Page 46 of Savage Hate
Shuddering, I let out a long sigh. I look over at Damon, but before I can say anything, he reaches over and grabs my hair, pulling my face onto his cock.
“Swallow,” he instructs, his voice hoarse, but he doesn’t force me. I look up at him and smile before bending down, taking his thick shaft into my mouth.
It’s warm, and his skin is taut over his throbbing erection. I move up and down his cock, and he bucks his hips against me. His hand grips my hair tighter, and I can tell by the way I feel his shaft bobbing between my lips that he’s about to come. Reaching over, I cup his balls as the first spurt hits my tongue, his cock pulsing through his release. I squeeze my eyes shut, letting him empty himself into the back of my throat. I swallow in quick succession, waiting for him to finish, and then I remove my mouth and sit up.
I grin as my face takes in his expression–shocked, bemused, fervent. He smiles back as I zip and button my pants, and nearly ten seconds later, we pull up in front of my old apartment building.
“Ready, princess?” Damon asks, closing his pants too.
I shake my head. “No.”
And it’s true. Despite the fun we just had, nothing will prepare me for what’s about to go down.
twenty-six
Jude
Damon must think I’m the world’s biggest fucking idiot.
I try not to chuckle as we miraculously find parking a few blocks away, piling out of my car in one large exodus. I know when he’s craving some pussy, and I know what his eyes look like when he’s about to fuck. A quick glance into the back seat confirmed what I already knew, and now I had to figure out a way to hide my raging hard-on. I frown as I lock the car, and we walk up Park Avenue, turning left until we hit the park.
It’s a little past seven in the morning, and the overachieving runners are out. There are also a few frazzled families out for coffee, toddlers in tow, with the parents looking utterly exhausted. Lennon leads us down 73rd Street, and just as we see Central Park across the street, she turns to the looming building to our left. We follow her onto Fifth Avenue, and several feet away is a green awning. I look at the guys, and Silas just furrows his brows. Lennon seems a bit off kilter–we have Damon to thank for that, I suppose–so I grab her elbow and pull her back just as we reach the awning.
“Shouldn’t we have a plan in place?” I ask, nodding to the building.
She sighs. “He’s not here.”
I narrow my eyes. “How do you know?”
She reaches into her purse and unlocks her phone, showing me a random map with a blue dot in the middle.
“We used to share our locations with each other. He must’ve forgotten to switch it off. He’s somewhere in Brooklyn, probably with that red-headed b–” She composes herself, her spine straight as she clears her throat. “Anyway, he’s not here.”
“What about the doorman?” Silas asks, running a hand through his hair. He looks like he just woke up, sporting bloodshot eyes and rumpled hair.
“Earl will let us in,” she states matter-of-factly. “And if not, I have a key. Please just trust me.”
I haven’t had the courage to look at Damon yet, so I glance back at Lennon. In this area of Manhattan, we look out of place. We’ve already gotten a few dirty looks, and I don’t need anyone to foil our plan before we get inside.
“Then let’s go up,” I suggest. “Get off the street.” I make eye contact with a middle-aged woman in yoga pants. She watches us warily, so I smirk and wink. That causes her to scurry away in fear. I stifle a laugh.
Silas follows her through the revolving doors. Damon claps me on the back, and the motion causes me to jump.
“Like what you saw in the car?” he asks, his lips inches from my ear.
“You’re a dumbass,” I chide, frowning.
“You didn’t answer my question, Vanderbilt.”
“Fuck off, Damon.” I throw his arm off my back, and all I hear is his low, rumbling chuckle in response.
twenty-seven
Lennon
Despite my racing heart, I’m able to get my emotions in check in the three seconds it takes to walk through the shiny gold revolving doors. The distanced familiarity is strange. It’s been over three weeks since I’ve been here, yet it feels like months.Years even.Earl has his feet propped up on the front desk like usual, and when he realizes it’s me, he jumps up and grins. Even now, his benign middle-aged-ness brings me comfort. My father was never really around, but Earl was always someone I could count on when I moved in here.
“Tell me it’s not my favorite occupant and her–” He glances behind me, eyebrows arching when he takes in the guys. “Your friends?” he asks, his voice prim and polite, though I can hear the frenzied question on his tongue.
