emotions and sensations running through every nerve ending. I love the mental torment she subjects herself to. That she secretly wants us but hates that she does.
She belongs with us.
All of us.
Landry admitted to wanting us. Together. I’m eager to test that admission. To see how much she struggles with it or if she just gives herself over freely. I ache to see the transformation. To be a part of it. To watch her lose the control she claims she has over us.
It’s driving me crazy being at this damn party wondering what they’re doing at home. Without me. Every situation I imagine involves her naked and getting tag-teamed by my brothers.
I’m jealous.
And fucking horny.
She’s going to let us all three take her. I’m not sure when or how it’ll evolve, but I know it to be true. I saw it in her eyes when she got off on my voyeurism. Landry is just as fucked in the head as we are.
Which is why I have to be successful tonight. Distract those who are watching and make them think nothing is amiss when it comes to the Mannford triplets. The sooner I can convince these partygoers everything is business as usual, the sooner I can drag Landry into bed with me and my brothers.
My dick thickens in my tuxedo pants. They’re already fitted, so it makes shit super uncomfortable. I take a second to think about unsexy things like public transportation or the news or Sully’s baseball cap collection.
I can’t believe I’m at this dinner party with a fucking stiffy.
The party is crowded with New York’s finest, which means it’s inevitable I’m going to run into at least one Constantine. Hell, a Constantine was the one who planted the seed in Scout’s head in the first place and got me the details of this party.
I fucking hate that dude, Ty.
Not in an “I want to murder him in his sleep” kind of way like I do with Winston. He just gets under my skin. His desperation to help Landry grates on me. Like he has some say in her happiness.
Ty is paranoid, according to what he told Scout this morning, that they’re going to dig into Ford Mann and uncover that it’s a false identity. If we’re in hiding, shit will go south quickly because Winston will immediately sniff out our absence and team up with his buddy Alexander. Then, they’d show up on our doorstep to take the girls away from us. Ty is right. By showing up at this bougie-ass party, it’ll be a distraction. That if anyone has thought to link Ford Mann to the Mannford triplets, they’ll be thrown off by my presence.