Page 80 of Entombed In Sin

“Beatrix,” my Pretty Boy whispers between kisses.

“Knox…”

I stare, hungry to touch him myself. What would it be like to have Knox sandwiched between me and Beatrix? With her loving caresses and my need to cleave away the damage done in his past; would Knox survive? I grunt as my dick grows even harder as I consider all the new ways to play with my Pretty Boy.

His gray sweatpants sit just below his butt. It flexes as he moves. I catch sight of his swollen red cock as he pushes Beatrix’s thin bathroom robe open to expose her naked body to the world. He positions himself at her entrance, then dives his hips forward.

“Ah!Yes,” Beatrix cries out, as her back arches. Her legs, wrapped around his waist, fall wide to allow him to sink deeper into her body.

Knox dips down to kiss the skin between her breasts, then growls against her skin. “Fuck, you feel so goddamn good, Shining Starr.”

I watch Knox’s hips roll expertly as he drives into Beatrix. Her breathy moans fill the space in the car. The smell of sex is so heady and addictive that I can’t stop from sucking in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the musky scent of them. My cock is straining hard against my jeans. When we get home, I’m going to fuck the both of them, together. They’re the best thing that’s come out of our dark lives.

“Next time we film this,” Thatcher mutters.

Beatrix’s breathy moans morph into desperate, achy pleas for more. Knox obliges, the fluid roll of his hips grows more intense as he drives deeper into her body. I reach down and grab hold of my cock through my pants to relieve some of the pressure.

“Fuck, you two are trouble,” I growl, having to turn around to look away or else risk doing something stupid. Like climbing back there with them.

Neither one says anything. Beatrix’s wail of pleasure as she finds her release is followed by Knox’s choked off cry. The sounds intermingle and become a song I want to play on repeat. These two are going to be my downfall, I just know it.

Bullets hit the car and Beatrix shrieks—the moment between them broken.

“Knox!” she hisses.

“Well, I didn’t say how long I could distract you,” he says with a chuckle. “Maybe we should enjoy having groupies? These people are obsessed with us!”

I roll my eyes. Of course, Knox would enjoy the chaos. Quite frankly, I’m no better. My heart is racing and there’s a thrill humming through my veins. But there is a small, nagging sense of discomfort trying to form ice around my heart. Knox is currently weaponless. And Beatrix, even if she did have a weapon, isn’t as confident with one as the rest of us. The last time Thatcher and I were in danger, we had the element of surprise and the incompetence of young gang members on our side. This is a completely different situation.

However Thatcher feels on the matter is locked down. I can’t grasp anything from my brother, and a glance at his face tells me nothing.

Our car barrels through the opening in the fence, and Thatcher yanks on the wheel. We skid as the car fishtails again until we’re pointed in the direction of home. Beatrix screams in terror. I whip my head around to see the car giving chase careening toward us at full speed. Thatcher guns the gas once more and we’re off, speeding down the back road toward safety.

“This is no coincidence we were found out here in the middle of nowhere,” Thatcher muses out loud suddenly. “Sagan, pull upthe security footage of the house. Go back and look through the videos from the last few days. Maybe someone came back and planted another tracker on our cars?”

My hand dives into my pants pocket, and I yank out my phone. With a few taps of my finger against the screen, the security feed pulls up.

“They’re getting closer, Thatcher!” Beatrix says anxiously.

“Hey, don’t worry about a thing,” Knox says. “They’re not going to catch us, and if they do, we’ll take care of it.”

There’s a short pause. I don’t turn around, but I can almost see Beatrix’s wide eyes, staring earnestly up at Knox. I can imagine them filling with hope as she stares into his bright baby blues. My vision is practically confirmed when she mutters, “I know you will. I trust you guys.”

Where there once was nothing a second ago, suddenly I can feel Thatcher’s victorious pride waft over to me like a warm breeze through our bond. A smile tugs at my face. My pet has found her place by our side. At-fucking-last. I turn around in my seat to see the smile I know is stretching across her face.

I don’t make it all the way around.

As Thatcher crosses a dark four-way intersection, I see the headlights gunning straight for us on our left. My brother doesn’t. When the vehicle collides with us, my world both explodes and slows down. Everything not buckled in goes flying as the car is flipped and rolled. Beatrix’s scream is cut off with a sickening strangling sound. Phones go flying, clothes not thrown on by them cover my face, protecting me as glass shatters and sharp shards of it hit my body. The car flips again and again. My head hits the side of the car so hard that the world goes momentarily black.

When everything comes to, the first thing I hear is someone talking. The words are muffled due to a ringing in my ears. I can’t even tell whose voice it is. My throat is dry and I can tastesmoke on my tongue. I swallow. It’s the wrong thing to do. My throat is swollen and feels burned. When I drag in a lungful of air, pain steals that same breath away. It radiates from my abdomen and flares up into my chest, nearly dragging me back into darkness. I fight it off, but just barely.

I blink the sweat and blood from my eyes and the world comes into focus. It’s upside down. That’s what I notice first. I hang from my seat, my arms dangling by the sides of my head as I stare out the front of the car where the windshield used to be. Pieces of our car litter the street. Some of them are on fire, some are bent, and others broken beyond recognition.

“—off him!”

My Little Viper. Judging by the distress in her voice, I know something is seriously wrong. She needs me.

Gingerly, I turn my head toward the sound of Beatrix’s shriek of anger. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to land on her wobbling figure. Her robe is hanging off her naked body as she stumbles stiffly away from the car. She’s still barefoot from our game. I regret only grabbing the robe now because with each step she takes, I can hear the soft crunch of glass beneath her feet. When did she get out of the car? The man she’s limping after is just a dark silhouette to me. But I can see, flung over his shoulder, a body and a head with a mop of blond, wavy hair.

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