Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 42863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 171(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 171(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
I jerked awake, my cock so hard that it hurt. My heart was slamming against my chest bone in rough, erratic beats. Clarke was resting against me, her arm wrapped over my waist. The house was quiet, Tank more than likely in bed, and it looked to be dark outside. I’d obviously been asleep a while—and deeply asleep at that, if the dream I’d had was anything to go by.
I eased out from beneath Clarke and gently maneuvered her so she was spread out on the couch. After covering her back up, I headed to our room and quietly shut the door behind me before laying back on the bed. I needed to get off. I was desperate to release the ache in my balls. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this fucking hard.
Wrapping my fist around my cock, I bit back a moan and arched my hips off the bed, closing my eyes as I recalled every vivid part of that dream. Tank’s hands running up my thighs. His mouth around my cock. The way his tongue swirling around my tip…
I moaned before I could stop myself, and immediately, my breath stalled in my chest, my eyes snapping open. That had been loud. Really loud. Too loud for a house this quiet. There was no way Tank or Clarke hadn’t heard that. Oh, God, what if both of them had?
The door to the bedroom creaked open, and Tank was standing there, staring at me, his eyes unreadable for a moment. I couldn’t bring myself to cover up. Couldn’t bring myself to remove my hand from my cock. I was frozen, only able to stare back at him.
But fuck… when his eyes landed on my cock, on my hand wrapped around myself, his nostrils flared, his eyes burning. Burning with need. Lust. For me.
My throat clicked when I swallowed, and a bead of precum beaded on the crown of my cock. Twisting the fingers of my other hand into the blankets beneath me, I licked my lips and tentatively asked, “Will you come in?” If he turned me down, I would be humiliated as fuck. But if he stepped into the room…
Fuck, if he did, I might combust.
Tank’s eyes darkened to an almost black color, and his fingers tightened on the door handle. He glanced over his shoulder, like he was looking in the direction of the living room. After a moment, he looked back at me, looking like he was at war within himself. But after a moment, he put one bare foot into the room.
And then another.
And another.
Then, he was shutting the bedroom door behind him with a soft click. I squeezed my cock when more precum slipped from my tip. My breathing quickened the slightest bit when he took a step toward the bed, his eyes back on my face.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice deep and raspy. Full of need he was unable to hide. And fuck, it made my insides warm to know he wanted me so damn much.
“I’m sure,” I croaked, wishing I didn’t sound so damn strangled. But he trusted my answer enough, obviously, because he crossed the distance between him and the bed, hovering over me.
I was—we were—really fucking about to do this.
Oh, fuck.
12
Tank
I should have turned away the moment I saw that Beck wasn’t in pain or having a nightmare. I shouldn’t have stared at the way his hand was wrapped around his cock. I sure as fuck shouldn’t have run my eyes over him and gotten so goddamn hard that I failed to think straight anymore.
Now, all I could do was step into the room when he asked me if I would come in. All I could do was walk up to that bed and run my eyes over him. Drink him in.
He was so damn beautiful. Why was he so fucking gorgeous? Even with his hair growing out, his darker roots showing—a stark contrast to his blonde hair—he was still stunning. And those tattoos told a story—a story I wanted to read. To map. To memorize. I wanted to know everything about him—from a skin-surface level all the way down to the very depths of his soul.
Gripping the back of my shirt, I tugged it over my head before letting it drop to the floor. Beck made a needy sound in the back of his throat, his eyes tracking over my body—from my neck, over my shoulders, down my biceps, across my chest. My abs tensed and rolled when his gaze caressed them, and fuck, the way he licked his lips when his eyes traced the V of my hips…
“Shirt off,” I commanded, my voice rough.
Beck sat up and tugged his shirt over his head without a moment’s hesitation, tossing it to the floor on top of mine. I licked my lips, drinking in his flat stomach and the colorful tattoos across his ribcage and on his stomach. He had a single, beautiful red, blue, and green rose on his right peck that I desperately wanted to trace with my tongue.