Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
“Why?” His grin returns as quickly as it disappeared as he stands up unhurriedly like a big cat crawling out from his cave after a nap. “Afraid I’ll grow on you?”
I flash him my most fake smile. “The chances of that happening are below zero. Better luck next life, kid.”
“Blah blah and fucking blah. Why wait when I have this life?” He frowns. “Also, why are you smiling like a creep?”
My smile drops and I snatch the AirPods from his grip. “Stop following me. I mean it. I have no interest in whatever you’re hinting at.”
He smiles wide like an unhinged maniac on drugs. Maybe he really is high. “And how do you know what I’m hinting at?”
“You haven’t exactly been subtle. The answer is no.”
“I can work with a no.”
“You’re wasting your time. I’m straight.”
“That’s the third time you’ve told me that. Someone is trying to prove a point.” He slaps my shoulder. “But, hey, whatever lets you sleep at night, lotus flower.”
He starts to get into my space again, his smell—bergamot and mint—filling my nostrils and clouding my senses.
Fucking again.
I shove him away, hard, and break into the fastest run of my running history. I eat the distance back to the mansion in no time.
Forget my routine. I need to protect something a lot more important.
My sanity.
5
NIKOLAI
So I’ve picked up running lately.
By lately, I mean this is the third day. The first was when I tackled Brandon to the ground and felt the flexing of his muscles as I whispered in his ear.
Good times.
In fact, they were infinitely more than good. Fucking hot is the word I’m looking for.
There’s something about shoving him around, messing with his golden-boy persona, but what I enjoyed the most was trapping him beneath me, having him compliant one second and fighting the next as if his life depended on it.
Kolya got his most straining hard-on in a week. The first being when Bran sat on my lap.
Once again, no amount of foreplay or greedy mouths and willing holes were cutting it for my newly picky dick. He couldn’t even get it up or grow enough balls to leave my pants.
It’s another story when different images play in my head, though.
I had to be a caveman and jerk off alone while picturing that blotch of red creeping up Bran’s neck when I growled in his ear or the goosebumps covering his skin when I locked him in place with a hand on his nape.
He didn’t fight. Again. He just lay there begging to be fucking used.
Though he’d tell you otherwise.
He’s kind of an asshole, that guy. While I’ve been having a blast running with him the past couple of days, I have a feeling it’s not…mutual.
I’ve been only greeted with the narrowing of his eyes, his death glares, and the occasional puff of air from his luscious lips.
Not to mention his monosyllabic replies and continued orders.
Back off.
Step away from me.
Do not touch me.
Remove your unpleasant presence from my vicinity.
He speaks like royalty. Not complaining, though. There’s something about ruining a good boy that does shit to me.
Which is why I’m back for round three.
I wait by the Elites’ mansion entrance, jogging in place and punching the air. I can’t stay still.
Not when the mere thought of Bran in his shorts and fitted T-shirt sends blood rushing to my groin.
I’d like to point out that I tried to remain calm, but then again, calm and I have been at odds since I was born, and I can’t possibly be expected to leave him alone. He’s turning into this sweet addiction that adds meaning to my days.
Solution? Try to wear him down.
Creep beneath his skin.
Wreak havoc on his heart in the process.
He’s just so fun to mess with. He’s usually expressionless, unless he’s faking this creepy smile that looks like a psycho’s, so whenever I catch him off guard, he has this deer caught in the headlights expression. A flaring of nostrils here, a bobbing of his gorgeous Adam's apple there.
I’m living for that shit. Literally.
For two days, I’ve only been thinking about bugging the fuck out of him. Five thirty in the morning is my favorite time of the day until further notice.
Sooner or later, he’ll fall at my feet like everyone else. Or, more accurately, to his knees.
I like to think I’m making progress in some way. Yesterday, he didn’t try to run away from me, though he did attempt to use the stupid AirPods that you can bet I removed and kept hostage until the end of the run.
He did pretend I wasn’t there while I asked him a shitload of questions. I can’t remember many of them, but they were mostly things like, what does he do after a run? What’s his favorite food? Movie? Color? Hobbies? Clothes? Hair products? Cologne?
Does he like the fight club? Violence? The crunching of people’s bones?