Three hours later, I've cleaned up the mess in the living room and the drywall from the staircase, vacuuming both. I finished Elias's bedroom and piled the broken televisions and electronics in a corner in the garage.
But now I'm standing in the middle of Nolan's bedroom on wet carpet, and I have no idea what to do about that. It's not the kind of wet that I can just throw a couple of towels on—it's gallons of saltwater. I cleaned up the glass and gravel from the tank and got rid of all the plants, but this is a problem I don't know how to solve. This can't be good for the floorboards.
Nolan must have taken care of the fish last night, because they weren't here when I came in.
To my left is a closed door, which, I learned last night, leads to a bathroom connecting Dax and Nolan's rooms. I hear that door lock from the inside, and seconds later, the shower turns on.
I guess I'll go make their breakfast.
I turn back toward the door, freezing when I hear a loud, low moan.
It's Nolan—I know that much. I can practically feel his voice through the door. My first thought is that it's pretty sick that he can get up and go rub one out just a few hours after throwing a dead body off a cliff. But he's always been creepy; despite being attractive and hanging with the popular crowd, I've never known him to date…or show any kind of emotion for that matter. I don't know that anyone has ever seen his arms or legs. He wears pants and thick hoodies all year long, even in the hot summer months, and from what I understand, he doesn't like to be touched.
A guy I met at the skate park last year told me he knew someone who swore he saw Nolan bite the head off a live bird once. I thought it was fucking ridiculous at the time, but I'm not so sure now. Maybe this is the sort of thing he gets off on.
He lets out another lower, throatier groan, and I feel this one, too—right between my legs. It's shameful, given the aforementioned circumstances, and I know that. I decide to get out of there, but then I hear a second voice.
"You like that?" Dax asks, his own voice strained in a way I recognize from when I had him in my mouth last night. "You like watching me pump both of our hard cocks?"
"Oh…fuck…" Nolan moans. "Just like that. Just like that; don't stop."
"Your dick's already leaking for me," he continues. "Give it to me—I want you to come all over me."
I know I should leave, but I don't. I stay there, listening to the sound of what I know is Dax's fists pumping both of theirwet cocks, their heavy breathing and Nolan's low, desperate groans.
And that's how they sound—desperate, like it's painful for him. It makes my clit pulse harder.
"Oh, god…" he says, his low voice breaking. "Oh, fuck…"
One more low groan, and I know he's coming, Dax urging him on, praising him before telling him to get on his knees. My cheeks burn, and I finally make myself leave the room, with both my heart and my clit pounding.
Nolan would probably bitemyhead off if he knew I was listening.
I practically fall down the staircase, running into the kitchen. I grab a couple of pans from the lower cabinets and then turn on the stove, getting the bacon and eggs from the fridge, trying to pretend like it never happened.
"Saige!" Elias shouts from the sofa.
He startles me enough that I almost drop the eggs.
"What?"
"You're being too loud; shut up."
I don't reply, sighing with relief, as if I'd expected him to say,Hey, stop listening to my roommates jack each other off! It's rude.
I drop the bacon into the sizzling pan and start cracking eggs.
I'm still waiting for it to sufficiently crisp when Dax and Nolan come downstairs. Instantly, I give them my back, worried they'll see my face and know I was listening to them in the shower.
"Smells good down here, Saige," Dax says casually, taking a seat at the table. Nolan sits across from him and takes out hisphone. Elias steps into the kitchen, leaning over me, so close I can feel his breath on my neck. Instinctively, I recoil, but if he notices, he doesn't seem to mind.
"The bacon is done now," he says before sitting next to Dax.
I guess they expect me to serve them, too.
I add bacon to the plates, placing one in front of each of them, keeping my eyes anywhere but on the three of them.
"I could get used to this," Elias says. "And I think I will. I want you here, making us breakfast every morning."
