The way she rubbed her warm pussy against my length has me itching to make that happen again. But this time, Raven would drop to her knees in front of me, undoing my pants and tonguing each inch of my newly exposed skin. Her tongue is warm and wet, causing all my blood to rush straight to my dick.
“Shit.” I rip my sheets off and wrap my hand around my thickening cock. I move my hand up and down, the friction all too perfect as the scene continues to play out in my mind.
Raven would pull down my pants to my lower thighs, allowing my dick to spring free. It would already be hard and dripping. Her tongue would peek out and lick my precum.
My thumb swipes across my slit at the end. I thrust my hips up into my hand, and the moan in my throat echoes around the room.
In my mind, Raven wraps her plump, sweet lips around my shaft and takes more of my length into her mouth as her tongue slides along the underside.
“Shit, shit, shit.” My hips pump faster, and my fist squeezes, adding a pinch of pain to my pleasure. The bite pushes me over the edge, and ropes of my release shoot from my cock as I pump harder.
When I come back from the high of pleasure, I look down and take in the large amounts of cum all over my stomach and thighs. Reaching my hand over the side of the bed, I snag the first piece of fabric I can and use it to wipe up my mess.
It’s official. Raven Henry is going to be the death of me. Death by fictional blow job.
My phone begins buzzing, but I ignore it, opting for sleep instead. But sleep proves to be elusive after the third time my phone goes off.
“This better be important,” I mutter to myself.
Jumping out of bed, I find my jeans on the floor and pull my cell phone from the front pocket. Caller ID says “Unknown.” I tap the green button and hold my phone up to my ear.
“Who the hell is this?”
“A concerned third party. Did you read your father’s letter?” The voice is deep and almost sounds electronic, as if the person on the other end is using something to disguise their voice.
If they know about the letter, then they probably work for the prison or maybe even the post office, but I’m betting on the prison. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie easily.
“I know you got it. When you read it, remember that you shouldn’t believe everything you’re told.” The mysterious voice ends the call before I can ask more questions.
Whoever that was, they’re not on Amos’s side. They want him to stay in prison. But does that mean Amos is telling the truth? Does he really have proof that he’s innocent?
I blow out a heavy breath, knowing what I have to do next—wake up Griffin. Never a fun task.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
RAVEN
Ruby liquid trickles down the polished wood stairs of our house. My eyes trace its path backward up the winding staircase to find the source.
“Mom? Dad?” My call echoes down the marble floors, but there’s no reply, which isn’t out of the ordinary. Mom is probably out shopping, and Dad is probably at the country club.
My foot touches the first step, and a tingle creeps up my neck. I take the second step, and my mouth goes dry. Every bone in my body is begging me to turn around, to run out the front door, and call the police.
But I can’t look away.
I need to know.
When I’m halfway up the staircase, a body comes into view. It’s upside down with the face buried in the steps. But I don’t need to see his face to know who it is.
I know that hair. I know those clothes.
“Noah?”
Little hands, cold on my warm body, wake me with a start. Opening my eyes, I find Noah, dressed for school with his backpack on and everything.
The dizziness from my sleep accompanies me into day and pushes to transform into nausea. My muscles feel weak. My brain is still exhausted.
I need coffee and something chocolate.
