Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 187754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 939(@200wpm)___ 751(@250wpm)___ 626(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 187754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 939(@200wpm)___ 751(@250wpm)___ 626(@300wpm)
I’m thrust inside a store that reminds me of a REI, only a fraction of the size, dim lighting, and the overbearing smell of weed.
“Welcome to Ran—” Coughing interrupts the greeting, and my gaze follows the sound to the counter where an Asian kid around eighteen years old is pounding his chest while smoke expels from his mouth with each cough. He’s wearing a black polo with the store’s logo on the front and a beanie pulled low over his head. “Dall’s,” he finishes. “Call me J.R.” Another cough follows. “Randall is my father.”
“Hi, J.R.!”
My mountain men shoot me dirty looks, and I realize a second later that I’ve already broken the first rule.
But you know what’s even weirder than the mask?
Not speaking when spoken to.
Being a bitch will draw even more attention than the mask and have me sticking to people’s memories like glue.
Thorin tugs on my wrist, leading me through all the racks of clothing, ski equipment, and camping gear to the back wall where the shoes are. In front of the mirror dividing the wall of shoes are two plaid ottomans that have seen better days.
“Sit.”
I take a seat and look around. “What are we doing here?”
“You need new boots. Something better for the terrain. I’m tired of watching you split your feet open with those pitiful excuse for boots you’re wearing.”
“I’ll have you know these are Dior.”
“Well, then you should have left them at the D-oor.”
“Oh my God.” I snort and slap my hands over the mask where my mouth would be. Thorin pauses his perusal of the hiking boots to look back at me quizzically, and I drop my hands to tease him. “Did Thorin Thayer, full-time grump, and part-time asshole, make a joke?”
He rolls his eyes and turns back to the boots with a ghost of a smile. “I joke.”
“You do not.”
Khalil sits on the second ottoman and tugs my right foot into his lap. I try not to gape as he works the laces free and tugs off my boot.
“What size shoe do you wear, songbird?”
“Seven,” Khalil and I say at the same time.
“And how do you know that?” Khalil just gives me a look like it’s a dumb question and removes my other boot. “Oh, God,” I say, coming to my own conclusion. “Don’t tell me you have a foot fetish, too. I honestly don’t think I can handle another kink between you three.”
“Seth doesn’t have any kinks.”
That’s Khalil’s response.
“He told me he wants to put his hand inside of me. His hand. As in all five fingers and his palm too. How is that not a kink?”
“You can handle it,” Khalil says with absolute certainty.
“I cannot and will not.”
Khalil hums noncommittally, but I still hear the unspoken “we’ll see” underneath it. Thorin finally chooses a boot for me to try, handing it to Khalil before he walks off. I peer over my shoulder to watch him prowl over to the counter where Seth is leaning and speaking low with J.R.
“Take a picture. It will last longer,” Khalil teases.
I snap my head back toward Khalil, who is slipping the hiking boot onto my right foot. “Huh?”
Khalil finishes tying the lace and taps my leg. “Wipe that drool from your lip, and tell me how that feels.”
Like a cloud, I think as I stand and pace the short aisle between the wall of shoes and the seating area. “Like a boot.”
Khalil peers up at me, caressing his bottom lip with his forefinger as he studies me, and I fall into a trance watching that finger sweep his lip.
Have I mentioned how fucking sexy Khalil Poverly is?
If we’d met in high school or college, I never would have stood a chance with him. I was rather lame before my uncle pulled me out of school. I had no swag or confidence and only textbooks for friends. Girls like me were never noticed by boys like him.
“You really can’t help but be a bitch, can you?”
I surprise us both when I drape my arms on his shoulders and straddle his lap with a coy smile. Khalil’s muscular thighs under my ass is better than any cushioned ottoman. “Not really, no.”
I rub his shoulders in apology, and Khalil tilts his head to kiss my neck. My lashes flutter when his kisses grow more heated until he’s sucking and biting on my neck too. It makes me wet, thinking of him leaving his mark like he owns me. It makes me insatiable, knowing he does.
Before long, I’m swirling my hips and grinding on his growing erection and wishing we were alone because I really want his dick in my mouth right now.
The spell is broken too soon, though, when Khalil lifts his head suddenly. I can feel the abused skin of the spot he was marking throbbing when he mumbles, “Shit.”