Hostile Takeover (The Game #8) Read Online Cara Dee

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Erotic, Kink, M-M Romance, Taboo Tags Authors: Series: The Game Series by Cara Dee
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Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
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To make them further appealing, Noa and KC shared a relationship with two other men, Cameron and his Master Lucian. Noa and Cameron were boyfriends. KC and Lucian were childhood friends. Now they all lived together, more or less.

All these new dynamics were tearing at the seams of everything I was used to, and I loved every minute of it.

I hungered for the unconventional. Those were the people I wanted to be completely inappropriate with.

Another text from Jack popped up, and with it, my shock.

I’ll be blunt instead. Have you been with a man, Uncle Franklin?

Why was he asking me that?!

This was not okay. This wasn’t my brand of inappropriateness. Not from him. It was bad enough that he, to quote Kingsley, ticked all the Dom boxes. Jack needed to stay in the family lane.

The correct response was, “That’s a very private question, son.”

That was what I was supposed to write to him.

I swallowed a flurry of nerves and finished my drink.

Then he texted again.

Answer me.

“What in the devil—” Annoyance rose within me, as did defiance—and a familiar discomfort I preferred to feel around Kingsley. See, there were different types of discomfort. Much like a masochist wanted a specific type of pain and not another, I got off on being humiliated and embarrassed by the right people, in the right setting.

I’d been told I was some sort of masochist for enjoying mental and emotional pain.

I was still learning. Oh, I was so new.

I scratched my forehead, my thumb hovering over the keys on the display.

To hell with it. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him off—or simply request he stay within the range of what was appropriate—so I went with a combination.

My dating life is a private matter, Jackson. But yes, I have. Was there anything else? It’s late.

Then I promptly poured another drink.

Something was simmering right below the surface of my skin, and I couldn’t make heads or tails of what it was. If it was good or bad. If I wanted it to stop or not.

I took a swallow of the rum, tasting its spices, the oak and the molasses, as it slid down my throat. Right before he texted back.

I apologize for overstepping. Can I be honest?

“You could be quiet instead,” I muttered.

Yes.

I drank slowly and watched the three dots dance on the screen, letting me know he was typing.

Typing a novel, maybe.

Oh Christ, I wasn’t going to like this, was I? If whatever he wanted to say was casual— or whatever I was supposed to call it—he wouldn’t have felt the need to ask if he could be honest.

One more swig for the road. I was not savoring this rum the way it was intended.

At this rate, I’d be drunk before— Oh. His text appeared.

Your coming out is messing with my head. I don’t mean to make this about me; I’m obviously happy for you. I want everyone to be who they want to be. So I only ask for patience from the man I grew up idolizing. I had the biggest fucking crush on you for years. I bought my first suit for an interview with you in mind. I cleaned up my language to be more like you. I watched from the sidelines how you turned a small company into a successful corporation. I envied my aunt for being able to call you husband. I compared boyfriends to you. And now you’re suddenly gay.

It’s going to take me a minute to process.

Don’t respond to this. In fact, I’m muting my phone. I wanted to get this off my chest, and now I have. Let’s never speak of it again. Goodnight.

I swallowed hard and reread every word several times.

Let’s never speak of it again.

That was the route our family loved to take, wasn’t it? We didn’t talk about the things that mattered. I didn’t either—I loved the comfortable act of sweeping something under the rug and pretending it didn’t exist.

I had the biggest fucking crush on you for years.

I blew out a breath and shook the warmth that encased my chest. It was a past thing. Which was obviously good. He’d grown up and developed better taste. But I couldn’t help but feel a bolt of confidence. He’d been infatuated with me? He was the one who was so fearless and driven.

Along with the ego boost came concern. I had to respond one more time, regardless of what he’d said, because I didn’t want him to wake up in the morning to nothing at all. Because when push came to shove, I knew I’d played quite a significant role in his upbringing. Not in the structure of it per se, but as a character standing by.

Jack’s father had never been around much, and then he’d died when Jack had been thirteen or fourteen. A very sensitive age for Jack, who, at the time, couldn’t figure out if he was supposed to be sad, angry, or indifferent to the passing of a man he’d seen a couple times a year.


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