Page 184 of Saving Sparrow
I sat at the foot of the bed, reclining while Elliott straddled me. I held my dick at the base so he could lower onto it, his gasp of pleasure filling the silence.
I gripped his waist, thrusting up with every slow roll of his hips. Quentin watched, standing between my spread legs.
“Ready for me?”
“Yes,” both Elliott and I hissed. Quentin folded himself over Elliott’s back, planting a fist in the mattress beside me. Elliott’s jaw went slack as Quentin slowly worked himself in.
My eyes rolled back at the feel of his cock sliding against mine, the space inside Elliott growing hotter and tighter.
“You okay?” I bit out, feeling close to orgasm already.
“Y-yes,” Elliott panted, and we all moaned when Quentin started to move.
A while later, we all came with cries filled with passion and love. Elliott’s cum painted my chest, while my and Quentin’s cum filled his hole. Things didn’t end there. We made love for hours, until the very last second, our hands, mouths, and cocks never leaving each other.
We’d spent too much time in bed and had less than two hours to make our flight. We raced out of the house and into Quentin’s truck, laughing as we sped down the street. About fifteen minutes into the drive, Elliott remembered our wedding gifts on the foyer table.
“We have to go back for them,” he said. “We can make up the time, traffic’s light.”
Quentin couldn’t deny him, so we circled back to our home—and discovered two armed men inside.
Miguel
Now
Sparrow ransacked the room for the key, leaving me standing in the rubble.
“I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”
I’d given him an ultimatum—leave with me or be left behind—without considering how I’d get out if he didn’t choose the former. At least he hadn’t locked me inside the bedroom again.
I spent the next four nights searching for him, hoping he’d have a change of heart. He was likely hiding out in one of the other rooms, but without the key, I couldn’t check.
I sat on the bed holding my Christmas gifts, thinking about how I’d ruined Sparrow’s first holiday. I couldn’t bring myself to open them. Not without him.
Screw it.I charged from the bedroom, deciding to search downstairs for him one more time before banging down the other bedroom doors.
My stomach dropped when I reached the foyer and spotted my backpack on the table. The devices and chargers were all inside. I considered rushing back to the bedroom, but couldn’t shake the need to check the front door.
I crept over, pulling on the handle. My breath whooshed out of me when it creaked open.
Glancing at the staircase, I wondered if the smart move would’ve been to leave before Sparrow changed his mind. My feet wouldn’t take me across the threshold, though. I shut the door with a curse, racing back to the bedroom.
I cracked my knuckles while my phone charged enough to power on, then punched in the number I knew by heart. Octavia answered on the first ring.
“Hi… It’s Miguel. Can—”
She cut me off, saying the same thing she said every time I called.
“I know, but please, can you just—” I didn’t get to finish my plea. Octavia apologized before hanging up.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
I plugged the laptop in next, pacing until the screen came to life. I perched on the edge of the bed, connecting to my hotspot. My fingers flew over the keyboard, typing my first question into the browser’s search engine.
What happened to Elijah and Sara Holland?
A news outlet link with the headline:House of Horrorspopped up. I leaned in, mouth agape as I read on:The bodies of the cult leader, Elijah Holland, and his wife, Sara Holland, were absent from the crime scene; however, evidence suggested foul play. Their underage son was discovered in the woods in a near-catatonic state with no memory of what happened. It was clear to the authorities that he’d suffered great abuse at the hands of his parents. After what some called a less-than-thorough investigation, Elijah and Sara were presumed dead.
