29. Blaise

Ismirk as I peer out the windshield at the house at the end of the dark street. The lights are out, but Jackson’s car is in the driveway.

“I don’t like this,” Ronnie says, getting on my last nerve. The guy is always nervous and goes to great lengths to avoid conflict.

I, on the other hand, like to instigate chaos. Admittedly, my methods are usually more subtle, but now I’m pissed and want to make a point.

“Relax,” I reply, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s just a friendly talk.”

Tiago snorts a laugh, and Ronnie looks unconvinced. I flash them my widest smile before exiting the vehicle and opening the trunk. The car doors open and shut, and Ronnie makes a strangled noise in his throat as they join me. “I thought you said a ‘friendly talk.’”

I hold out the baseball bat for him, and he looks at it like it’s an alien lifeform. He makes no move to take it, so I hand it to Tiago instead. “Like I said…” I reach in for the two other bats and the masks, then shut the trunk. “It’s just a friendly talk.”

Ronnie reluctantly accepts the bat, and I toss him the Scream mask. He barely manages to catch it mid-air. I hold the other one out for Tiago. “Ready to teach Jackson a lesson?”

“Nací preparado,” Tiago says and practices a swing with the bat like he’s playing golf. “That’s Spanish for ‘I was born ready.’

Chuckling, I slip my mask from my back pocket and slide it over my head. Jackson lives on a dark street with only one lamppost. The dim orange glow doesn’t reach this far, but I still pull my hood up to hide my hair. Better safe than sorry.

“C’mon,” I say, setting off down the road with the bat resting on my shoulder. I’ve got to admit that I feel like a badass vigilante with my choice of weapon and mask. The thought makes me snigger.

Tiago is right behind me, and Ronnie jogs to catch up with us.

“What if his parents are home?”

“They’re not.”

“How do you know?”

I roll my eyes behind the mask. “We didn’t come here blindly, Ronnie. I did some research first.”

“Fuck, Ron,” Tiago says, “it’s been ages since we spent quality time with our boy here.” He wraps his arm around my neck and chokes me. “He didn’t fucking tell us he is loved up. We thought he’d abandoned us for Cole’s friends.” When he releases me, I try to grab him. He dances out of the way and speeds ahead before turning around and walking backward. “Let’s have fun tonight.”

“Parties are fun. Holidays abroad are fun. Those sweets where some taste of candy and some are weird flavors, like sick and snot—that’s fun. I doubt the definition of the word fun covers threatening people with baseball bats.”

“Actually,” I reply, pointing my bat at him, “that’s the definition of fun to some.”

“Break some bones, crack some skulls,” Tiago says, and Ronnie slows to a stop.

“We’re not hurting him, right? Please tell me we’re not. My mom will kill me if she finds out about this.”

Draping my arm around his shoulder, I jostle him. “Relax. You’re overthinking it. No one is dying tonight.”

Ronnie grumbles under his breath as we near the house. I lift a finger to my lips. The lights are out, except for a lamp in the upstairs bedroom window. Jackson is home alone. His parents are away overnight at a charity event to raise money for some obscure cause.

Our shoes disturb the glistening dew on the damp grass as we cross the front lawn. Tiago raises the flag on the mailbox, making me snigger. Jackson’s brand-new black Jeep Wrangler sits in the drive, which is his pride and joy and a total showpiece.

I raise the bat and bring it down full force on the shiny hood, leaving behind a large dent. “Oops,” I chuckle before smashing the headlights. It’s a lot of fun to go psycho and a great way to dispel all that anger. My therapist—if I had one—would approve. Tiago laughs, then joins in with the chaos. Glass explodes everywhere as he slams the bat into the passenger windows. He rounds the vehicle to take out the taillights, the shattered glass crunching beneath his boots.

“What the fuck?” Jackson blurts as he exits the house. Moths flap their wings against the porch light at his back while he gapes at us like he can’t believe what he sees. “You… I… My car.”

The others snigger behind their masks. I slide mine up to smile at him, and his eyes widen. “I don’t take well to threats, