Series: Torn and Bound Duet Series by K. Webster
Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
The other half are a little more on par with normal Ashton fantasy material, including a coach and a cocky hockey player. By the time I’ve drunk myself into a stupor, my dick is hard and my heart aches.
I want Mia.
So bad.
But I don’t think I’m enough. I don’t think she’s enough. That’s the part that hurts so fucking badly. What happens when I finally convince myself I can pursue something with Mia? Everything’s all fun and games while we kiss and flirt. But what happens when we fall into bed together? My dick goes soft mid-fuck. No big deal. We’ll laugh and get over it. Wrong. I’ll fucking die if it comes to that.
Because as much as I want Mia, I can’t turn off how I feel toward guys. Take Drew, for instance. If I wasn’t so fucked-up over this stuff with her, I’d absolutely flirt with him until I had those jeans down and my lips on his dick. You can’t live in the same apartment with someone like Drew and not want to fuck around naked with him.
And Brayden? My nemesis? Looked pretty goddamn hot standing off with Travis. I don’t know why he was there, but I liked it. I liked him seeing me be really fucking good at something. I liked him doing his damnedest to protect me. It was invigorating and something I might allow my curiosity to poke at and explore if he weren’t the one trying to actively fuck my girl.
Jesus.
I can’t even sort out my mind.
My eyes droop. I slam the bottle down loudly onto the end table before rolling onto my stomach. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to find answers. I need direction and help. I’m about to pass out, exhausted and stressed to the max, when Drew clears his throat.
“I’m sorry.”
I grunt against the mattress.
“I know it’s messy for you and I shouldn’t have been an asshole earlier.” The bed sinks down with his weight. “I promised Mia I’d look after you. So here I am. Watching your crybaby ass.”
A laugh rumbles out of me, making the bed shake. “You took it literally?” I clench my ass. “What’s my ass doing now? Looking hot, big guy?”
“Even when you’re depressed as hell, you find a way to give people shit, huh?”
“It’s my superpower.”
“You want to talk about it?”
I roll onto my side. “I don’t know what to say. I like Mia. I want Mia. I love Mia.”
“But?” He mimics my position, stretching out on my bed like it belongs to him.
“But this…” I reach a hand forward and run my fingertips down his chest toward his abs. “So much this.”
His breath hitches when my fingers dip into his belly button. A strong hand grips my wrist, stopping it from exploring further.
“So being a bitch to Mia somehow makes all the confusing feelings go away?” Drew asks, his thumb brushing along my wrist in a comforting manner.
“No,” I admit. “It makes it worse.” My eyes skate up to his. His blues seem electric with intensity. I know he was with Mia before he moved in here, but it feels like a lifetime ago. He hasn’t shoved my hand away. It makes me wonder why not.
“Are you bi, Drew?”
His eyes drop to my lips for a brief second. “I don’t do labels.”
“Well I do,” I murmur. “I think you’re bi.”
He scoffs but doesn’t argue. His hand releases my wrist and he rolls onto his back, scrubbing a palm over his face. I don’t miss the way he’s sporting a semi in his jeans.
“Have you fucked a man?” I probe.
He ignores me. I inch closer, taunting him, my foot brushing against his.
“Has a man ever fucked you?”
“Ashton,” he grinds out in response. “Stop your bullshit.”
“You sound guilty. Which was it?” I tease my finger up and down his abdomen. He doesn’t push me away. “Who fucked who?”
“I fuck whoever I want, whenever I want, because I don’t have any labels stuck on my box telling me what I can and cannot do.” He scowls at me.
His abs flex when I drag my finger all the way to the button on his jeans.
“Teach me your ways, Coach,” I murmur, loving the war that flickers in his blue eyes. “Since you’re so fucking smart.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
I pluck at the button on his jeans. “It’s one of my endearing qualities.”
“Ashton.” His voice trembles. “You should stop.”
“Should, but I’m really bad at doing what I should.”
Leaning forward, I bring my lips nearly to his. He sucks in a breath at my nearness, and then another one when I pull down his zipper.
“Ash—” he starts, but I shut him down with a kiss.
His hand goes to my chest, as though he might push me away, but then his thumb brushes over my nipple ring, making my dick strain against my sweats. I groan when his tongue swipes eagerly against mine.