Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“On your knees.”
There’s no hesitation to do what he’s told.
And that lack of hesitation has my cock stirring at what is undoubtedly the wrong time.
I’ll admit it.
I’ve had my dick sucked at what some might label as inappropriate times, but never while someone is fucking injured.
Although, this does remind me of our round in the shower last night.
Minus his murmurs of misery.
“Out of the shirt,” I instruct only to once more be pleased by his prompt execution. “Tilt your head back.”
He does.
And by doing so I’m gifted a mouthwatering shot of his cut abs being given a spotlight courtesy of the moon.
Like it really needed to fucking highlight how tight his shit is.
The extra hours it’s clear he’s been putting into working out.
How his nipples are so goddamn perfect for my mouth.
Why those damn V muscles are ones that hockey prick – who will fuck anything – never needs to see.
Frustrated grumbles initially get lost by the sounds of the water rushing towards the inner corner of his eyes but when he begins moaning from the relief finally being found, they reappear alongside needier groans that grow my cock and my contemplation on how much it would burn my dick if it got a little pepper spray on it while sucking.
Probably a lot.
But maybe it’d be that whole pain meets pleasure shit?
Remembering that the pepper spraying is why we’re here – versus some sexual fantasy replay of that old burger commercial with the blonde ditz – leads me to mentally gathering all the questions I need answers to when Rabbit comes down as opposed to more delicious images to get through the longer tow days.
The Kid instinctively moving his hands up towards his eyes – most likely to rub – prompts me to bite, “Don’t.”
He grunts his irritation.
Moves his face out of desperation for more relief.
Grunts again when it’s not felt.
“Patience, Kid.”
“Get it in his mouth too,” Rabbit declares upon her arrival with our largest pot filled to the brim.
“Familiar words,” I thoughtlessly mutter prior to running the hose around the area.
“Don’t swallow,” our woman instructs during her positioning. “Spit.”
“We swallow in this family,” leaves me without consideration for how serious she’s being.
Her eyes cut to mine to showcase her disapproval. “You won’t ever have to worry about that again if you don’t take this shit seriously.”
I regrettably nod in agreement.
I know he wasn’t hit in the face with something meaningless like silly string.
I know how much pain he’s in.
I can fucking hear it.
I just…I also know if I hover too hard or too loud or too much it’ll fuck him up more.
Escalate the situation.
Rev his engine.
Shift those gears that are doing their best to idle at the moment into gear to go until the panic outraces everything else.
Maybe it’s not the best map to follow, but it’s the one I know.
It’s the one that’s worked for us in the past.
And – I’m gonna go out into the middle of the track when I say this – the one that seems to be working now.
“Flwaguckkkk!” shouts The Kid around Rabbit’s additional pouring from the pot she brought down. “Cwolv!”
“Should provide more relief,” she states between cringes.
It’s impossible not quirk an eyebrow as I question, “Should?”
“Look, I am not a pepper spray expert, okay?” Her worried gaze shifts to mine. “I’m just more familiar with it and the dos and donts than the two of you.”
“True.” The two of us briefly stop pouring to let our boyfriend catch his breath. “Slower, Kid. Don’t overwork your lungs or irritate your throat more.”
This time he nods rather than retorts.
Guess pain really is the best teacher.
“How the fuck did this happen?”
“Apparently, Kid was working on that awful haired cunt’s car from F9.”
Bewilderment furrows my brow. “What?”
“Cipher,” our boyfriend coughs out. “Her name…” a couple more coughs precede him clearing his throat, “was Cipher.”
“That dead bitch’s name was Whit.”
He shakes his head in tandem with rapid blinking meant to help his vision somehow. “In the movie.”
“Fuckin’ really, Kid?” My shoulders along with my grip on the hose loosen. “That’s what you focused on?”
“Says Mr. Spit and Swallow,” sasses Rabbit with a snarky smirk at the same time she retrieves the towel she has slung over her shoulder. “I’m gonna gently pat dry your face and see if we need to keep flushing, okay?”
Another nod is offered.
“Stay still.” Gingerly, she begins pressing the dry cloth onto the cleansed space under his eyes. Dab by dab, red and swollen patches are revealed, the sights so stomach churning infuriating that I damn near snap the hose in half. “Whit was supposedly recommended to The Kid by Butler-”
“But she wasn’t?”
“I think she used Butler to get to Kipp to get to me.” Rabbit lovingly grips his chin to inspect the territory as a whole. “Her plan was to deliver me to Brad.” The tipping of his head backwards has his wet locks dangling like a porn shot I don’t fucking need right now. “Pretty sure killing you wasn’t part of it.” An adoring touch to his nose sparks a smile. “Just like I’m pretty sure getting killed wasn’t either.”