The pace I set is brutal and unrelenting. “Look at you, taking my cock like you’re made for it,” I force out through gritted teeth. Sweat burns my eyes, but I don’t slow down. There’s no way with the sounds coming out of him. Sweet little half moans like he’s trying to remember to be quiet but simply cannot hold them back.
It doesn’t take long for the pitch of them to change from ruined ecstasy to desperate. “Chase, please,” he begs beautifully. “Oh, god. Please.”
I assure him that I’ve got him, reaching in between our slick bodies to wrap my hand around his weeping cock. After a few strokes, he’s practically sobbing, pleading for his release.
He is made for me.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Be a good boy and come for me.”
Only moments later, his back arches as his body tenses, painting our abdomens in white ropes of cum. The scorching heat around my own cock becomes unbearable, and I’m not far behind him as I paint his insides with my release. My ears go underwater as shockwaves roll through my nerve endings.
Afterwards, when I’ve managed to get us cleaned up and cuddled up under the blankets with my last remaining braincell, Easton lays his head on my chest, and I’m overcome with a profound feeling of rightness. Like it was supposed to end up here—with corn-silk hair against my lips, and an unwavering determination to do anything and everything in my power to keep him falling more in love with me every day, as long as it means I get to have this.
~~~
The coffee sits uneasily on my stomach as Blake gives me a full rundown of what I missed at the station yesterday. With there being another innocent life on the line—besides the one I love—does not go over well with me. He’s just a kid. He can’t die for this, can he? As much as Easton shouldn’t, neither should a seventeen-year-old who got snatched up by a fucking pedophile.
My best friend sitting beside me looks distinctly green, swirling the liquid in his mug rather than drinking it. I’m not much better.
“So what do we do?” I ask.
She braces herself on the counter, and I try to prepare myself because whatever she’s about to say, I’m not gonna like it. “We should probably be realistic about this. Either we sit back and hope the cops find him first or we make a move.”
I saw that coming. I definitely hate it. “What kind of fucked-up choice is that?”
“You think if we bait him with Easton, he’ll focus on that instead of the boy.” Brady’s voice is cold, detached in a way that raises my hackles.
It’s an effort not to raise my voice. I don’t want to wake Easton up. “You cannot be fucking serious, Blake. Hasn’t he been through enough?” My jaw aches from clenching my teeth together. But, surely, she wouldn’t suggest something so asinine.
“Chase, don’t even start with me. You ask what we do. I hate it as much as you, but we both know that Easton won’t be able to live with himself if Asher dies.”
I see why people take up smoking; I really fucking do. “He will be able to live with himself because he won’t be dead, which is what could happen with your stupid idea.”
“I’m not saying we let him go out alone, dumbass. I’m saying we bait the hook. Maybe Easton and I can start running together in the mornings. It’s not as obvious as if one of you was with him. We’re both runners.”
Gently, oh so gently, I set the mug down before I crack the damn thing. “And what happens when he ambushes the both of you? Think you can take on a grown man like that?”
“I can, actually. At least long enough to attract attention. This is my neighborhood, Chase. The people who live here know me, which is why I think it’s a worthwhile idea. There is no one nosier than well-off people in a small community, so if he figures out how to get past security, then we’ll be notified. But it’s something to preoccupy him, hopefully upset him so he gets sloppy. If he sees Easton out living his life, not being scared, then maybe he’ll make a mistake the cops can catch. Plus, I’m getting a private investigator on it.”
After digging my knuckles into my eye sockets for a solid thirty seconds, and have an internal debate that I’m not proud of, I say through gritted teeth, “Only if Easton is fully informed and agrees. I won’t have him be in the dark about any move we make.”
Brady adds, “Keep him alive, Blakely. I mean it. You keep my brother alive and don’t you dare get yourself hurt either.”
She swears on her life, and it doesn’t give me an ounce of reassurance. I knew better than thinking this little house of bubble wrap we’ve been protecting Easton with would last forever. It would have been nice if it could have gotten us to the point where he wasn’t being hunted. Too optimistic. Should have known better.
My head hurts. “Good thing you have enough cash for bail money. We might end up needing it,” I say eventually.
They laugh humorlessly. I count the seconds until my Chaos comes down the stairs. Each one is too many. All I can do is try and pretend like my skin isn’t crawling off at the mere thought of him being in more danger than he already is. There is no way this is sustainable. If he doesn’t crack from the stress, I will. “Have you considered pricing out a hitman?”
Blake hums. “Not the worst idea, actually. Shame the private investigator would probably find out it was me.”
“Morbid, Blakely.” Brady doesn’t even look up to give her a hard time. Things really aren’t looking good over here.
“Can they turn you in to the cops if they’re employed by you?” I wonder out loud.
She points a finger at me. “Now we’re asking the important questions. What should be my weapon of choice for our runs? Something mild like pepper spray or a stun gun? Knife? Handgun? What are we thinking?”
Brady’s head bangs into the marble island as he groans. “A miniature series of dumb decision-making featuring our own Blakely Ryanne Ellison. What will she choose, folks? And how many people will be injured unintentionally in the process? Stay tuned to find out.”
