Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Especially Cy.
God.
What would he do if he knew I was dry fucking his bed wishing it were him instead?
He’d kill me.
I quickly chase that thought away because whatever’s been affecting me lately isn’t just screwing with my head. Cy’s been weird too. More unhinged. A ravenous gleam in his eyes whenever I’m near. Not to mention, he’s so damn jealous of Cash he can’t stand it. If it weren’t so confusing, I’d almost think it was funny.
Almost.
Nothing is funny about the maddening thoughts that are running rampant in my head. All I’d wanted last night was to escape with Cash—to dance and drink and laugh. To have fun for a change. I even toyed with the idea of giving or receiving a blowjob. Hell, a hand job would have been great. But Cash and I never got that far. We ended up in a jail cell with Cy as our dark knight come to rescue us. And as soon as my gaze connected with Cy, it’s like I forgot everything around me.
It won’t go away.
No matter how much I guard my mind and feelings and thoughts, he somehow weasels his way in. His words are intrusive and loud. He made it clear that he knows I can hear his thoughts. I’m having trouble escaping his intense presence that suffocates me from the inside out.
You like it…
I don’t.
I fucking don’t.
Says the guy eagerly rubbing his dick against the mattress.
It takes every ounce of self-control to drag my sorry ass out of Cy’s bed and into the shower. Once under the cold spray that does nothing to quell my fiery need, I fist my cock, angrily jerking it as I chase a much-anticipated release. Despite trying to force Cash’s cute face into my mind, like a bull, Cy forces his way to my forefront. I imagine his mouth on mine, his tongue diving deep to taste me. Our cocks pressed together, hot and naked and hard. I think of how it would feel to have the head of his cock pushing up inside me, splitting me with his massive girth.
I come with a ragged gasp, semen shooting all over the tiled wall. With my dick still in hand, throbbing and dripping with cum, I get assaulted with an image of him in this shower doing the very same thing. No matter how hard I try to drive it from my mind, it plants roots and fucking grows.
I’m going insane.
No other way to explain it.
The fantasies I’m having for Cy are a result of stress. It has to be. I’m upset over Van getting hurt and this killer prowling our woods. I’m worried about Wyatt, who was still missing when I went to bed. There’s too much going on for me to be obsessing over Cy in a way that makes me feel equal parts turned the hell on and on the verge of throwing up.
I shut off the water, hoping to escape his room that’s saturated in his delicious scent as quickly as possible. All I need to do is throw on some clothes and hightail it to the kitchen. When I’m around the others, this burning ache will go away.
With jerky movements, I dry off as quickly as possible. After wrapping a towel around my waist, I head back into his bedroom.
Huge mistake.
Cy leans against the wall, arms crossed over his massive chest with an unreadable expression on his face. His blue eyes glow with such ferocious need I’m stunned still in the doorway of the bathroom. He rakes his stare over my bare chest, lingering at my happy trail. My dick, despite all the attention I just gave it, perks up at his interest. I expect him to look away when he notices, but he doesn’t. Cy drops his eyes to my dick and licks his fucking lips.
Is Wyatt back? I sign, desperate to draw his eyes away from the embarrassing state of my dick.
“Not yet.” His voice is gravelly. “Top drawer are some sweats.”
I shiver at the thought of wearing his clothes. It’d be smart to march across the cabin to my room and put on my own clothing. But do I do that? No, I all too eagerly make my way over to the dresser and fish out his favorite pair of sweats. With my back to him, I peel off the towel and drop it to the floor. His breath hitches, and I sense him approaching.
“Put your pants on,” Cy growls. “Now.”
But I can’t seem to keep my grip on them. They drop from my fingertips. I bend to reach for them but freeze when a claw—a fucking claw—gently scrapes along my spine and then pulls away before it reaches the crack of my ass.
“I’m sorry,” he spits out, stumbling back a few steps. “I’m so fucking sorry.”