He enters her with a gentleness I didn’t know he possessed. I take a drag on the joint and stare at the place where their bodies connect, her pussy glistening in the pale light as she takes him in. He pauses there for a beat, lips resting against her shoulder, and I feel the nudge of arousal press at my balls. Goddamn, this girl is going to kill us. I’d warned her about demanding that all of our spunk go inside her. There aren’t enough hours in her day.
Fuck, there aren’t enough hours in our day.
Holding the joint between my lips, I push my hand under the waistband of my shorts, idly indulging in the slow rhythm Killer starts fucking her with.
The thud downstairs stops me before it can get too ambitious.
I pause, listening, trying to hear over the subtle squeak in Killian’s mattress. Beyond that are his shallow breaths and the chilled wind blowing in through the crack in the window. But there’s something else. A muffled, distant voice that must belong to Ms. Crane.
The fuck is she doing up this late?
I sigh, remove my hand, and take a final drag before stubbing out the joint. It isn’t until I straighten, stretching my back, that I realize Tristian’s awake. His eyelids are just barely lifted, gaze fixed on Story’s tits, all smashed up into his chest. Killer’s basically fucking her on top of him, but Tristian is… Tristian.
His response is to palm at the thigh she has hitched over his hips and spread her wider.
Killian’s too engrossed in fucking her to notice me crossing the room, but Tristian and I make eye contact and his forehead creases in question. I shake my head and flap a hand—enjoy your show—and head out into the hall to check.
It’s not like Ms. Crane to be up and about this late. Once her clock is punched, she locks herself up in that room downstairs like she’s sealing a tomb. But it’s not like me to be spending my night in Killer’s room, so what the fuck do I know?
Well, I know it’s cold as fuck, for one. The temperature of the hallway is roughly arctic and makes my balls want to climb up inside me, and the staircase isn’t much better. I huff warmth into my fists as I scamper down, too stoned to question any of this.
I’m not too stoned to freeze at the lumpy shape of a body at the foot of the stairs.
Since I am stoned, it takes me a second to parse the reality of what’s in front of me. She’s laying there, lifeless in the shadows, a dark pool of blood blooming from beneath her head.
“Ms. Crane!” My muscles kick into gear so fast that I’m landing on my knees before I really understand what I’m seeing. “Shit!” My hands flutter uselessly over her, because I’m struck with the uncertainty of moving her. If she fell down the stairs, her neck could be broken or something. “Hey,” I say, reluctantly shaking her. “Wake up, you fucking Life Alert cautionary tale.”
I touch her cheek, and it’s still warm, but I don’t exhale until I hear her low, annoyed moan.
“Oh, Jesus ass-licking Christ.” Breathless, heart still trying to jump out of my fucking chest, I look around the hall, toward the foyer, trying to remember where I left my phone. “I’m going to call you an ambulance or something. Just—” My voice sticks in my throat, because this isn’t Daniel. He deserved it. The only thing Ms. Crane has ever done is survived—helped her girls to survive—and I still hear her voice in my head from the talk we had that day.
“Death is coming for me just as sure as it is you. All that matters now is what I’m dying for.”
“Well, you aren’t fucking dying for this,” I growl, climbing unsteadily to my feet.
I’m halfway up off my knees when I see the movement in my periphery. I could be stone cold sober, and I still wouldn’t have time to react. That’s what I tell myself when the blow comes, a blunt smash right into my temple, sending me crumpling to the floor.
The last thing I see before my vision blanks out is Ms. Crane’s feet, shoes laced tidily.
29
Tristian
The look Rath gives me as he leaves the room is indiscernible, but I don’t stop to question it. I’m too distracted by the fact Killian is basically fucking Story right on top of me. Her cheek is pressed into my shoulder, these little breaths punching from her parted lips with each of his deliberately slow thrusts. Killer lifts his knee, slotting it right up against mine so he can get a deeper angle, and it doesn’t even matter that his nuts are dragging over my thigh.
This is hot as fuck.
He mouths at her shoulder, and I know it’s an awkward angle. The only thing stopping Killian from crushing her into me is the forearm that’s holding him up. But he makes it work, the muscles in his ass shifting as he pushes into her, dragging back and surging forward in gentle, precise movements that I wouldn’t have thought him capable of. He barely jostles me with it, and he doesn’t even look impatient. This is, I realize, something he wants to savor.