Chapter 17 Well, I’ll Be Damned, Time to Play Their Game and Fucking Win It
Well, I’ll Be Damned, Time to Play
Their Game and Fucking Win It
Hours later, when it was nearing lunchtime, hand in hand, Griffin and I strode into the treehouse, with Bobo on our heels. Hunt, Brady, and Layla were inside and looked up at our entrance.
The voice of a breathy narrator drifted from Layla’s iPhone, filling the space.
“ … stole her breath. His waist-long, ebony hair curved around his face like the velvet curtains of the local theater, framing the striking beauty of his visage. His skin was smooth, pale alabaster, as light and alluring as the face of a full moon, the same one that controlled Rafael. Much as she’d been by Rafael, Hanita was enraptured by Guillaume. Never had …”
“Oh my God, Lay,” Brady griped from where he sat on the floor, surrounded by metal parts, his box of tools, and what appeared to be a small engine he was in the process of building. For what, I didn’t know. It wasn’t large or powerful enough for any of our Mustangs.
“Shut that shit off, already,” he said loudly enough to be heard over the audiobook.
Layla was bent over her sketchbook at the table, mischief dancing across her face. She tucked some hair punctuated with colorful feathers behind her ear, smudging a streak of charcoal along her cheek.
“Don’t even pretend you aren’t loving it, Brade, ’cause I won’t believe you.”
“ … his hair tickled the pert, pink rosebuds of her nipples, striking a chord of ecstasy deep within her sex. She gazed upon his bareness, drinking in the vision, dragging her hungry perusal down his physique until it swept across the engorged shaft of his manhood.”
I chuckled, released Griffin’s hand, and sauntered over to the couch, plopping down beside Hunt, whose face was buried between the covers of a large tome. He appeared engrossed and entirely unbothered by the background noise.
Bobo’s claws clicked across the floor. He jumped onto the couch, claiming the open spot between Hunt and me. Hunt’s hand automatically dropped to Bobo’s back to pet him. Griffin sank into the open space between me and the armrest, leaning his body against me.
The heat of his body and his closeness only fueled our afterglow. I rested my head on his shoulder and waited for the twins to finish. It was often easier and faster that way.
With a long-suffering droop of his eyes and mouth, Brady looked at me and Griffin. “She’s been tormenting us the entire time.”
“… his arousal glistened enticingly along the head of his sex, a bead of moisture she wanted to drown in …”
I laughed. “It doesn’t sound that bad to me.”
“That’s ’cause you just got some. She claims it’s not erotica—”
“It’s not!” Layla interjected. “It’s paranormal fantasy. Sure, it’s spicy, maybe even smutty, you judger. But it’s not erotica. I’d know.”
“I’m sure you would,” Brady muttered with a shake of his head as he tightened a bolt before setting down his wrench.
“Hey,” Layla complained, speaking over the narrator, whose voice was only getting breathier as the scene heated up more. “There’s nothing wrong with reading about sex, you prude.”
Though I agreed, I knew Layla well enough to believe she’d chosen this particular book to torture Brady, just as he claimed. Tormenting him was her catnip.
Brady shook his head some more as he rose, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Don’t be ridiculous. As if I could ever be a prude …
I just don’t wanna have to hear about some wolf shifter going down on Haaaa-ni-taaah.
” He punctuated the female main character’s name not only with the frilly pronunciation, but also with a head wag.
“Guillaume isn’t a wolf shifter,” Layla corrected. “That was Rafael. Guillaume is a vamp. And a superhot one.”
“All the dudes are hot,” Brady complained.
“Well, duh. Of course they are. It’s fantasy. May as well fantasize right.”
“I don’t think fantasy’s supposed to be about actual fantasizing. It’s about imagination. It’s—”
“Shhh,” Layla interjected. “Let me listen. It’s getting to the good parts.”
“It’s pretty much all been ‘good parts.’”
“Shhhh,” Layla hissed, and Brady finally quieted as he sauntered over to us.
“ … she thought, perhaps, she should have been frightened of his fangs. They were long, curved, and wicked like the swords worn by her father’s soldiers.
The nearest candle shone across them, making them gleam while also bathing them in shadows.
Guillaume lowered his mouth to her neck, whisking away her breath.
He bit her in the precise instant his sex glided inside hers.
Her surprise thundered through her body, her climax fast on its heels as she crested.
She screamed so that all in the palace would hear her ecstasy, her cries spiraling down all the way to the dungeons, where Rafael festered, his wolf—”
Abruptly, the narrator’s voice cut off.
Brady was holding Layla’s phone. She lunged for it, but he was half a foot taller and held it easily out of reach.
“Give. It. Back,” she growled.
“I will once you calm the fuck down. Don’t you think we’ve got better things to do than listen to your smutty books?”
“Of course we do. That’s exactly why I was trying to distract myself.”
Griffin cut in urgently.
Layla said in a panicked whine.
She jumped for the phone. Brady whisked it away.
They’d been playing this particular game for as long as I could remember. Those memories had to be real.
I asked.
Hunt set down his book on the table, giving me my first good view of the cover: An Argument for the Purposeful and Controlled Modification of the Human Genome in the Twenty-First Century.
Noticing my attention, he said,
Layla sank into the L of the couch, chortling, her phone and argument with Brady forgotten.
Hunt shrugged.
I said.
With both hands now free, he scratched behind each of Bobo’s ears. My dog’s eyes closed. His smile stretched the width of his face.
My afterglow ebbed a little, much of the tension Griffin had so effectively erased returning in a rush of nerves.
Even before they replied, I knew their answers. Their eyes went hard and unforgiving. Their mouths set in furious, determined lines.
Layla bit out.
I’d been thinking about it while Griffin, Bobo, and I walked over here.
I hadn’t allowed myself to dwell on the fear of our failure, what it might entail or what all it might mean, but there it was anyway.
I continued,
Brady said.
I pressed.
Hunt glanced over me to Griffin.
Beyond Bobo’s happy rumbles, my friends were silent.
Still, they didn’t reply.
Hunt nodded thoughtfully.
Brady said as he deposited Layla’s phone on the table by her now abandoned sketchbook and sat next to her on the couch, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.
Layla said. She shuddered for effect.
Brady said,
I swooped in,
Layla winced in distaste.
I glanced at the guys.
Layla said, her usual playfulness absent. She looked at Griffin and me, the way his hand linked with mine and rested on my thigh.
Griffin inserted.
she dismissed with a wave.
Brady interlaced both hands behind his head.
said Hunt while Bobo spun in the tight space between him and me and finally settled on his back, his belly up for rubs.
Hunt laughed softly and indulged the silent request.
Griffin told Hunt and Brady.
I already had my mouth open to say something else when Layla continued.
Brady scowled.
Layla pointed out.
Layla said.
I said.
Hunt admitted on a despondent sigh that caused Bobo to jerk his head to the side to look at him.
Hunt rewarded his concern with more belly rubs.