Page 92 of Buried Beneath Sin

“Tread carefully, Knox. Don’t taunt me about the taste of her pussy, I know firsthand how delicious it is. Now, tell me, are you asking to play with my sister again?”

Knox’s snickers. “What would you do if I said yes?”

Thatcher doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his jaw works and tension brackets around his mouth. After a moment, the tension leaks away and a new, albeit more subdued, smile returns.

“It’s telling…” the Hunt twin says at last. “In any case, after tonight’s little performance of your naughty side, I highly doubt she’d want to play, so there’s no point entertaining this conversation.”

I’m not too sure about that. Right now, my thighs are pressed hard against one another and my face is growing warm just thinking about it.

“Judging by how hard that suggestion got you, I have no doubt you’d love to see it again though, wouldn’t you?” Knox doesn’t wait for a response. He simply nudges his head toward Thatcher’s crotch and says, “Well, you gave me a job to do. Let me show you how fantastic the back of my throat feels.”

Knox is just baiting Thatcher. He doesn’t really like me, nor does he have any real interest in me. His acceptance of me is begrudged at best.

Thatcher’s smug smile returns as he reaches down and pulls his erection from his pants. The heat that gathers in my cheeks spreads. It creeps down my neck, into my chest, and as Knox leans forward and takes Thatcher’s dick into his mouth, that same heat drops further.

“Oh…” I breathe, too soft for either guy to hear. A gentle throb starts between my legs as I watch the two of them. Thatcher reaches down and grabs a handful of Knox’s hair, weaving it between his fingers before shoving Knox further down onto his dick.

The sound of Knox gagging does something. I don’t realize how achy I’ve become until my fingers slide through my wet slit. When did I shove my hand into my pants? The thought comes and goes. I don’t care. My breath catches as my fingers caress the nerves and smear the arousal around. I bite my bottom lip as I use my body’s natural lubrication to toy with my clit.

Veins in Thatcher’s neck bulge. His teeth flash as he bares them in a snarl.

“Such a pretty mouth on a pretty boy,” he growls out. “But look at you, you’re just a filthy whore to stick my dick into right now, aren’t you, Knox?”

My fingers dip inside of me as Thatcher pulls Knox off his dick. My hips thrust instinctually at the intrusion. As Knox tries to catch his breath, Thatcher drags him onto the bed and throws Knox onto his back to straddle his face. The Hunt twin reaches down, grabs Knox’s jaw and pries the beautiful man’s mouth open to shove his cock into Knox’s mouth once more.

Why is this so hot? Knox groans around Thatcher’s cock, and I repeat the noise in my head. As Thatcher’s body moves, his hips dip down before rolling back. The motion chokes Knox but still, the blond man doesn’t seem all that put out. My mouth dries. The two of them together, one light the other dark—it leaves me feeling so hot. My body aches. My fingers move fasteras my core clenches around them, desperation starting to fill me as Thatcher works toward his release.

35

SAGAN

My short run through the woods behind the house doesn’t help burn off the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Knox could’vekilledBeatrix. It happened so fast that I knew, even as I moved to stop him, that I wouldn’t be able to save her. We’re lucky he had enough sense to hold back. Still, I can’t get the sight of that blade slicing through her flesh or the line of blood that beaded from the wound out of my head.

Beatrix Starr was so close to death that I swear, in that moment, I could hear the sigh of disappointment from the Grim Reaper who was watching just out of sight. Despite the sweat on my brow, a chill gathers in my veins. The heavy beating of my heart is deafening. My lungs expand and contract almost painfully while I catch my breath as I make my way up the hill, toward the back of the house. My compression shirt and joggers are wet from sweat making the cold air feel even chillier. I pick up the pace.

From here, I can see the back door swinging in the slight breeze. I didn’t bother to close it on my way out. The minute Thatcher dragged Knox upstairs and Beatrix slipped into her room, I took off. The flurry of emotions that bombarded me in that moment were so startling, so unexpected and frightfullyuncomfortable that I knew if I didn’t get out of the house I would do something stupid.

I’m still a mess, but mostly I’m fucking furious right now. My anger isn’t directed at Knox though. I can’t fault him for his reaction. While he’s never divulged the details of his past other than to say “some guys hurt me”, it doesn’t take much to figure out why he avoids being touched. I’m not even mad at Beatrix. How could she have possibly known such innocent contact would cause my Pretty Boy to snap?

My anger is directed at myself.

I should’ve had Knox tell Beatrix about his safe zones. Shit like this was bound to happen eventually. Thatcher and I should’ve taken preventive measures. At the very least, until Knox felt comfortable telling Beatrix about what he perceives as a weakness, my brother or I could’ve told Beatrix to keep her hands to herself when it comes to Knox.

It’s a shame because when the two of them come together I don’t think there’s anything fucking hotter. A flash of them together the night we killed the babysitter comes, unbidden and swift. My dick stirs to life as I slam the back door shut behind me.

I need to check on Beatrix. Thatcher said she was ok, and despite how the color leeched from her face, Beatrix assured us she was fine. Still, I have to see for myself. I make my way down the hallway, ignoring how stiff my dick has grown as my mind flips from the blade slicing across Beatrix’s throat to Knox eating her out.

Taking the steps two at a time brings me quickly to the second floor.

Just as I’m about to round the banister and head to my pet’s room, the massive, dusty mirror that’s been leaning against the wall for what looks like decades captures my attention. Sort of. I spare it a glance. My reflection is distorted, nearly impossible tomake out. The ornate gold frame looks tarnished from a lack of cleaning.

But it’s not the forgotten gaudy decor that my eyes latch onto.

It’s the slight billowing of an old drop sheet peeking out from behind the mirror that gains my undivided attention.

I’ve walked through this house countless times over the past few months. The hallways, the rooms, every dust-filled corner—it’s all familiar to me. Without a doubt, I know this house better than the one I grew up in. I thought I knew every inch of this place. But, as I step forward and yank the sheet aside to find a man-sized hole, I realize I’ve missed something. My eyes take note of the broken cobwebs and the fresh bare footprints in the dust on the floor.

Upstairs, Knox’s howls can be heard. Tearing my eyes away from the opening in the wall, I glance up at his closed door. Then I turn to look over my shoulder at Beatrix’s. Hers is wide open. No noise comes from that direction.

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