30. Knox
30
KNOX
I dream of being crushed between thick thighs and suffocating.
But rather than alarmed or scared, I feel like a fucking Viking. This has to be what it feels like to be on my way to Valhalla as my lungs shrivel up and I’m drenched in the nectar of a goddess. Fuck, death is slow but exquisite like this. I’m going to share the story of this glorious moment with every fucking warrior I meet—after I tell the tale to every god who will listen to me.
Just when I think I’m about to see the doors of the marvelous world in the Great Beyond, I’m pulled back. Any other time I’d be pissed as fuck as I’m dragged toward consciousness. I’ve never been a morning person. But as I’m drawn closer to reality, I’m quick to realize something: waking up with a tongue up my ass is an amazing way to start the day. Having a fist wrapped around my cock while my ass gets eaten? Even better.
My morning wood is stroked with an unhurried but firm grip. Oh man, this is so fucking good. The sound that escapes past my lips sits somewhere between an aggravated whine and a pleasurable groan. I crack my eyelids open to find Sagan between my legs, or, rather, under them. Both my legs are thrown over his shoulders as he devours my ass. I hadn’t even felt him join me in bed, let alone touch me.
Thank goodness I hadn’t felt his hands as he moved my legs. They aren’t a designated safe zone.
The dark hair that covers half his face parts just enough that I catch the wicked gleam in his eyes. He’s feeling feisty this morning.
I love a feisty Sagan Hunt.
My hips come up off the mattress as I thrust my hard cock upward, needing more than the lazy way in which Sagan strokes me. His tongue rims me before plunging deep into my ass. My groaning grows louder. The sound earns me a few faster pumps.
“Fuck, Sagan, yes ,” I gasp out.
Even as I enjoy the way he works me up, internally I feel a pang of guilt.
I’m turned on because of the dream I had. Of a young woman who barely speaks, can’t meet my eyes ninety percent of the time, and… and whose moans are as seductive as that of a siren’s song. I can hear her muffled sounds of pleasure on repeat if I close my eyes tight enough and focus.
I can almost smell her alluring musk this way too. I’m no stranger to a woman’s pussy. No more than I am to a guy’s dick. I’ve had my fair share of both, and I’ve enjoyed them. But Beatrix? Between her legs I felt like a pirate who found hidden treasure, a prince who was just crowned king, hell… I’m pretty sure, as Beatrix rode my face, I almost grew wings. Just thinking about her now makes me harder than ever.
Which leaves me feeling strangely conflicted.
I don’t like having to share the Hunt twins with her. I’ve let Beatrix believe I can’t trust her, but privately I can admit to myself that it is jealousy that makes me feel the need to remind her that I can crush her at a moment’s notice. I’m a dick, so sue me. Yet seeing her between the guys last night? Jealousy was far from what I was feeling. My cock had grown so hard, so fast, I feared it would crack.
Between images of Beatrix Starr trapped, whimpering and crying between the twins, and Sagan’s mouth, my release creeps forward.
Sagan pulls his mouth away from my back door only so that he can deepthroat my cock. The strangled moan from my lips is loud. When he swallows, his throat squeezes around my dick so tight I groan at the exquisite sensation. I cry out then gasp.
“Sagan, I’m not going to last. Fuck,” I hiss as I wiggle around while the heat in my body mounts.
One of his hands comes up and massages my balls, the other sliding between my asscheeks to probe at my saliva-covered asshole. His finger slips in, not easily, but the friction there sends me over the edge.
“FUCK,” I shout as I find my release.
Sagan pulls back, not one who’s into swallowing. My cum lands on my stomach and coats Sagan’s hand while he fists and pumps my twitching cock. With his other hand, he scoops up the mess and covers his own erection.
“Turn over, face in the pillow, ass up,” he orders when I’m spent.
My body complies immediately while mentally I continue to reel from my orgasm. I roll onto my stomach, pull my knees beneath my body, and lift my hips. Sagan’s fingers dig into me as he jerks my hips back toward him. He’s not gentle as he works his thick cock into my ass with steady determination. The pain is magnificent but it always is when it comes to Sagan. There’s no preamble or sweet kisses from this twin. Hell, just getting him to use lube of any kind is a feat. But I love it. I love how Sagan pushes me to my limits and then some. Is this how Beatrix felt when the twins impaled her last night? I’m sure it was close. Watching her squirm and cry, stuck somewhere between agony and ecstasy, was so fucking hot.
