Page 57 of Boy of Ruin
“Yeah?” he checks again, holding my gaze as we idle.
“Yes,” I whisper. He moves my hand up higher, and I feel his cock, hard and big beneath my fingers.
My breath catches as he glides my hand up and down the long length of him.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
It’s not that I didn’t think Jeremiah had a big dick. I’ve felt it against me many times before, and in the club. It’s just now, with my fingers curled around him, and barely at that…
“You like this?” he asks, arching a brow as I hold his gaze. The traffic still isn’t moving, and the warm air is stagnant through the cracked windows.
I’m sweaty and gross, feeling like I might combust in my black shirt, black jeans, combat boots. But the way Jeremiah is looking at me right now, like he wants to fucking eat me alive, I feel anything but gross.
“I think I—”
He bites his tongue, his mouth open, something in his expression making me falter. “You think, baby?” He keeps gliding my hand up and down his erection, and I suddenly hate that we’re in this car. I hate that we have seatbelts on, and we’re stuck in traffic and— “Or you know?”
My chest is heaving, and he doesn’t have to guide my hand anymore. It’s moving all on its own, up and down him, and I want to unbuckle his belt, undo his pants, and I want to lean across the console and put my mouth on him. This man that loves me and cares for me in the most wicked ways.
But then I see him.
Demon blue eyes. His pale face, sharp jaw. Curly black hair. I see his hands on my throat, feel his breath on my mouth.
“Hate me, love me, fuck me, run from me. I don’t care. You’re stuck with me.”
My husband.
I yank my hand back from Jeremiah, stare at the scar on my palm, the X. Coagula.
I feel Jeremiah’s eyes boring into the side of my head as I try to think. To catch my breath.
To remind myself I left him. It doesn’t matter. I had to go. I can’t stay. We can never work unless he does the one thing he won’t ever do. Leave them.
Fear crawls down my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck lifting as it does.
No.
He’s my husband by law, we’re bound by this scar, but I can’t go back to him. Not now. Not ever.
I thought this would be temporary, but I know he can’t leave them. He can’t break away from the 6. And they would’ve killed me. They would’ve killed me, or made him do it.
This is…beyond me.
It is beyond this world.
I can’t. I shouldn’t feel guilty, because I. Can’t.
Especially if I keep this child.
The car lurches forward, the engine revving and I drop my hand to my lap, looking over at Jeremiah. His jaw is clenched as we pass the wreck, a muscle ticking and feathering down into his neck.
He shifts gears, following behind the Honda.
I glance at the wreckage. There are no bodies visible, but there’s shattered glass and warped aluminum from the vehicles strewn across the lane that’s blocked off.
