Page 62 of Three
“No. I did.”
Ren clears his throat. “Are you a P.I.? An ex-cop? Ex-con?”
“No. No, and no. Wow, do they assist you with your job? Because they got the interrogation part down to a tee.” He winks at me, then turns to Dare. “Does your scarf need to eat?”
Dare blinks a couple of times, I’m sure quite shocked by Ramiel’s sudden interest in his odd squirrel. “No, Fred ate already.”
“Hunter, who is this guy?” Ash’s fork falls loudly on his plate.
“Yeah. He comes here, and you fuck him seven ways to Sunday, and then let him cook?” Ren adds, pushing his light blue, mirrored glasses up his nose. He never takes them off, even around us. And I can’t force him to be okay with it. Not after what happened to him. If he wants to keep hiding behind those glasses, it is fine by me. One day, perhaps he’ll stop.
“You need to put him back in the box,” Ash declares.
“What box?” Ramiel asks with a smirk. He seems to be entertained by the boys instead of annoyed.
“The fuck-off box.” Ash’s lips curl into a wicked smile.
Ramiel’s brow lifts slightly as he continues stuffing his mouth.
“The who-the-fuck-are-you box,” Ren offers.
“The get-the-fuck-out box,” Ash tries again.
And I’ve had enough. “The he-is-fucking-mine box. Now shut it and eat.” My words resound harshly in the room, but the boys go back to their plates after a few seconds.
I turn to Ramiel to see how he reacted to my possessive statement. Both his eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline, and his eyes have that lusty glint in them that makes my cock give a jerk as it tries to fill quickly. I slide a hand under the table to give it a painful squeeze.
Ramiel nods at me and then turns back to his plate, a small smile curving his mouth. He doesn’t look annoyed. Quite the opposite and I have to tighten the grip on my dick to stop it from lengthening even further.
We eat in silence for a while, too busy enjoying Ramiel’s delicious food. Is there a thing he’s not good at? Right, tossing stuff.
Maple is sleeping at my feet, snoring blissfully. Ramiel is right, my dog’s smell is unpleasant, but only because he has hormonal imbalances that cause an overgrowth of yeast and bacteria on the skin. I need to add room deodorant to the grocery list.
The boys are arguing about who knows what. Ramiel is stuffing his face with gusto, moaning around every bite, and I surrender to my hardening cock. The bow of his upper lip is covered in tomato sauce, and all I want to do is lick it off. Suck on it. And then give his mouth something else to feed on.
Damn it to hell, I need to get my head out of the gutter.
As a way to distract myself, I glance around, trying to see what Ramiel is seeing. The living room faces us. There’s a large worn-out couch and black armchair, no pillows, and a rectangular coffee table. No carpets on the old gray tiles or pictures on the wood-paneled walls. A TV is attached to one wall, and there is a very large bookcase filled with the boys’ video games and my books—a hobby I discovered in prison. The floor-to-ceiling windows have white curtains, the same color as the desk on the opposite wall, where my laptop sits.
It’s nothing special, but it’s home. I’m not much into extra stuff. Like to have only the essentials and what the boys need. The cottage has four bedrooms, two entrances, and two baths—one is exclusively mine, and the other is the daily reason for one of the triplets’ fights. Every room is quite large, I’m a big guy, and I need space.
As my eyes keep going around the living room, I realize that it’s less cluttered and messy than usual. We aren’t pigs—apart from Ash—but there’s always a piece of clothing, cans, plates, or video game-related stuff lying around. Ren and Dare keep their rooms neat and tidy—Ren is OCD about it—but they never care for the other rooms.The floor looks clean, and the TV doesn’t have the shit ton of cords hanging off it.
“Did someone clean?”
Ramiel shrugs. “You needed your sleep. Nobody was around, and Serena had no updates regarding our case.”
“You let fucking Cinderella inside our house.” Ash drinks his coke, holding the glass with his pinky up.
“Next, we’ll have a nest of rats behind every wall,” Ren mutters.
“You already have one.” Ramiel points at Fred lightly snoring around Dare’s neck. “And Cinderella was a pushover.”
“You’re slipping, old man,” Ash taunts me.
“I’m in my thirties,” I growl.
“You’re ancient!” Ren coughs in his fist.
