Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
It wasn’t like he was going anywhere.
Colin sighed in frustration. “Are you really going to just sit there and pretend I’m not here?”
Taron didn’t have time for this bullshit and removed the sweater as soon as he untangled the knife from the fabric. Maybe he could still get the garment fixed. He glared at Colin as soon as he saw the blade lodged in his flesh. At least it wasn’t all the way in.
Colin stilled, his eyes lingering on Taron for that bit too long. Was he afraid to be the captive of a gay man or was he not as straight as he’d claimed?
“What do you want me to do, huh? Are you an exhibitionist, or something?”
Did Colin have a death wish? Because he was sure as hell pissing off a wounded grizzly. Taron only had so much patience.
It was sink or swim. He had the bandage ready, the surgical spirit was on hand, and now he’d find out whether life or death was his destiny. He just wished Missi was there to comfort him with her soft meow.
The searing pain of pulling the knife out blinded him for half a second, but at least it took his mind off tonight’s horrific events. Thank fuck Colin had grabbed a smooth kitchen knife, not the serrated one Taron used for hunting.
Pleasant things.
Taron had to think about pleasant things.
Too bad for Colin that he was the most obvious thing Taron could focus on to distract himself, and the images of Colin on his hands and knees, accepting Taron’s cock, flooded Taron’s brain with dopamine. Colin was tall, with long arms and legs, but not thin. Taron had felt some muscle through the clothes, which he appreciated, even though they were the type city boys grew in the gym, not doing actual work.
He tried to focus on imaginary Colin’s sweater exposing his hipbone when he slowly but steadily pulled on the handle. It hurt like a motherfucker, and when blood dripped down Taron’s exposed side, Colin’s eyes were ready to pop out of their sockets. It was in his interest that Taron stayed alive after all.
“Christ, be careful!”
He gave Colin a cocky grin, as if he were invincible even though he would have probably screamed if he could. Instead, a nasty gurgle left his lips when he removed an inch of the blade.
Pleasant things.
Colin splayed naked on the floor, arching his ass up for cock. Whining, breathless with need that only Taron could soothe.
In one quick move Taron dislodged the knife, threw it to the floor, and pressed gauze against the wound when it drizzled blood all over.
“Disinfect it! Do you even have thread for this wound? I should take you to the hospital,” Colin yelled, clutching at the bars that would become his tomb if Taron died.
But it wouldn’t be so bad. As nasty as the bleeding was, it wasn’t rapid. No major arteries have been cut. Taron had suffered through interacting with people to take a first aid course for this exact reason. So that he could deal with shit himself. Once the world went down, it would be each man for himself, and he would be ready.
He clenched his teeth during the disinfecting, and Colin’s ongoing narration of the process wasn’t helping. That guy was way too loud for his own good, and Taron would have gladly shut him up with his dick.
“What if you faint? It’s not easy to put stitches into your own skin. Believe me, I tried!”
Taron shook his head and gave the knife a meaningful glare, to which Colin responded with a snarl.
“I’m talking to you!”
But Taron chose to ignore him and went on with the work at hand. It wasn’t the first time he’d needed to do this, though the fucker could have chosen a more convenient place to reach. The needle biting into Taron’s flesh burned and nauseated him every time the tissue was disturbed, but the faster he worked, the sooner it would be over, so he forced down his instincts and just got on with the job.
By the time it was done, Colin seemed as tired as him.
Which was annoying, because he only had a couple of bruises bothering him, and perhaps his tongue dried from all the chattering. Taron took a deep, painful breath and grabbed the whiskey bottle as soon as he was done. He poured a plastic cup of it for Colin and put it by the cage. His pretty face did serve as pleasure fodder to help Taron get through the sewing, so he deserved to relax a little.
Colin accepted the cup but gave it a suspicious glance instead of taking a swig right away. He dipped his tongue in once he saw Taron drink straight from the bottle, and when the sharp liquor was down his throat, he leaned forward and let his face rest against the bars. “I mean, I’m sure that guy did something to deserve what happened to him.”