My dick doesn’t soften as I close my eyes and replay the emotions that had flickered across Beatrix’s face.
In fact, my balls tingle with warning. What’s this? Another orgasm? Impossible. It usually takes me a few minutes to get back to that special spot where I can cum again. But judging by the way my balls tense up and my cock throbs, that may not be the case this morning.
Sagan bottoms out inside me and I choke at the fullness.
“Come on, Pretty Boy, let me hear you scream,” Sagan snarls.
Shit, I know what that means. I stiffen, ready to sit up, but suddenly Sagan’s palms land on my back. The world goes black as agony wipes away my sanity. The image of Beatrix behind my closed eyelids vanishes as my painful past comes surging forward, obliterating away all enjoyment from this moment.
My scream is loud and is chased by Sagan’s dark laughter as he begins a harsh, unrelenting fucking of my ass. His hands slide down my sides and then back up my spine. I hate it. I hate every fucking inch of where his hands are. His palms are burning me, shearing through my flesh like a hot iron. My screaming grows louder, and I start to pull away—unable to deal with the pain any longer or the memories that surge forward. Sagan doesn’t allow me to escape. A hand wraps around the back of my neck as the other stokes down my side. I’m drowning. I can’t breathe. This isn’t like in my dream. The lack of oxygen now is terrifying. I’m going die. I can’t do this.
I don’t realize I’m still screaming until a sharp pain from a smack on the ass causes me to drag in a deep breath. As I suck in air, Sagan grabs both my hips, pulls me back against him, and then cums hard. I can feel his cock twitch as he fills me up.
My heady groan of relief is weak sounding and muffled further by my pillow.
When Sagan pulls out of me, I collapse onto the new mattress I’d forced him to buy me yesterday on his lunch break.
“Get up, you can’t sleep in anymore. You have a job now,” he orders. I can feel the dip of the mattress as he moves to climb out of bed.
I groan before I turn my head to watch the Hunt twin saunter over to my bedroom door. “Get up? What time is it?”
Sagan’s dressed, not having bothered to remove his clothes before climbing into bed and fucking me. Asshole. He’s wearing black slacks that are tailored to his body perfectly, thanks to yours truly demanding he have something nice in his wardrobe, and a black crew knit sweater that emphasizes his strong shoulders.
Usually I hate the color black, but Sagan wears it well.
My mind turns to the black romper Beatrix wore the day we came to commandeer her life and everything in it. I have to admit, black looks good on her as well.
“Seven. The others are already down at the funeral home working. We need to start leaving at the same time?—”
My knife, having been tucked under my pillow, slams into the doorframe beside Sagan’s head as he makes it to the door.
“Don’t ever walk through that fucking door and wake me up before ten ever again,” I snarl as I sit up and glare at the back of his head.
Sagan doesn’t even flinch. He glances at the knife as he keeps walking, not bothering to shut the door behind him.
“Get up, Knox.”
“I’m going to kill you for waking me up this early.”
He snickers as he descends down the stairs. “You have five minutes to get into the shower. If you’re not downstairs in twenty minutes, I’ll come back up and touch you.”
For a second, I think about mutiny. About getting up, yanking my knife out of the doorframe, and chasing down Sagan. He’s lucky my bed is way too comfortable. I flop down onto my back with a heavy sigh and savor the few minutes I have left before I have to get up and work.
I hate working.
I was kind of hoping that the twins would just do most of the work once we took over. Was it too much to ask to just be the pretty mascot for Bright Starr Funeral Home? Apparently so, because Thatcher and Sagan decided to actually give me duties around here.
Thatcher makes me vacuum and mop the entire building, take inventory of supplies, and then dust the caskets. Sagan has me clean out the supply closet then help build several wired shelves to go into the small storage space. By the time I get a break around noon, it’s spent hunting down Beatrix and dragging her into the office where Thatcher has bunkered down to analyze the workload for the week so that she can see that I’m not only pretty, but smart too.
“Here, this is what I plan to do to this place.” I drop the laptop into Beatrix’s lap once she’s situated herself on the old, worn leather couch.
