“Clean our girl up while I prepare her bath,” I say, heading for the tub to let out the now cold water and refill it with warm water and oils.
I lift my head to see August lick the juices from her pussy down to the crack of her delectable ass and bite it. Basking in each jolt of her body, the aftershocks course through her. She releases a hum of satisfied glee, her eyes glazed over-euphoria set.
“The water’s ready. Bring her over.”
August groans his protest at having to stop feasting, but he stands and lifts her from the counter, grinning a smile a mile wild and not bothering to wipe the remnants of her climax from his face.
“It’s a badge of honor. I wouldn’t wash my face again if I thought I could get away with it,” he states, reading my thoughts.
“That and we’d have to kill anyone who smelled her on you. No one but us will ever get to experience her pleasure,” I growl. The thought of anyone touching her makes me reflexively reach for the blade at my hip.
“Never,” he affirms.
“Hey shitheads, I’m glowing, not deaf,” Emma says drunkenly.
August and I chuckle as he lowers her into the water, and I turn on the jets.
The sigh of relief she moans out when August begins to massage the shampoo into her scalp and I lift her leg to knead the muscle of her calf makes me harden, but I ignore it. Instead, I kiss my way down to her ankle before working my hands down to her feet.
“Shit, you two are dangerous together. Orgasms and massages. I may never leave,” she groans.
August speaks before I can. “Oh, Love. We’ve tasted you. There isn’t a place on Earth you could go that we couldn’t find you. We have your scent embedded in our blood. Remember what I said on the first day of school? You’re ours.
” August’s decree is more permanent than our oath to the Fraternitas.
There’s absolutely no escaping us now.
EMMA
I
‘ve visited Thomas every day for the last two weeks. Today is no different. Erik, my substitute driver, arrives at the hospital, pulling into a parking space.
“Miss Bishop, I’m ready whenever you are,” he states from the driver’s seat.
He’s a twenty-something-year-old with dirty-blond hair that looks like he takes hours to style and Caspian-blue eyes. He reminds me of a Ken doll, so perfectly put together. He’s nice, but he’s not Thomas.
“Let’s head inside. Is transport ready?” I ask before he can open his door.
Thomas is supposed to be released today. I’ve arranged for medical transport, in-home aids, and a physical therapist to help with his recovery. I want him healthy and fully recovered.
Nodding, he confirms, “Yes, they’ll arrive in twenty minutes,” while stepping out of the car.
By the time we reach Thomas’s room, he’s already filling out his discharge paperwork. He lifts his head when I step across the threshold, and a warm smile crests his face, having returned to its stunning terra cotta hue.
“Miss Bishop, shouldn’t you be at school?” he remarks, addressing me formally, but we’re past formalities. The man took a bullet for me.
Returning his smile with my own, I reply, “I feel like you should call me Emma or Ry. You’re family. There’s no need to call me by my last name, and I’ll be heading to school once I know you’re safely on your way home.”
His bulky shoulders shake with amusement before his laughter turns to coughs.
Rushing over, I grab the pitcher of water and fill his cup, handing it to him to drink.
“Hey, take it easy. I’m not that funny,” I joke.
“It’s funny how the roles have reversed. I’m supposed to be taking care of you, protecting you. Not the other way around,” he says, his brows pinching together as he expels a resigned sigh.
“You have taken care of me. You took a damn bullet for me. There’s nothing wrong with letting me make sure you’re okay.” I state, tilting my head. My smile disappearing as I look Thomas directly in his sapphire eyes and add, “I can never repay you for what you did for me.”
“Emma, I’d do it every time. Your safety is always my primary concern, not just because you’re my client, but because you remind me so much of someone I lost long ago,” he whispers, trailing off. I nearly miss it.
I want to ask who, but I say nothing, sure he didn’t mean to share so much.
“Well, let’s make a jailbreak,” I tease, changing the subject. The lines of pain smooth from his face as the hurt from a bad memory disappears from his eyes, softening into an affectionate appreciation for my actions.
“Yes, let’s make a run for it.” He chuckles, attempting to stand from the bed on his own, but the nurse quickly reprimands him.
“The only way you’re breaking out of this is by rolling out. Please, sit in the wheelchair,” she chastises, and he groans, making me giggle.
Patting him on his shoulder, I say, “Let’s go home.”
* * *
“I mean, of course, I got an invite. I mean, obviously, they would be stupid not to invite me.”
I roll my eyes listening to Sam’s annoying ass brag about receiving an invitation to the elite’s social event as if it’s some exclusive affair. I thought this was something the whole town went to.
Tapping Shay on the shoulder, I ask, “Didn’t you get an invite to the damn party this weekend? Isn’t this thing supposed to be for members?”
Turning in her seat, she leans over, answering, “Of course I did. Every eligible girl in town gets an invite, like this is some twisted play on Cinderella. Sam’s just trying to make a bigger deal about getting hers than necessary, per usual.”
I take in what she said, but I’m confused. I didn’t see any other girls get flowers or have the ostentatious announcement of them being chosen.
My curiosity wins out, prompting me to probe further, “Did all the girls get their invitations in their lockers?”
“No. Our invitations were mailed home and look nothing like the one you and the other girls received.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.