Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I move my hand around his shaft quickly to catch some of his load, and it’s too much for me. The pressure mounts quickly, surging through me, and my body finally slams up against his ass, making a series of claps—I can’t help it—as I dump my load inside him.
I pull my cum-soaked hand back and use it to keep from repeatedly slamming against him.
“Did you hear that?” someone says from the locker room.
Fuck.
With my hand still over Leif’s mouth, I pull him close, my cock still buried in him. Our bodies are still trembling from our climaxes as we wait in anticipation before the chatting outside continues.
As I sigh, relieved, I pull my hand away from his mouth and he bites my fingers gently, playfully, making me chuckle.
I pull out of him, and he spins around, mouth against mine in no time before he shoves me back against the adjacent wall, his lips offering a series of kisses that feel like a thank-you for the amazing fuck.
My hand gravitates to his ass, and I run my finger down his crack, to his hole, massaging as I feel some of my cum dripping from him.
A smile tugs across my lips. “You are such a good fuck,” he whispers against my lips. “I liked it when you had your hand over my mouth like that.”
“I bet you did.” God, he’s fucking naughty. I love it. “But I think you need to finish your shower, you dirty boy. I accomplished my mission.”
His forehead creases. “Did you come in here planning to fuck me raw?”
“Nah. I just didn’t want you to be able to call it bedroom stuff ever again.”
He practically snorts out a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. Then he presses his forehead against mine, releasing a much softer chuckle.
*
After I return home from the gym, I can’t get that fuck out of my head.
That it was in public.
That he let me fuck him raw.
That he let me breed his tight hole.
As much as I wish I could cling to the experience, it fades too quickly as I start pulling up docs in a folder on my computer desktop. I don’t even feel like I chose to pull this shit up, but I was compelled to look at what I’ve saved on Isaac Tolle.
It’s mostly stuff I’ve collected when I first started looking into him: His online profiles. Photos from his social media accounts. Information from LinkedIn, his professional website, the college website, and various other sources I came across during that period of obsession, including his personal emails.
As I go back through his CV, I’m reading it like there’ll be some sort of code embedded into it. Something that will tie everything together, the piece of evidence I’ll show Detective Roth and say, See! I fucking told you!
By now, I should get that even if this was my 500th time looking at it, it won’t be any more fruitful than the 499th. Still, there’s a hope that I’m wrong.
Ever since I saw him at the library Leif and Mike frequented, I’ve struggled against this gut instinct I have about Isaac’s potential involvement in Jason’s and my brother’s disappearances…and the break-in the night I stopped whoever the hell was in Leif’s place.
But as I expected, my brief trek through the information doesn’t do anything more than chase away my wonderful afternoon and drag me back into the anxiety-ridden past.
There’s no magic aha! moment. Nothing clicking into place.
I pull up my browser, heading back to my DMs on Reddit, where I see my last exchanges with Dman281, the mystery guy who posted about the note Mike received before he went missing.
Dman, I need to talk to you.
I just want to have a chat with you about my brother.
Please. You’re the only one who knows about this letter, and I have so many questions.
My messages were sent over a series of weeks, but he never responded.
I tell myself that even if he replied, it wouldn’t do me any good. Maybe he wouldn’t have anything else that could help me. But of course, my imagination has me convinced that he could have that missing piece I need to put it all together. Maybe some damning bit of info about Isaac. Hell, maybe about someone I haven’t considered.
Something. Anything.
It’s a wish, the fantasy of a mind that won’t be satisfied, not until I have answers for what happened to Mike.
19
LEIF
Zane arrives at my place early to help me prep for my Thanksgiving Day celebration. As I pull out the oven rack to check the thermometer in the turkey, he stands at the adjacent counter, grating cheese onto a plate for the mac and cheese.
“You think that would disturb Kyra?” he asks, glaring at the turkey. “Seeing a huge-ass bird in the oven?”
“Might make her feel safe since she knows she doesn’t have nearly this much meat on her.” I push the rack back in and close the oven. “Might cut down on how much she eats, though.”