He eases his cock in, not far at all, and I don’t have the best view, but it can’t be more than a half an inch. And then he pulls out. Breath caged, I continue to watch. Slowly, he slides in a bit deeper, gradually and carefully expanding me. And with his size, the pressure is…
I wince into my arm.
Excruciating. Like a hammer is being jammed into me.
He stops suddenly, pulled fully out.
“Keep going,” I urge. “I want to feel more.”
“It’s not going to hurt any less.”
I cringe at the idea. Pain doesn’t bring me pleasure, but my fascination isn’t exactly quenched. “Just a few more inches.” I haven’t even taken half of him.
“Hell no.” He snaps off his condom. “This isn’t curiosity fucked the cat. If it hurts, I stop.”
“Wise words.” I face him, and he’s already lifting me up. My back on the washer, legs over his shoulders as he bends in a lunge—he eats me out with such skill, and I turn my head, seeing him jack himself off.
Yes.
This is better.
I would give him a world-class hand-job, but I’m not in reach. And I think he’d rather make my eyes roll back. Which they do.
Again.
We’re well and good. He reaches a peak, coming in his palm, and in the next few minutes, he has time to wash his hands and we clean up and begin to dress.
Bang!
I jump.
His head turns to the door. The bang is just a knock.
“Oh my God.” I touch my heart to see if it’s still inside me. Still beating. We finish putting on clothes at rapid-speed.
Just please don’t be Tony.
Please.
29
JANE COBALT
2 Days Snowed-In
After Thatcher unlocks the door, Akara enters, his red jacket wet. Snowflakes melt in his black hair, and ice crystalizes on his eyelashes.
Just seeing him makes me shiver. I pull my blanket back on my shoulders and clutch the whiskey.
Akara glances from Thatcher to me, back to Thatcher.
“We’re not staying alone together for that long,” Thatcher tells his lead. “I have a timer set on my watch.”
One hour.
We both agreed on the timeframe, and I bet we only have minutes left.
Akara shrugs off his jacket. “I wouldn’t push it any longer than that. Tony has already asked some of the guys if they thought you were acting weird.”
Thatcher nods and looks him over. “You found signal?”
“Yep. On the east end of the property.”
“How deep?”
“A hundred feet from the bird feeder.”
My mouth drops. “That far?”
“Yeah.” He throws his jacket in the hamper and blows on his palms. “Without walls blocking the spot, it’s freezing. I couldn’t spend more than five minutes there. But I spoke to Connor.”
I sway back. “You called my dad?” Out of all people, Akara chose to reach out to him.
Thatcher frowns. “You didn’t call Price or Sinclair?” The Alpha and Epsilon leads.
“I could only stand out there long enough to make two calls, and they were my third and fourth.” He speaks too urgently for me to interject. “Connor is going to relay our status to the families. I explained that we’re fine and waiting out the storm. On his end, he’s going to try and have people come up here and clear the roads…but this storm is bad.”
“How bad?” I swallow whiskey as tension mounts.
“Last time the snow fell this hard here, residents were stuck indoors for months.”
My jaw is on the floor. “Months?”
“Until March.”
“March?” My eyes have now joined my jaw. They live on the ground. I thought the only true fight we’d have is against boredom, but if we’re here past the New Year…
I picture my brothers going mad.
I picture Sulli terribly homesick.
And my cats…
They’re with Audrey. My sister is taking good care of them, but I worry. It’s not like I can easily call her and ask how they’re doing. What if one is sick? What if something happens while I’m away?
My maternal concern to six furry children escalates to new heights. Worse even: we don’t have enough food for seventeen people for that long.
I find my voice. “How did we not prepare for this?”
“We couldn’t have known,” Thatcher says strongly.
“I feel like a straight-A student who forgot to do her homework for an entire year,” I say aloud. “There’s precedent for snowstorms in this area, apparently.”
“This isn’t an annual occurrence here,” Akara tells me. “It’s only happened twice in the last thirty years.” He grabs the doorknob, about to leave. “One more thing.” His eyes are on mine. “I had to tell your dad about Beckett.”
My stomach somersaults, and I down another gulp of sharp whiskey. “Which part?” I lick the liquor off my lips. “That he wants a helicopter to fly him out of here? Or that we forced him on this trip because of his cocaine use?”
Akara gives me an apologetic wince. “Both.”
Merde. I fist the neck of the bottle.
“He didn’t seem surprised about either,” Akara says. “But with your dad…”
“It’s hard to tell,” I nod.
My incredibly intelligent father vaults his emotions like secrets inside Fort Knox. If he were shocked, he most likely wouldn’t let Akara know. It’s entirely possible that my dad and mom sniffed out the situation since Beckett took off dance for Scotland.
Which is a rarity in itself.
I can’t predict what they’ll do once Beckett goes home, but I feel like I’ve thrown him in boiling hot water when I only intended a light simmer to start.
Akara continues, “Connor said if things get serious, they can send a rescue team. But it’s not advisable unless someone’s safety is at risk. Other people need those resources, and I consulted with Jack. He said a helicopter picking up rich white kids stuck in a million-dollar house would be bad publicity.”
Those headlines and the fallout could destroy Beckett’s career more than a couple absent weeks from ballet. My brother has been banking on the skies to clear, not wanting to wait for road transportation. But the helicopter scenario is solidly down the drain.
“You have to tell Beckett,” I say. “I can’t do it. He won’t want to hear it from me.”
Akara agrees and then turns to Thatcher. “The snow is accumulating, and today might be the only time we can exit the door without having to shovel our way out. Anyone who needs to use the sat-phone, needs to use it today.”
Thatcher glances at the door.
Akara adds, “I’ve already spoken to your brother.”
“What?”
“He was my second call.” Akara pushes back his wet hair, visibly shivering. I lean towards him and outstretch the bottle of whiskey. He’s not exactly on-duty while we’re in a secure house, so he takes the bottle with a quick, “Thanks.” And downs a large gulp. “Banks is fine. He doesn’t want either of you to go call him.”