Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“I love how your hair feels,” I told him as he began sucking me again. He didn’t have the most skilled mouth I’d ever been inside, but it was my favorite mouth, regardless. My whole existence already felt completely wrapped up in Crow like this was always where I was supposed to be. It just took a lot of heartache for me to make it here.
He choked once, and I could tell it wasn’t on purpose, then used his hand to stroke me too. Crow raised his eyes so they were on me, and I couldn’t look away from this man between my legs with his wild, hungry eyes, flowing hair, a thick beard, and my dick in his mouth.
He let me continue to touch him, to play with his soft locks until my balls throbbed, they were so full of cum, and I knew I couldn’t hold off much longer. “I’m gonna come. Fuck, Crow, I’m gonna—”
He didn’t pull off when I thrust forward, back arched, and shot my release into his mouth.
“God, that felt good,” I said as I tried not to melt into the bed. “Did you like it?” I noticed paint on his hand. He was definitely painting when he disappeared.
“Yes,” he replied. “Especially swallowing you down, taking your cum into my body.”
“Jesus. You’re going to kill me talking like that. So hot, Crow, seriously.”
He pulled me to him, pushing my head so that my cheek rested against his chest, so I couldn’t look at him. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow what?”
“I teach you how to build a chair.”
I smiled into his chest.
Yes, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Crow
“How did you learn to build things?” Cyrus asked when we were in the shop the next morning. I was still trying to sort through all the confusion in my head about him—why I’d let him stay, why I had him in my shop, building chairs, so both of us could sit down, when one day he would leave.
Why the thought of him going felt…wrong. Like it wasn’t the way things were supposed to be or like the whole damn world would tilt off its axis when that happened.
“Why do you always try to get me to talk?”
My little lamb chuckled. “Because I like the sound of your voice…and I want to learn more things about you…and it would be awfully boring up here if we didn’t speak.”
There was a pinch in my chest at hearing he was already bored. Would Cyrus even last the winter? Would I have to make the dangerous trip down the mountain to take him home?
You wouldn’t have to take him home. You could refuse. You could keep him here.
Which would make me like Chosen, wouldn’t it, and there was nothing I wanted less than to be like him.
Talk to him. Make him want to stay.
“Some I learned…before.” Cyrus stilled beside me, a chair leg in his hands, but no longer sanding. I didn’t look at him as I continued to work. “We had to be useful…me even more than the others.”
“Why?” he asked gently, as if the question scared him. Or maybe it was my possible answer that did.
The thing was, in some ways, my mouth wanted to just open and let it all spill out, to tell him the truth, tell him everything, not because I wanted him to know or because I wanted to relive it, but because I didn’t want to deny Cyrus anything. It was so damn confusing. “I don’t understand why I struggle to say no to you.”
He nudged me with his arm. “Maybe it’s my charm.” I turned his way, cocking a brow, and Cyrus chuckled. “Okay, so apparently, it’s not my charm. Maybe it’s just…we get each other. Deep down to the bone, something about us is connected. I feel it, Crow.”
I sighed because I felt it too. Part of me wanted to evict it, to incinerate it because no good would come of it, but the other part wanted to hold tight, to fucking imprint it into myself.
“Because I was The Chosen’s son. More was expected of me in every way.” More Enlightenment, more Clarity, more pain, more Worship.
“Your dad—”
“Chosen,” I cut him off. He was not my dad. He hadn’t wanted to be, either, not in the typical way that families existed. Not in the way they were in books I’d read.
“Chosen…what kind of things did he expect from you?”
I didn’t know how to answer that, or maybe I just didn’t want to. This was already exhausting. My chest squeezed tight, breathing becoming more difficult.
“You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry for being nosy.” Cyrus’s warm, gentle hand rested on my forearm, and I tensed. “I’m sorry.” He pulled away. “Sometimes you’re okay when I touch you, and others it seems to be harder.”