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My cheeks flushed hotly as embarrassment and arousal surged inside me. Those words shouldn’t turn me on so much, shouldn’t make me ache to move my hand between my own legs and come again when he did.
This was dirty and wrong.
So why did I like it so much?
Kace thrust into my mouth three more times, cursing softly under his breath, and then his cock jerked between my lips as he groaned out his release. Tangy, salty liquid exploded on my tongue, and I swallowed quickly, my throat working over and over as I tried to catch it all. When he pulled away, a bit of it escaped my lips, trailing down my chin.
Not wanting to risk getting it on my shirt, I quickly used my finger to gather it and slip it back inside my mouth, and when I looked up, I caught Kace staring down at me like he couldn’t quite believe I was real.
His cock had hardly softened at all, and it glistened in the harsh florescent light, still wet with saliva.
“Jesus fuck, Princess,” he muttered. “Your mouth is—” He broke off suddenly, his face growing still. “You ever done that before?”
I shook my head, craning my neck to look up at him. The hard floor dug into my knees painfully, but I was only just now starting to notice it. And before I could really register the discomfort, Kace was hauling me to my feet, his large hand grasping my chin as he pulled me in for a kiss that nearly stopped my heart.
It started off bruising and intense, but by the time his lips broke away from mine, it had softened, becoming something else entirely.
Something sweeter and even more terrifying.
Moss-green eyes gazed back at me, and Kace gifted me with a rare smile as he released me, nodding in satisfaction.
“Good.”
Seventeen
My entire body was still buzzing, wound up, and on edge when the boys dropped me off at home. Kace said nothing about our encounter, and I was beginning to think this tendency toward silence, toward ignoring complicated feelings, was a trait all three of them shared despite being so different. All things considered, maybe it was a good thing. I didn’t know how to begin to process the fact that all three of them were attracted to me on some level, or that I was attracted to them.
When I stepped inside and poked around the house, I realized Mom was gone. For a split second, panic fluttered in my chest, beating against my ribs like a trapped bird. Then I put a hand over my heart when I spotted the note on the fridge.
Your father’s attorney got us a replacement car.
Went out.
Be back later.
I frowned. I hadn’t realized Dad’s attorney had that kind of pull, or that he would be interested in helping us by getting us a car. I almost felt a little worried that Mom was out on her own—it was the first time that’d happened in weeks. But this could only be a good thing, right? If she was leaving the house, then that meant she was doing something other than sitting in her room watching daytime television and getting no sun or human interaction.
Setting my backpack down, I decided to try my hand at cooking again. I couldn’t live off Burger King all the time—though it was tempting—and rather than trying to sort through my feelings about the Lost Boys, I rummaged through the cabinets.
Spaghetti. That shouldn’t be too hard to make.
We had frozen ground beef, a few cans of sauce, and packages of noodles. Water needed to be boiled to cook the noodles—but then I also needed to brown the beef. Should I put spices in the beef while it was cooking or after? Or when I put the sauce together after all of it was completely cooked?
I decided, as I’d done in most of my cooking endeavors, to wing it. Working quickly, I defrosted and started browning the beef while bringing water to a boil. While I was waiting on those two things, I pulled down a few of the spices Ava had left for us. I kept an ear out for Mom in the driveway, hoping she’d be back by the time I was done. It would be nice to have a sit down dinner with just the two of us. It wouldn’t be a multi-course meal, we wouldn’t be served and waited on, but it would be better than cold cereal.
I actually managed to brown the beef instead of burning it and got noodles in the water to cook without a single hitch—a feat that I would write on a calendar to celebrate later. I’d started adding the cans of sauce to the meat when there was a knock on the door.
My brows furrowed. Mom and I didn’t have visitors here. Ever.
Foolishly, my heart leapt. Maybe it was Dad, or his lawyer with news about his trial. Maybe they’d finally found proof that Dad was innocent, and this whole mess was about to be over.
I raced to the front door and yanked it open—only to find Bishop standing on the other side. I stopped dead, mentally berating myself for still having such wild surges of hope. I needed to cut that shit out; my heart couldn’t take it.
My face must have showed my stark disappointment, because Bishop smirked.
“Well, I didn’t realize you hated me that much.” There was humor in his voice, and even if he believed his own words, it didn’t stop him from stepping into the house past me, looking around. He lifted his chin, sniffing experimentally. “Smells like food in here. I didn’t know you cooked.”
“I don’t,” I muttered, still holding onto the doorknob as I watched him walk deeper into the house. “I was trying my hand at spaghetti.”
