Page 142 of Chokehold
“You’re hurt.”
“And so is he!” I raise my voice, then hate myself. “Please take me to him, Mom. You heard what my dad said. You know what he means to me.”
Mom freezes, her bottom lip curling as she tries to stop herself from crying, but fails as I push up fully, ignoring the burning sting on my side. I tug out the needles from my arms, and when I get to my feet, I feel like I’ve been hit by a fucking truck.
Mom rushes to my side, but I shrug her off and force one foot in front of the other. I need to get to him. I need to know he’s okay.
Fuck. It hurts, and there’s warm liquid trickling down my arms from pulling the needles out, but I keep my eyes in front of me as I step out into the corridor, my mom right behind me as she yells for a nurse.
I stop in my tracks as I see someone limping down the corridor, throwing his arm off someone trying to grab him. My vision is still blurry, but I know who it is. I limp probably worse than him from how tender my body is. As my arm presses to myside, I hold my breath and rush to him, gritting through the pain as I hear a nurse telling me to get back to my room.
Closer, Blaise comes toward me, trying to speed up. His dad is trailing behind, his eyes sunken in like he hasn’t slept a wink while his son fights him off once more.
“Cole,” he breathes as he reaches me, and we collapse against one another in a warm, painful embrace. His arm, the one not in a sling, wraps around me as my arms hold him to me.
I’m finally home. I know I’m not dead. And neither is Blaise, because my heart hammers against his, beating as one.
Everything aches. I’m sure I can feel my stitches pulling, but I don’t care. Because I have Blaise in my arms and we’re okay. His body shakes against mine, and my own does the same as he buries his face into my neck.
My hand slides up into his hair, sticky with blood and mud, and I fist at his strands and pull him to me more. My eyes open, staring at my stepdad. He’s frozen in place, unable to move or say a word.
I have his son in my arms, tears in my fucking eyes, and if he thinks for a second that he’ll take him from me, he’ll be the one in a hospital gown next.
Because Blaise is mine, and I’m his.
“What do you think they want to talk about?” Cole asks as we pull up outside the house.
Our parents asked us for a ‘meeting’ this afternoon. I’m not worried, but Cole fretted all day. I can see the tension radiating off his stiff shoulders when he tightens his grip on the steering wheel as though he has to hold on to something physically to ground himself. I just wish it was me instead of an irrelevant piece of plastic.
Note to self: Have the car scrapped and invest in a horse and carriage instead. On second thought, he’d probably bond with the horse or, god forbid, the horseman, and then I’d have to find a way to hide a body.
Let’s just stick with this car for now.
Yes, I am jealous of it. I’m growing more possessive of Cole by the day, especially after almost losing him, which made me realize how deep my emotions run. Cole has carved his name on my damn heart.
Ever since we returned from the hospital, the atmosphere in the house has been…tense, for lack of a better word. Dad has yet to comment on my closeness with Cole or the embrace he witnessed in the hospital. In fact, he has kept out of my wayas much as possible and is spending more time at the office. Meanwhile, Cole’s mom dotes on her son at every opportunity. We can’t enter the house without her asking to check him over or bringing him food. I think she feels bad for forcing Allie on him all these years. And I know she feels guilt over the shooting.
“What do you think they want to talk about?” Cole asks again, and I tilt my head to study him. His dark hair is longer, falling over his eyes and curling at his nape. I’m sure he’ll cut it soon, but I love this look on him. It makes him look rebellious in the best way.
“Are you not listening to me?” he asks, his lips thinning in disapproval, which somehow makes him even more attractive.
“What?” he asks, uncertain, when I remain silent. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Unclipping my seat belt, I palm the back of his head. His eyes widen and he opens his mouth to say something, but I shut him up with a hard, possessive kiss. He grunts, sending a jolt to my hardening dick, and his stunned surprise is the opening I need to invade his mouth.
“I was thinking,” I whisper, sucking his bottom lip between my teeth and tugging the waistband of his shorts, “about how much I want your taste in my mouth when we face our parents.”
“Are you crazy?” A full-body shudder grips hold of him. “Anyone could see us.”
I free his fat cock and wet my lips in anticipation while stroking the impressive length. “You better hurry up and come down my throat, then.”
“Jesus fuck,” he grunts when I lean down to swallow his cock. His thighs tremble beneath me, and harsh panting breaths gust out of him. I deep throat him the way I know he likes, my own cock straining against my jeans. There’s no hotter sight than Cole in the throes of pleasure, and sometimes, like now, murderous thoughts torment my mind when I remember thathis ex has witnessed this look on his face. Next time I see her, I might have to snap her neck, after all. My self-control only extends so far.
He grips the lever on the roof as his gaze flicks from left to right to make sure no one is around. The moment he spots Mrs. Lovejoy across the street, an elderly lady who takes great pride in her rose bushes, he pales and pulls on my hair to make me stop, but I trap his wrists with one of my hands and jack his dick.
“What’s the matter?” I tease, smirking like the cat who caught the canary. “Worried she might see you get a blowjob from your stepbrother?”
“Fuck…she’s waving at us,” he says through clenched teeth, the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment. His heaving breaths gust across my face as he yanks his hand free to wave hello to her with the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.
