Now, though, with the cocaine in reach and my resolve finally crumbling, my body decides this is the moment to demand attention.
“Do it,”Bad Wolf purrs.“Then you’re going to remind those two brats who they’re dealing with.”
I drop my towel.
If I’m going to do this—if I’m going to relapse after nearly two weeks of white-knuckling sobriety—I might as well enjoy it.
My cock springs free, already stiff, and I wrap my hand around it with a groan that echoes through the bathroom.
A fantasy is already playing through my mind. Haven on her knees, watching Kai’s mouth wrap around me. Both of them fighting over who gets to?—
I stroke faster, chasing the release that’s been eluding me all day.
Haven becoming impatient, standing, shoving my hand between her legs as her nails rake down my chest.
Kai’s eyes locked on mine as he swallows.
Haven whimpering as I finger her, those sounds growing louder when Kai turns to her and?—
A sound shatters the fantasy, and my concentration. I stop, blinking hard as I strain to hear. Must have been my imagination, because?—
Three sharp raps against the front door.
I freeze, hand still wrapped around my shaft, heart hammering.
They came back.
They fucking came back.
“It’s not them,”Good Wolf growls, breaking its long silence.“They’re never coming back. Never, ever?—“
I ignore the whiny little bitch, slinging my bathrobe around me as I leave the bathroom. My cock tents the fabric, but I can’t be fucking bothered. If it’s them—if they’ve finally stopped being stubborn little shits and come to me—I want them to see exactly what they’ve been doing to me.
I stride to the front door and yank it open.
“About fucking time, you?—”
Ezra stands on my porch in the deepening twilight, a hoodie drawn up over his face. The deep shadows it casts hide some of the obscene scar tissue on his face, but the pure, undiluted hatred in his eyes is unmistakable.
He lifts his chin, a bemused smile on his mouth as I shove a hand in my robe’s pocket to push down my fading erection.
“Did you miss me, Daddy?” he murmurs.
Chapter 31
Bastian
“Ezra.” I keep my voice neutral, though my pulse is racing for entirely different reasons now.
His eyes rake over my robe, and his scarred mouth twists into a grimace. “Expecting someone else?”
“What are you doing here? I thought I was clear when?—”
“Oh, you made it pretty fucking clear when you left me on read for a month.” He steps closer, and I have to force myself to lean against the doorframe instead of retreating.
Dread settles in my stomach.
It’s the fury in his eyes—so much colder, purposeful, compared to the white-hot rage I expected. Like he’s rehearsed this confrontation a hundred times.
