Page 122 of Unspoken Rules

I smirk, looking up at him. “I’ll spoil my dinner.”

He slides his pants down, pulling out his dick and stroking it. “I’ll just handle it myself then.”

I watch intently as he strokes himself, stepping back to lean against the counter. His eyes are half lidded, and he’s biting on his bottom lip. He groans quietly, spreading his feet a little wider to get comfortable. Fuck, he’s so sexy. So hot. I want to get on my knees for him. I want to suck him off. Make him feel good. Be the one to make him come. I get to my feet and move to him, about to drop to my knees and do just that. When the front door opens.

Chapter Fifty

Cole

Both of us whip our heads toward the kitchen door. I quickly put my dick away and step around Bryson, wondering who the fuck is walking into my house. I nearly bump into him as I step into the hallway.

“Christopher?”

He doesn’t look at me and pounds up the stairs. “Just came to get my stuff. Don’t worry, I’ll be gone in ten minutes.”

I go after him. I feel Bryson’s gaze on my back, but I can’t worry about him right now.

“Can we talk?” I ask.

“No,” Chris barks.

“Please.”

He goes into his room, and I stand in the doorway, not wanting to push his limits by following him inside. He doesn’t look great. Tired and like he’s lost weight.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Yes, there is. I need to know why you’re so mad at me.”

“Why do you even care?” he asks, but there isn’t much to his words. Just a simple question. Obviously he’s the one who doesn’t care. And it hurts.

“Because you’re my son, and I love you.”

He scoffs, going to his closet to pull out a duffel bag and a suitcase.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you did what you did.”

My chest constricts, and my thoughts instantly go to Bryson. But that isn’t right. I already know it has nothing to do with Bryson. Chris started acting cold toward me before Bryson and I were together in Astoria. And I’m certain if Chris found out about us at any point, we’d hear about it.

“Christopher, I don’t know what that means. Just explain it to me,” I say with the last bit of patience I can muster.

He stomps around his room to gather his stuff, throwing everything together in no order. He really wants to get his stuff and get out of here. I stand there and watch him, hoping he’ll give in.

When he’s done, he grabs his bags and stands in front of me.

“Move.”

“Please, just talk to me,” I beg, searching his eyes that have heavy bags beneath them.

“Move out of the way,” he grits out.

I smell the alcohol on him, but it doesn’t smell fresh. I don’t think he was just drinking. Whatever is on him right now, it’s from last night. Meaning he didn’t go to work today, or he did and still smells like that, which I can’t imagine going over well at his job.

“Christopher, please—”

“Get the fuck out of my way!” He holds my gaze, furious. I’ve never seen him look so angry before. He looks terrible. Sick, even. I’m so disappointed in him, but I’m hurt too. Upset. Concerned. That trumps the anger and disappointment, so I step aside and let him by.

He storms down the stairs, muttering something as he passes the kitchen. I’m not sure if he knew Bryson was still here or not, but he knows now. By the time I get downstairs, the front door is slamming. His key is hanging on the hook by the door, and I know that means he really doesn’t plan on coming back.

---