Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
I stretch my arms above my head, reaching for my phone and opening Instagram. I don’t have “friends” at this school—for a reason. Kyrin either sleeps with them or kills them, so I learned a long time ago that it’s easier to keep people at arm’s length. People want to be friends with me so I’m popular, but I never keep anyone close. I never make someone feel like they’re important to me. I have my sisters with Midnight Mayhem, and The Brothers. I don’t need anyone else and don’t think I could fit them in anyway.
Opening Instagram, I flick through my home screen. I only follow people I want to see on my page, which is pretty much just everyone in Midnight Mayhem. No one from my school. The fact that I have over ten thousand followers already and haven’t even debuted with Midnight Mayhem tells me that most of the school and their friends follow me, though.
I pause on a shot someone took of Keaton last week. He’s on his matte black KTM performing a vault. No shirt, black helmet, ripped jeans, and heavy boots. Stupid motherfucker not wearing gear with that particular trick. Stupidity aside, I know he’s everything I ever wanted but shouldn’t have.
Flipping to selfie mode, I take a shot of my eyes only with my mouth covered from my satin black sheets. It’s close up, and since it’s first thing in the morning, the morning sun brightens my features even more than usual. My eyes look inhuman, they could rival Killian’s.
I type out the caption, quoting a famous line from a Ciara song, before tapping Post.
Swinging my leg over the edge of the bed, I shove my sheets off and make my way into the bathroom. I need to cover the evidence, and I need to do it well. I swear Kyrin can sniff shade out better than a Beagle.
Once I’ve done my best at covering the bruises by some magical tricks called color correction and full coverage concealer, I rough my hair up further to make it look like I just woke up before treading down the long hallway and circular staircase.
“Morning!” I bounce into the kitchen just as Kyrin turns, holding a mug of coffee.
He crosses his legs at his ankles and watches me over the rim. “You’re awfully happy for someone whose future hangs in the balance.” I ignore the pang of hurt from his words, taking the juice out of the fridge and flicking off the lid.
I place it on the counter, pouring a glass. “Kind of hoped you’d bring me with you so you could watch me all you want.” My brother is my protector, my best friend, and my nemesis. He needs to find a girl or boyfriend ASAP because his mood swings are starting to get old.
He snorts, and my eyes snap up at him. “Not fucking likely, Princess, but nice try.” He tips out his coffee in the sink just as Keaton drops his bags near the threshold of where the kitchen and the family room meet.
I make it my job to not pay him any attention, or the way my body temperature just skyrocketed.
“You’re an asshole.”
Kyrin closes the distance between us, pressing a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Only to those I care about.” He steps away. “Gotta make a phone call to a King.”
“Kingston can’t help us!” I call out at his retreating back. My eyes finally land on Keaton and searing hot heat coils around my veins with a vice-like grip. It’s like every memory from last night reappears and caresses over the bruises on my body.
Every kiss.
Every touch.
Every… fucking… thing.
I gulp.
“What are you thinking about?” he teases, making his way to where I stand. He’s wearing dark jeans and a white tee with a leather hooded jacket over top, and I swear to God…
He reaches around my body from behind and my eyes close from the way my body pulls me toward his. He’s a lot taller than me, and that’s saying something because I’m not short. Standing at an average five-eight, he must be around six-four. But he’s bigger than Ky, Kill, and King. He always has been.
I feel the mist of his breath touch the nape of my neck. “Gonna need you to answer, baby…” He brings his hand to my upper thigh, where his fingertips graze the inside of my silk pajama bottoms. No panties, obviously so the kitty can breathe overnight. I am really wishing I did now.
“Uh, I—”
“Your words, Cartier…” His lips graze my spine just as he guides his fingers over my clit.
My knees give way and I collapse into his chest. “About last night.”
“Mmhmm…” He circles my clit with just enough pressure to make my hips buckle forward for more. I squeeze his jeans in my hands and press my ass against his crotch. The thick swell of his cock grazes against my back and I go to turn in his grip, ready to do something. Anything. All I know is that I need him. But he stops me with a firm grip around the back of my neck, forcing me up against the counter.