Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“Say one more fuckin’ word …”
Your heart is racing again.
The second Brock pulled his tight fist back, ready to send it through Tristan’s jaw, an odd thing happened.
Tristan’s fingers, as gentle as silk, rushed up to the side of Brock’s face, like a caress, a stroke of a lover’s fingertips across his cheek, sweetly.
Brock’s eyes twisted upward, mouth fell slack, arm dropped to his side, and to the floor the rest of him went.
Silence befell the hallway.
The others took a step back from Brock’s body, alarmed.
Out like a rock, cooed Tristan, as if into a baby’s crib.
After a second, one of the guys ran off without a word, as far from the scene as he could. Another feebly whimpered, “B-Brock …?” then became distressed when there was no reply and took off, too, followed soon by his friend.
The only one left was Kyle.
Tristan sat upon the floor, cross-legged, and laid Brock’s head in his lap, where he began to stroke the football player’s hair. There, there, said Tristan. Enjoy your nap. You needed it ever so badly. You’ll wake up refreshed. And maybe with an erection.
“H-How’d you do that?” asked Kyle.
Meanwhile, Brock had begun to snore.
Kyle stood there like a rock himself as Tristan’s eyes slowly went from one end of his body to the other—from his sneakers, to the rolled-up cuff of his jeans, to his thighs that filled them out, to his waist, up the crevice between the front of his opened letterman jacket, underneath which his formfitting shirt showed off his work at the gym, up to his broad yet slouched shoulders, and finally to his face, where Tristan’s gaze pierced him like a spear. It was surprising, the hidden power Tristan carried in his eyes, how he was so easily able to penetrate Kyle, to strip away his clothes without touching him at all, to invade him. Each and every inch of Kyle was exposed to Tristan right then.
Kyle had no hope to hide anything.
Just when Kyle thought he couldn’t bear another second, Tristan’s lips curled into a smirk. Goodness, that was close, wasn’t it? I nearly had every last tooth knocked out of my mouth. By the way, I just noticed you didn’t run off with your friends.
Kyle stared back. “What?”
You’re not like them, are you? I can tell. Tristan peered down at Brock. Does he use conditioner, do you think? His hair is so soft.
“How did you do that?” Kyle asked again. “He fell asleep. Like a narcoleptic or something. Shouldn’t you, like … go?”
Your friends think I killed him. They may return with an adult. Or a priest. He continued to stroke Brock’s hair thoughtfully. Most likely a priest. Hmm, no, I should stay. Besides, who would protect Brock? Did you know that Mr. Reed, your trusty biology teacher, likes to steal used jockstraps from the laundry?
Kyle blinked. “What?”
Socks, too. The gym is just around the corner from the lab. I can’t say what he does with the dirty laundry, but I know his heart races when he snatches them. He loves doing it, even if it terrifies him. Do you think he has a collection at home? Is one of yours among them?
“What are you talking about?”
Whatever he does with them, his briefcase reeks of teenage musk. It wouldn’t take a Sherlock. Who’s to say what he’d do if he happened upon Brock’s vulnerable body? Lying here in the hall, undefended? He might seem like a terrible person, but really, he’s got a soft heart, this one. Tristan smiled down at Brock, still stroking his hair. Also, he’s rather handsome, if you look at him at the right angle.
Kyle scoffed at that and took a step back. “No way, you’re making that up about Mr. Reed. How can you even know if—?”
I’ve noticed you watching me in class, too.
Kyle looked at him, alarmed, at once ready to deny it.
But he felt flames in his cheeks, betraying him. He felt the power in the words Tristan uttered mere seconds ago—about suppressing desires, setting prisoners free, all of that.
How Tristan thought Kyle was different than his friends.
Kyle considered Brock, still snoring, and wondered if they had another thing in common, something they would never dare confess to each other out loud.
And Kyle considered his own dark secrets.
Things he does at night. His fantasies. His racing heart.
His own locked-up prisoners.
It’s okay, said Tristan lightly. I’ve been watching you, too.
That caught Kyle by surprise, as he was certain Tristan had been ignoring him since day one. “You have?”
And patiently waiting for you to say something first. Mmm, you intrigue me. Tristan pulled lint off of Brock’s shoulder and flung it aside. Your friend is quite a heavy sleeper, by the way.
“Is he going to wake up? Are you … Are you a hypnotist? I just want to know how you did that,” Kyle insisted. “That’s all.”