Page 13 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

“Scotty,” I finally say. “He made a mistake, and he’s apologized.”

Scotty simply blinks at me. “I don’t care if he’s apologized. This doesn’t even concern you.” Scotty’s cheeks are crimson with rage, and I watch as he reaches into the back of his jeans and pulls out a 9mm pistol. He cocks the hammer before aiming it at me. “If you ever talk to me like that again, I’ll shoot you in the head.”

I sigh, because death threats are now an everyday occurrence at our commune. If Scotty’s not aiming a gun at one of us, Fee’s slipping crushed-up sleeping pills into people’s coffee, tying us up in the yard, and pretending to be in the midst of a ritual sacrifice when we wake. Then there’s Brody. The man threatens the life of inanimate objects for simply inconveniencing Scotty’s day-to-day activities. Once, I saw him torch a mighty oak tree for having a well-hidden root protruding from the ground, tripping Scotty as he played a round of hide-and-seek with Tatum.

To my surprise, Brody doesn’t threaten my life for scolding his boy. Instead, he places his hand on top of the gun and takes it out of Scotty’s grip. “Baby?” Scotty’s eyes widen as he nervously darts them back to Brody. He must know he’s fucked up, because he quickly blurts a vague apology at me and Tatum. Brody is unconvinced, however. He rises from the floor and points at the doorway. “Our cabin. Now.”

Scotty’s mouth falls open, his face a vision of betrayal. “I’m in trouble? You’re punishingmefor this?”

Brody gives him a quick nod. “Yeah. And you’re going to be in even bigger trouble if you try to argue with me.”

The look Scotty gives us is one that sends a chill down my spine. The man looks bloodthirsty. His pale skin is red with rage,his pupils blowing wider until you can’t make them out from the irises. He runs his fingers through his dark brown hair before jerking his hand down and balling it into a fist at his side. “This isn’t over. If I’m getting a spanking because you ran away, I’m going to get you back. I’m gonna get you good, just like I’m gonna get your boyfriend.” Tatum’s too lost in his pleasure to respond.

As Brody tugs Scotty’s chin until their eyes meet, Tatum’s writhing around on my finger, his breaths sharp and jagged each time I touch his special place inside.

“Listen,” Brody says calmly. “Your queer friend over there might be the most unbearable man I’ve ever met, but he’s important to you. For some reason, you love the guy like a brother, and I don’t want you to lose that.” He pauses and turns to glare at Tatum. “At least, not until I’ve had a chance to stab his ass in the forehead. Until then, you need to make this right, baby.”

Scotty stares at his hands and nods, sniffling. “I’m sorry for threatening to shoot you in the head, Kincaid,” Scotty mutters, pulling my attention away from Tatum. “Tater Tot just made me mad.”

I give him a nod as I press harder against Tatum’s prostate. “Is there something you’d like to say to Scotty?” Tatum stares up at me with lust-laced eyes, his mouth opening and closing a few times, but nothing comes out. “Go on. Tell him you’re sorry for running away and scaring him.”

He bites his lip before looking over at Scotty. “Sorry,” he says breathlessly. I press harder against his magic button, stealing another moan from him. “I’m sorry for scaring you.” Tatum rocks on my lap—on the finger that’s slowly fucking him toward completion—nodding emphatically. The faster Tatum’s hips work, the tighter he grips my thigh. Scotty makes his way across the small room and stalls when he reaches us.

“Tatum?” he asks, leaning close and pressing his hand on Tatum’s cheek. “Are you okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.” He turns to Brody who seems to have figured out what’sgoing on beneath the blanket, because he’s staring at us with the biggest smirk I’ve ever seen in my life. “Do something, Daddy! He could be dying right now.”

Brody snorts a laugh. “I don’t think he’s dying, but you might want to give him some space.”

“Why?” Scotty asks, looking back and forth between his fiancé and his best friend. “Tatum, are you okay? You’re breathing funny. If it’s about what I said, I’m real sorry I threatened to get you back for running away. It just makes me sad when you try to run off. Makes me feel like I’m not good enough to keep you happy here. You’re my biffle.”

“Biffle?” I ask, sliding another finger in and scissoring them open.

Scotty nods. “Biffle. My Best Friend For Life and Ever and Ever.”

Tatum’s eyes flutter open and he’s making no attempt to hide the way his hips are rising and falling. The sight of him like this—lost in his pleasure to the point social decorum no longer matters—is enough to make my dick throb against him. That must be all it takes to get him there, because a long moan pours out of him, and he reaches blindly for my free hand.

“Why is the bed shaking?” Fee says, looking over the top of her Kindle at us. The moment she spots us, she sighs and rolls her eyes before returning her attention to the matter at hand. She halfheartedly points at her dinner—a small cobb salad resting on the nightstand, and says, “Really? Right in front of my salad?”

Brody’s headed toward us, and when he makes it across the small room, he attempts to shield Scotty’s eyes, but Scotty just slaps his hand away.

“Cut it out. He’s dying, Daddy. Let me say goodbye to my friend!” Scotty sniffles as he leans in and kisses Tatum’s cheek. Behind him, Scotty’s fiancé lets out a possessive growl. “I’m gonna miss you when you’re dead, Tatum. Can I have all your clothes?”

Tatum squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. Aftershooting his load in front of hundreds of gay bar patrons, I figure he’s used to the attention, but there’s still something holding him back. Something stopping him from letting himself have what he truly desires. To be seen. To be idolized.

“There’s my good boy,” I whisper into his ear. “Everyone’s watching, Tatum.”

“Shut up,” he rasps, his ass squeezing around my fingers with an unbearable grip. “Hate you.”

“Is that right?” I say, plunging my fingers deeper into his eager entrance. “Because I don’t think you do.”

“Hate you,” he repeats. “Hope you die, hope you cry, hope you eat a cyanide pie.”

I chuckle, my warm breath blowing against the side of his face, making him blush. “Come for me, sweetheart. Everyone wants to see.”

“I don’t,” Fee says, sounding bored. I have to resist the urge to tell her to watch her tone, because he’s right on the brink of release, and I’m not going to allow her to ruin this for him.

“I don’t want to see this shit either,” Brody says, but his words don’t have any credence when he’s grinding his cock against his fiancé’s ass. “Fuckin’ queers, man.”

Scotty turns around and glares at him. “I’m not gonna tell you again—you have to stop with the homophobia. When it’s just me and you, it’s okay, because I know you don’t mean it?—”

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