Page 28 of Better Watch Out

At last they take pity on me. But by that time I’m nearly ready to cry and the only sounds I can make are panting whines and soft threats are directed more toward Boone than Fletcher. He’s the safer target, after all.

“Poor thing.” Fletcher chuckles, dragging his hand free and shoving his fingers into Boone’s mouth without hesitation. “Look at you, all worn out. Here.” He finishes up letting Boone clean his hand and sits up, revealing that he’s been hiding my oversized tee behind him on the bed. “You deserve this, princess. But”—he puts a finger to my lips when I start to speak—“I’m being nice to you. Don’t make me change my mind.” His eyes glitter with a promised threat, and it’s a damn good thing I’m too worn out, too absolutely exhausted, to think of something good to come back with.

“Can I go back to my room now?” I grumble instead, sitting up enough to drag the soft fabric over my head. It covers meto mid-thigh, giving me a bit more comfort now that I’m not so vulnerable andon displayfor the two of them.

“Oh, snow bunny.” Boone’s the one who chuckles an answer, and he drags me against him, having removed his shirt when I put mine on. “You’re not going anywhere. You can sleep right here, in my arms, so I can touch you and consider what I want to do to you next.” He pauses when I shudder, my eyes closed as I try to think of a good argument and my brain tries to reboot. “Does that scare you?” Boone murmurs in my ear, and laughs when I shake my head fervently.

“No. I’m not afraid of you, Boone,” I tell him, glaring over my shoulder at him as much as I can.

“What a shame.” His grin grows, becoming wolfish. “Because you really should be.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Waking up is certainly an experience. For the first few seconds all I can think about is how I’m very warm, comfortable, and sleeping better than I have in longer than I’d like to admit. I feel so secure, with someone’s arm around my waist and my face buried in another person’s bare chest.

But that’s when the knowledge of exactly what’s going on hits. I shift to look up, surprised by how peaceful Fletcher looks in his sleep. There’s so much less menace on his face this way, and while he’s always gorgeous, there’s something soft about him when he isn’t conscious.

Boone murmurs behind me in his sleep, his grip on my waist loosening. My t-shirt has ridden up around my ribs, so his fingers are splayed over my bare stomach. It’s both intimate and sweet.

But more importantly, it’s terrifying.

I need togo. I can’t stay trapped here, between my stepbrothers who made my life hell for so long. My skin feels heated, and my thighs that rub against Boone’s sweatpants are tender with the contact. At the memory of being ‘punished’ bythem I can feel my face redden, and I fight the urge to bury my face in the pillow under my jaw and just suffocate.

No matter how good it feels to be here, I really need to go. Especially as the happy feelings fade, replaced by anxious anticipation as my heart starts to beat faster. Not wanting to be here when they wake up, I take a long, deep breath, keeping quiet as I calm myself down.

One thing I remember from when we were young is that Boone, at least, is a very heavy sleeper. Fletcher is less so, but he’s not the one with an arm wrapped around me. It’s my hope that even if I were to kick Boone in the kneecap, he’d only roll over and snore.

Though my plan is much more refined than that. Somewhat.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway, as I wiggle downward, my shirt rides up further than I’d like it to. But I somehow manage to get out of Boone’s grip without waking either one of them, and I crawl to my feet to stand on the floor at the bottom of their shoved together beds.

Boone only shifts slightly, his arm stretching until he finds Fletcher. If I had to guess, I’d say he’ll have migrated over to him in the next few minutes and it’s almost…cute. Almost like he doesn’t want to sleep alone, and certainly not without touching someone.

Something in me aches to have what they have with each other, even as fucked up as it is. It’s harder than it should be to tear myself away from them, but I finally walk over to the dresser where my phone and pj pants are, which I put on silently. Wincing when the soft fabric rubs over my thighs and ass, I lock my teeth together to not make a sound. Then, with one last glance at the bed to make sure they’re both still asleep, I make my grand, quiet escape.

I nearly fall down the stairs in my rush to get to the first floor. My first priority is Sitka, though I see quickly that I had nothingto worry about once I hit the kitchen. Fletcher either bought or found a pair of pet gates, which he used to make a corral for her that encompasses the entire kitchen. Her new bed and bowls are in here as well, though I’m unsurprised to find Sitka sitting at one of the gates glaring me down instead of anywhere else.

“I’m surprised you didn’t just climb over,” I murmur to her, shoving my phone in my pocket and unlatching the gate for her to come out. She gives a soft woof of disapproval, and I wonder if she’ll let me out of her sight for the next week in punishment for my transgressions. But I suppose that would be better than her punishing me by letting her affections wander even more.

Specifically to Boone. While I’m not jealous she likes other people, I promise myself as I unlock and slide open the patio door to let her shoot out into the darkness outside, there’s something that makes me feel strange about seeing him love all over my dog. Yet again, I silently wish she had better taste in people…

Though maybe I don’t have a lot of room to talk this morning. Closing the patio door with a snap, I wince at the loudness of the noise. For a few seconds I listen, head cocked, and try to catch wind of any noise from upstairs that would tell me they’ve woken up, or the timbre of their voices traveling down the stairs. I get neither, prompting me to walk back to the kitchen and snagging a bottle of chocolate milk out of the fridge.

Belatedly, I check the clock over the stove, only a little surprised to see it’s already ten pm. I’ve slept for longer than I thought I would, and now that my sleep schedule is really fucked up, I feel restless and somewhat energetic.

Enough to binge an entire season ofCatfish,maybe, but not enough to do anything of value. From the cabinet I grab a packet of PopTarts, then head to the door to let Sitka back in after her latest polar adventure.

Thankfully she doesn’t make a big deal out of it, and she’s waiting for me at the door with her mouth open in a pant and her tail wagging instead of zooming across the yard and doing her best impression of a snowblower. Yelling at her right now isn’t something I’d like to do, since I’m sure my shrieking would wake up my stepbrothers real quick.

“Thank you,” I tell her softly, promising myself to give her some of my wildberry PopTarts in gratitude. The two of us head for my room, and it’s not until I have the door closed behind me that I finally let out a sigh of relief, my shoulders slumped.

“Holy fuck.” Quickly I toss my PopTarts and milk onto the bed, plugging my phone in on my nightstand before I forget. Then I strip out of my pj pants, needing something less fleece-lined and less constricting. Sometimes, no matter how cold it is, I can’t sleep in pants.

This is one of those times. Before I put on my shorts, however, I head to the mirror in the corner, heart thumping nervously in my chest as I turn to look at my backside and thighs.

Even though I bruise way too easily, I’m surprised at how light the remaining marks are. On my thighs are a few light bruises, mostly red with a few darkening only slightly. I run my hands up my thighs, fingers moving over my still-heated skin until I squirm uncomfortably. My face burns when I think about how it felt to be over Fletcher’s lap with Boone holding me in place, and I swear I can feel the sting of his hand even now.

It does nothing to make me want to go back to sleep. Instead, I feel a flood of heat between my thighs and I groan, shaking my head and walking away from the mirror. When I’m wearing my shorts and tee, I move to flop down on my bed, only to reconsider at the last second and sit down lightly instead. It’s the right choice, I can tell, when my skin only stings with discomfort instead of actuallyhurtinglike it could have.

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