Page 16 of Double Down
"Say it," she demands, fisting my hair with her free hand and then lifting herself, positioning the head of my cock at her slick entrance, ready to sink down. Her breasts hover in front of my mouth. I only have to lean forward an inch to taste clean, wet skin.
Sun and citrus and Phoenix.
"Say it, Storm. Tell me you know you did the right thing. You kept me safe. I'd be dead if not for you. The Titans would be hurt or worse. Tell me you know this. Tell me you know how much I need you.”
I'm notched at her opening, my lips a breath from her nipple, and she wants me to lie.
"I—”
Whatever I was going to say dies when someone pounds on the bathroom door.
"I'm going to kill whoever's interrupting us," I finish.
Phoenix growls in agreement deep in her throat.
"Fuck off!" I shout, but she pulls away, anyway.
The moment is lost, but only for now.
"Sorry, man," Maverick says as he cracks the door, letting a cool stream of air in. His gaze roams over Phoenix with hungry interest. “The parents called. Family meeting. All of us. Conrad says to bring Phoenix."
Fuck. My. Life.
4
Conrad
The text messagehits my phone like a bullet, the vibration strong enough to make both Atticus and me jump. The only people who ever call this number are the Titans, and we're all here.
For a second, I think it's whoever hacked our systems—whoever left the body on our table—calling with demands.
Instead, my father's name lights the screen.
Dad
Conference call. You, the other Titans. Five minutes. Don't be late.
No warm greeting, no asking if we have time or how we've been. Just a demand. But of course it is.
I don't reply. He wouldn't care if I did. He isn't requesting anything, and there are no options other than being on that call. The only response he expects is my compliance—no, my obedience.
All the same, my thumb hovers over the keyboard for one lame millisecond where my brain ponders and dismisses a half-hearted response. I lock the screen instead.
With a sigh, I show Atticus the message. He rolls his eyes nearly as hard as I do. I push off the counter, half listening while he runs through what the hackers managed to do.
I understand some of it, but this high-level tech shit is Atticus's domain. I don't bother learning the specifics. I count threats and exits; he counts packets and ports.
And at this point, I just want to find the person responsible, put my hands around their throat, and squeeze. Be done with it. But first I have to deal with this bullshit.
"Maverick, go get Storm. And Phoenix” I add as an afterthought. “She may as well be here for whatever this is. Parental units are demanding our immediate attention. Conference call. Five minutes."
"Fuck," he groans, heading for Storm's room.
Atticus is still typing, and I know he won't move until the last possible second. His fingers fly; his neck is hunched; his eyes are already bloodshot, pupils blown too wide for stress alone.
A pill bottle sits open beside him.
My jaw tightens when I look in. It's nearly empty. I don't know when he refilled it last, but he hasn't had to pull long nights recently—at least not the kind that require drug-induced focus.
