Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
The door flies open and Kinkaid bursts in, followed so closely by Rock that he looks in danger of mowing him down. Hyde’s eyes blaze into mine as Kinkaid grabs him by the shoulder on one side, and Rock does the same on the other. His hands release my wrists, and I draw my arms around myself, covering my tender breasts. Around my hips, Hyde’s thighs clench as though he wants to hold on to me in whatever way possible.
“Did he hurt you?” Kinkaid asks as Hyde breathes hard. Between his legs, his cock stands out violently against his orange regulation pants.
“No,” I say. “No.”
Rock nods, relief softening his hardened features. The hand gripping Hyde’s shoulder flexes, but interestingly, Hyde doesn’t struggle out of their grip. It’s like he understands they’re only restraining him for his own good, and he’s grateful for the hold they have over him.
“Lory,” Kinkaid says, his voice low and gravelly. “Take his dick out.”
My eyes focus on Hyde’s straining erection and then the pained expression on his face. There’s a desperation to the tightness of his jaw combined with the wideness of his eyes. A desperation that breaks my heart. I can do this. I can make him feel better through a release that he’s been craving. But it isn’t right to touch him when he’s being held by two other men. It’s not acceptable to take away his right to control his body.
“No,” I say, resting my hand on his straining thigh. “I won’t touch him when you’re holding him. I won’t touch him until he’s ready for it, and he asks me.”
“You want it, don’t you,” Rock says, jostling Hyde’s shoulder.
“He wants it,” Kinkaid seconds.
“Do you want me to touch you?” I ask Hyde, maintaining eye contact with him despite the fierceness flaming in his expression. With his unruly dark hair falling over his right eye, he looks wild and dangerous, but his eyes plead.
“Like this, Hyde. Do you want me to touch you while they’re holding you like this?”
There’s a pause where he closes his eyes and breathes slowly and deeply. I wait, still naked beneath him, while Kinkaid and Rock continue to prevent their friend from hurting me. But, despite their concern, I don’t believe he will. He’s vibrating with his own efforts at restraint. Even when Hyde was looming over me, gripping my wrists, I felt his desperation to maintain his frayed control.
When his eyes open, they’ve lost some of their feral darkness, and a deep forest has replaced it.
He shakes his head.
“Let him go.” I sit up and wrap my arms around Hyde’s waist, pressing my body into his. He smells of warm laundry detergent and fresh sweat, which I suspect is from panic. “Let him go,” I repeat, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest over his shirt. Rock and Kinkaid reluctantly release their grip on him. “It’s okay,” I say confidently, even though I’m still shaking from everything that’s happened. “I’ve got him. We’re okay.”
Hyde’s arms wrap around me slowly, and he rests his face on the top of my head, breathing hotly into my scalp. His tight body loses all its rigidity as he softens in my embrace. Rock and Kinkaid leave the room, glancing over their shoulders before they pass through the door and close it. I keep Hyde in my arms, waiting for him to let me go first. My heart aches for the pain that he wears in his tight expressions, jittery movements, and the tattoos he’s covered himself with. The scorpion on his face is the worst, as if he placed it there as a warning of what he believed he was capable of. I wish I could soothe away every hurt he’s ever experienced in his life so he could be someone who wasn’t clinging to the edge with just his fingertips.
“Lory.” His voice is ragged, his breathing is erratic, and his eyes are dark with turmoil. But he looks at me, really looks at me, like he’s searching for something, a lifeline, or a way out of the storm that’s raging inside him.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.” Pulling back, he tips my face with his tattooed fingers.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, braving a touch to his cheek.
His eyes flutter, then close again as he breathes into my gentle caress.
“It’s been a long time.”
“A long time since what?”
His fingers touch my side tentatively.
“Since someone touched me like that.”
Sadness washes over me like a tsunami. We all need touch and gentleness, even the toughest of men. Especially the tough men who everyone thinks have enough strength and resilience to deal with the world without any assistance.
“And for not touching me.”
I immediately understand what he means. I could have made him come, and it would have felt good physically, but it’d just be another way of taking from him. I’d guess that he has suffered that too many times in his life already.