She releases a loud, irritated sigh. “He’ll just buy me something. Either way.”
Do I really want to know? “Either way?” I echo, unable to resist my curiosity.
“He’ll buy me a beautiful coffin if I end up dead. Or he’ll buy me, whatever, if I don’t. No matter what I do—or need—that’s his answer. Spending money. I’m invisible around here and have been for months.” The sadness creeping into her voice affects me. “I only had Crowell and now he’s gone, too.” She clears her throat. It still doesn’t help. When she talks again, she’s still so hoarse. “I-I love you. If you knew me like I know you, you might love me, too.”
“You don’t fucking know me.”
She sighs. “Believe half of what you see and none of what you read. Right?”
I clench my jaw and don’t respond. I love beautiful girls and she’s stunning. I hate to see beauty destroyed just as much as I hate to deny myself. Whether she knows it or not, she’s still the lamb and I’m still the wolf. If I get involved with her, I’ll blow everything.
This is it. My chance to save my band. My chance to redeem myself with all my fuckups.
“Bye, Sloane,” she repeats.
She’s so fucking stubborn. Her attitude frustrates the fuck out of me. “Hard heads make dead asses.”
“Go. Leave,” she orders, her voice hardening. “You’re interfering and that doesn’t happen in this house. We each stay in our own lanes. We’re all on our own.” Her shoulders sag and she bows her head. “Welcome to my world,” she whispers, then scampers to the tree a few yards away.
The moment she reaches it, she stands on her tiptoes and grabs a low-hanging branch.
Why the fuck am I shocked she’s fucking scaling a tree like a chimpanzee? Without looking back, she disappears through the window.
Chances are fucking high water remain in her lungs. She can lay down and never fucking wake up, victim of a secondary drowning.
She won’t think of that. I bet she’s going to call Crowell for her coke, instead.
Swearing I don’t give a fuck, I go in search of my bike, determined to fucking find it and get far the fuck away from this mad house.
Cassandra
My fingers glide over my clit and I twist toward Parnell, wanting him inside of me. I’ve been thoroughly fucked. Sloane ate my pussy and kept his dick in me. I came more times tonight than I have in months.
Years.
I roll against my hand. My pussy needs another fuck. I wasn’t through fucking. But Sloane decided to leave. He gave no explanations. Just let me come on his tongue, got up, and headed to the shower.
Though I don’t follow him like a common groupie, I know he’s called a rock god, and he is. Tattoos cover his arms and back. Large, capable hands are very attuned to the needs of a woman’s body. Even the golden hoops in each ear turn me on.
My breathing shortens. “Dick, Parnell, please,” I beg. He doesn’t want me unless other men are present. Even then, he prefers his own touch over mine. I never realized this until tonight as Sloane pumped into me. I’d hoped Parnell would read my silent plea to make Sloane move and take me himself. He didn’t, so I stopped wishing and lost myself to Sloane’s expert touch.
I can’t wait to feel him again. Maybe, when he leaves, we can keep in contact. He makes me feel young and alive. Wanted.
I moan, thinking of his big dick. My insides throb. Parnell wanted me to have it hard. Sloane complied.
His dick is long and thick, his tongue soft and warm. Remembering him makes me come hard. My eyes roll back in my head and I scream.
Parnell bites my sensitive breasts and pain hits my nipple. I tremble, raise my legs, and lift my hips. He rips into me and another scream escapes me. I’m moaning. My pussy clenches his cock. He’s hard and rough and brutal. More so than I like it…he works into me again and I throw my head back, on the verge of coming again.
Parnell licks my neck and, then, grips it. I’m starting to come and he knows it. He’s pressing against my throat, cutting off my air supply, making my body float at the sheer intensity of hovering so close to death while doing something so life-affirming.
Blackness flirts at the edges of my vision. My lungs hurt. Every place in my body tingles, from my sensitive nipples to my pulsing pussy.
Unable to holler, I gag. I’m still coming and Parnell starts to stiffen. My consciousness is slipping away.
My life, too. Tears squeeze out of my eyes and I find the strength to grab my husband’s wrist. He’s killing me and he’s still buried in me.
“Please,” I choke out. Somehow.
His brows draw together and his hand falls away. “Cass?”
My neck will be bruised tomorrow. “I thought I was dying.”