Page 87 of Boy of Ruin
I see her curl her fingers around his dick, and my mouth almost falls open with just how big he is.
I’ve felt his erection against me many times before. In my hand, in the car. And I was so close to giving him head in a club myself, not that long ago, before my husband stopped me.
But no one is stopping this girl and I can’t fucking look away.
“This is yours,” Jeremiah says softly, as I’m rooted to the spot, unable to fucking move. Get up. Run out of here.
Slap him.
Her.
The dancer lifts her hips, her thong still shoved to the crease of her thigh as she spreads her legs wider, angling herself over his cock, her fingers still curled tight around the base of it.
I dart my gaze back to Jeremiah’s eyes, see him bite his full bottom lip as he stares at me. I see a muscle jump in his jaw, the veins in his neck stark against his tan skin. I watch his biceps flex beneath his shirt, and I imagine him in the gym.
Training with me.
Helping me learn to protect myself, all over again.
I see the sweat licking down his body, over that horrible scar against his ribs.
The one my husband gave him, before he left him to die in a fucking fire.
I see Jeremiah’s hand over Lucifer’s, blood pooling beneath their fingers, sticky and wet against Jeremiah’s shirt.
I see something else, too.
My brother in a cage. Alone. Scared. Starving. And I wonder if my husband knew. Did he ever see him in there? Did he ever try to help him?
“I’m yours,” Jeremiah says, snapping me out of my thoughts, those cruel words from his mouth dripping with honey as his lips are parted, his chest rising and falling rapidly, the dancer’s soft moans flooding the room, drowning out the music. “I’m yours, Sid Rain, all you have to do…”
I glance at the dancer, see her grab her tit, her slick pussy so fucking close to his cock.
So fucking close.
“All you have to do is take me.”
My stomach twists up into knots.
I think I’m going to puke.
Because I don’t want him to fuck her.
I want her hands off of him.
I hate him, and I hate what he’s doing. I fucking hate him so much, but it’s only because…I fucking love him.
I stand, the dancer’s eyes finally on mine as she strokes my brother, drops her hand to his shoulder to keep herself steady.
He’s watching me, his face a mask of seriousness.
And holding up my middle finger, I walk out.
I make a beeline straight to the booth we were at, see Roman on the outer edge, a drink in his hand. He’s hardly said two words to me tonight, those stitches on his nose probably have something to do with it, but I don’t really need him to talk right now.
Instead, with the music so loud I can’t even think, the dim lights of the club giving me a false sense of security, of confidence, I squeeze myself into the booth, sit on Roman’s lap, straddling him, my arms threaded around his neck.
I hear Nicolas choking at my back, Ria calling my name, and some guy I don’t know groan.