She spares me a glance through thick, long lashes. Because I’m looking at her, I notice the blossoming of pink beneath her warm brown cheeks. I frown just as she jerks her gaze away to stare down at the screen. Her shoulders hunch forward as she attempts to make herself smaller, then she flicks both of her braids over her shoulders.
What the hell is all this fidgeting about? And the blushing? What in the world— Oh . She’s thinking about last night. About what transpired between us. My cock stirs at the same time I scowl at her.
“Hey, cut that shit out,” I tell her, perhaps a little more sharply than I should’ve judging by the hard flinch that causes Beatrix to recoil away from me. Her head snaps up and her large brown eyes widen with alarm.
“What did I do?” Her question is a little breathless and the words are twinged with nervousness.
“I mean it, Starr Girl. Last night was some good old-fashion pussy eating among friends.” I work to keep my voice light and teasing despite how much I want to snap at her.
Of course she would turn last night into a thing. Beatrix Starr seems to be the epitome of a wallflower, shy and reserved. I wonder if anyone’s ever eaten her out before last night or if I was her first. I guess it doesn’t matter. Clearly she’s conjuring up some fairytale romance in her head about the entire thing. Why else would she be blushing?
And so the fuck what if my dick is semi-hard as it recalls being between her thighs? That has nothing to do with anything.
With a smirk that I know doesn’t reach my eyes, I add, “ Don’t make it weird.”
Beatrix’s face pinkens again before her head ducks and her eyes return to the laptop’s screen. “Sorry.”
I’m about to turn my attention back to the design and the materials I plan to use to turn Bright Starr Funeral Home into a business worth being proud of when an ugly thought slithers through my head.
What if she’s not making up a romantic story of what transpired? What if she’s ashamed of what happened? I look down at the long, bright pink maxi skirt I’ve chosen to wear with the navy blue sweater with blue fuzzy cuffs. The cluster of gold bracelets I wear daily now dangle at my wrists, quiet due to the lack of movement. Does Starr Girl see me and try to wrap her head around the fact that I’m not the typical man you’d find between a woman’s legs?
A bitterness wells up swiftly. Sure, this could be my insecurities from a lifetime ago welling up. But there’s a very good chance, given that she grew up in a town eerily similar to mine, that she’s not attracted to me at all. That my unusual nature is too out of the realm of what’s normal for her to understand or find it endearing about me.
Fucking bitch.
Stifling the urge to lash out, too aware of Thatcher in the room with us, I force myself to focus on the task at hand.
“Thatcher wanted me to show you the changes I’m planning to make, so here. Tell me what you think,” I push her fingers out of the way of the mouse and click a few different screens. Leaning closer, I sneer into her ear, “Not that I fucking care what you want from this.”
Beatrix doesn’t look up from the screen, but she gives me a tight nod.
Starr Girl studies every inch of the plans I’ve drawn up on a fun CAD program I’ve been playing with for months. When she’s done, she checks out all the digital shopping carts I’ve filled with the materials I’ll need to see my plans come to fruition. She scrolls, analyzing each and every item—reading their descriptions and checking reviews. I try to contain my growing frustration. It’s not like I need her approval or anything in the first place. My finger is going to hit ‘checkout’ here in just a second when I snatch the laptop back. Still… My attention jumps back and forth between the computer screen and Beatrix as I wait for something —anything— from her. She’s been silent for so long that, finally, my irritation boils up and explodes.
“ Well? ” I snap.
Starr Girl jumps in her seat, her head jerking up so that our eyes meet. “Well, what?”
“Do you like the design concept?” I demand, my voice sharp.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was allowed to—” Beatrix stops herself. She shakes her head, dispelling whatever notion she’d believed, and lowers her shoulders. “Yeah, I do. A lot.”
Her eyes drop back to the screen.
She’s lying. Why else would she keep quiet? My body tenses and I take a deep breath, ready to tell her that I’m the one with the eye for design, that I spent hours researching different upscale funeral homes and their designs. She’s just a fucking bumbling nobody with?—
“The colors and textures are amazing, Knox,” she says after a beat. Her head comes back up to give me a tentative but sweet smile. Her eyes glitter with excitement and delight. “It’s so beautiful I could cry. Can you really do this?”
