Page 138 of Lucky 14

“Please,” I say, feeling myself tremble under her weight.

“Please, what?”

The pain and pleasure are mixing together in an invigorating and calming state. “Piss on me,” I say, stiffening as her hand rounds over the tip of my dick.

“That’s what I thought.” She yanks my boxers, and her bare hand is on me, and my brain shorts out. In that moment, the heat of her hand wraps around me, and all that exists is her and me.

“You,” she jerks me roughly, “scared me.”

I groan.

“And I’m not pissing on your fucking wound.” She’s jerking me hard and fast to the point of pain. “You’re fucking c—” She cuts herself off, and her hand pauses. I jerk my hips up into her grip.

“Crazy? Disgusting?” There’s a deep growl in my chest. “That’s right, talk dirty to me.”

She pinches my wound again.

“I’m gluing this shut, and you’re gonna shut the fuck up and thank me.”

I buck in her hold, and she just grips me tighter, then releases me, grabbing the glue.

I groan at the loss of contact, but it’s quickly followed by pain. She glues me up, and then both her hands are on my dick, jerking me roughly as she cusses me out. Euphoria runs through my veins. Fuck, she’s perfect.

I get to the brink of orgasm, body shaking and muscles locking up tight, when suddenly, Holland gets off me.

I hiss in protest, and she steps to the sink, staring down at me with pupils so big they almost swallow up the blue. “You don’t deserve to come.”

She grabs the door, shuffles it open as much as she can, and steps out. “If you touch yourself, I’ll…” she stops, eyes darting around as she searches for something. “I’ll slice it off myself.”

Then, she’s gone.

I groan, dick pulsing. If it had any sort of contact on it, I would have come from her words. But as it is, I’m left with an aching hard-on. It hurts, and all I want to do is wrap my fist around my dick and finish myself off.

But, I don’t. I stand, and as the aching of my balls and wound settles deep inside me, a clarity washes over me.

Weston has had all this time to plan while I’ve been…incapacitated. I can’t take him on by myself. Even if Oakley helped—I wouldn’t dream of letting Holland anywhere near him—I need backup. Real backup.

Reluctantly, I know who I need to call.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Day 13

Wyatt wants me to piss on him.

I scrub at a plate to get the nasty peanut butter off as Oakley dries the plates I’ve done. There isn’t a lot of fresh food here, but it beats whatever mystery meat was at the cafeteria. As I scrub, the large sweatpants I’ve rolled over a few times shift down on my hips, and I have to use my wet hands to pull them back up again. It’s wash day again, and I wish that I had more than one pair of clothes, but at least the house has a washer and dryer.

Peeking at Wyatt, who’s on the couch cleaning a rifle, presumably to add to the stash he’s piled up all around the room, I wonder if he remembers asking me that. I mean, of course he does, but we’re both ignoring it like it didn’t happen. In fact, I should be more concerned with him having a gun, but I’m just…not. Oakley also didn’t say anything about the gun. Probably ‘cause Kyan was out earlier and asked to stick the barrel up Oakley’s ass.

I shake my head. The atmosphere is odd… It’s like we go back and forth between comfortable coexistence and tense silence.

Weston is still out there, and he’s clearly still a threat.

There’s the crunch of footsteps outside the door.

I stiffen, but Wyatt stands, going to the door and opening it.

“Boss man!” A man’s voice sounds, and a tall, blond fucker is striding into the room with a grin on his face.