Oh. I blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the swift shift in my emotion as pride swells up in my chest. I didn’t realize I was actively seeking her approval until now. I relax back against the couch cushions.
“I’m not an idiot , Starr Girl. If I didn’t think it was possible, I wouldn’t have suggested it,” I clap back sharply.
Thatcher clears his throat. It’s a subtle reminder to behave. Inwardly, I heave an exasperated sigh.
Right. She’s supposed to be my friend. Friends don’t talk to each other like this. In any case, she just complimented my work, didn’t she? Who doesn’t like to have their work appreciated? I shoot Thatcher a look that he doesn’t see, then turn my attention back to Beatrix who’s purposely avoiding looking in my direction at all. I frown. She’d was just staring at me with stars in her eyes. Now, I’ve frightened her enough for her to want to avoid me. A fleeting moment of guilt causes my stomach to twist.
It’s there and gone a moment later.
Psh , fuck it. Why do I care if I’ve hurt her feelings? I don’t. The fact that I even feel guilty is stupid. That would mean I valued her opinion and feelings in the first place. And I don’t. Really… I don’t . But I guess if we’re supposed to be best friends, I have to pretend to care.
“Yes,” I say, trying again through gritted teeth. “All this should be relatively easy, and given that this is the smallest funeral home I’ve seen, it shouldn’t take me long at all to pull it off.”
Thatcher chuckles from behind the desk, “You mean Sagan can pull it off.”
I flip him the bird without turning to face him, too busy watching Starr Girl’s crestfallen expression deepen a little more.
“It's just…” she starts slowly, stopping to cringe as if she regrets speaking up.
My stomach drops. There’s a but ? How fucking dare she question my work? As if she knows anything about anything . Fucking bitch.
“You just what ?” I sneer, ready to knock her off the high horse she must’ve climbed up on recently. “Come on, speak up. I want to hear what you think, Starr Girl. Since you’re so knowledgeable about design and have kept up with it here, let’s hear your bright ideas.”
From the corner of my eye, I notice Thatcher’s head jerk upright. I can feel his glare from here, but I ignore him. He won’t step between us, that’s not how this works. If Starr Girl doesn’t like how I’m talking to her, she’ll have to learn to stand on her own two feet. But first things first, I want this pathetic, whimpering bitch to try to best me in something I excel at.
“I, ah,” she hesitates for a second as she stares at the screen. After a second, she licks her bottom lip, sets her shoulders, and briefly meets my hard gaze. “The tile you have won’t work in the preparation room. Would you consider…” She clears her throat and pushes on. “Do you mind if we keep the linoleum in there? It’s easier to clean and having a smooth surface is ideal given what I do in that room. There’s an option to have this tile you’ve chosen come as a roll of linoleum. I really like the color you choose, so if you want a cohesive look, maybe you could consider using that instead?”
The heat seeps out of me again. Chagrin is like a humid breeze passing by. To give myself a second, I take a deep breath and kick my feet up on the coffee table, pretending to think it over while I scold myself for jumping the gun again. What is wrong with me? Why am I getting so defensive?
“If what’s in that room works, there’s no need to waste the money to change it. Especially since no one is going to see it,” I say after a minute, making sure there’s no more bite to my tone. “I’m glad you like the design.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Knox. Bright Starr is going to look amazing,” she says, beaming at me.
An unexpected shudder whips through me following her declaration. It’s not often that I get praised for anything, especially from anyone other than Thatcher or Sagan. I can see the truth of her words shining in her eyes and it’s hard to miss the warmth in her voice. How did I miss it before?
I look back down at the screen, away from her smile, and wonder why my chest is constricting so tightly. I blame Sagan for my crazy mood swings today. From waking me up early, to touching me, and then forcing me to work? Of course I’ll be moody.
It certainly has nothing to do with being fond of the woman who’s been forced into my life.
After lunch, Sagan has me following him outside into the cold dreary day to help clean out the rickety shed. I sulk after him. After letting Starr Girl get back to work, I’ve been feeling even moodier than ever. From waking up from a weird sex dream about a girl I couldn’t give one fuck about, resenting that same woman when I thought she was about to tear my hard work to pieces only to turn around to bask in her praise seconds later, to feeling a tiny bit bad about barking at her—despite her deserving it—I’m feeling all sorts of out of whack. My mood keeps changing, swinging like a pendulum from one extreme to another.
“Is this really necessary?” I complain as we walk around the unsteady structure.
“We need the space for the new stuff I’ll need come spring,” Sagan grumbles. “So yes, Knox, it’s necessary.”
Of course it is. Sagan doesn’t waste his time, energy, or breath on anything that isn’t. Still, what does this have to do with me? I should be inside the warm cozy building learning how to be a good hostess.
Not that I need Starr Girl’s training on that. How hard can it be to serve good food, set up beautiful decor, and play music that will rip out the hearts of our visitors? I don’t need Starr Girl to figure all that out. If Thatcher wasn’t insisting on having her show me the ropes, I would’ve told Beatrix to fuck off so that I can figure it out on my own.
“If you needed a hand to move something, you could’ve asked Thatcher. Not only is he probably—” most definitely “—stronger than me, but I just re-painted my nails before we came down this morning. I’ll chip them.”
I glance at my hand to study the maroon. It’s a nice shade, but for a serial killer, I see this color a lot. I should’ve gone with a fun neon green.
Sagan says nothing to this. He just stomps into the shed and gets to work. I huff as I follow him. I stop before I even get all the way inside. The cobwebs that hang from practically every object in this shack are excessive, like we’re in a Halloween party store or something. The stench in here is awful too. This must be a place where wildlife comes to die. The creatures that aren’t dead scurry beneath Sagan’s booted feet and into the darker corners of the shed.
“We need rat traps ASAP ,” I grumble.
“You could run to the store and get me a few now if you want to do that rather than help me here,” Sagan offers.
I make a face. “Naw, make Starr Girl do it.”
Sagan doesn’t say anything to this as he stomps around. He rounds the ancient looking riding mower that takes up most of the room and kicks a few boxes and broken buckets out of his way and makes it to the far wall.
“We’ll start here first,” he says as he reaches up and grabs an old pitchfork that is missing two prongs. “Grab anything that can be removed and toss it into the pile. We’re going to replace everything.”
“You want me to do what ?” I ask, grimacing.
The Hunt twin continues to work, not bothering to repeat himself. Standing there, I watch as he tosses old tools that hang from the wall into the middle of the shed.
“This thing is going to collapse any minute,” I complain. “We should just kick it down, because that’s probably all it will take to knock this place over, and then set it on fire. We’ll blow away the ashes and put a new shed here.”
“ Knox, ” Sagan growls.
My sigh turns into a cloud of mist that floats up in front of my face. Fuck, it’s cold out here. I can’t wait until spring comes. I zip up my winter jacket, the one I don’t use for killing, and pout.
“I don’t remember the last time I got a tetanus shot,” I protest. “How about I supervise? I’m really good at that.”
“Do you want to talk about what’s wrong, or do you want to shut up and help me?” Sagan asks, looking over his shoulder at me.
My body goes utterly still under his cold, speculative gaze that he pins me with through his dark bangs. Fuck. Of course Sagan will call me out on my bullshit. There’s no hiding anything from the twins, but especially not Sagan. And now that he’s said something, I have a feeling he brought me out here just to ask me this very question.
But how can I tell him that Starr Girl is getting under my skin when she’s not even doing anything to deliberately bother me? He’ll analyze the situation too much, which, in turn, will make me do the same thing. I don’t want to look too closely at this.
I don’t realize I’m toying with the pearl necklace she gave me until my hand falls away from it. Whether she meant this to be a bribe to get onto my good side or as a gesture of good will, I don’t really care. It’s the prettiest piece of jewelry I own. That’s not saying much since I don’t own much more than a few gold bracelets that are currently dangling from both of my wrists and the pair of diamond stud earrings that sit upstairs in my bedroom.
Thoughtfully, I bite the inside of my cheek. I could lie and say nothing’s wrong. Doing that would only get me punished though, and I’m not mentally prepared to handle that . Not coming forth with my feelings might get me punished too though.
But Sagan is offering me an out. At least for now. I can speak up or work. I decide on the latter.
With a long, loud, exasperated sigh, I force myself to take a step into the shed. “Alright, alright, don’t get your panties in a wad. I’ll help.”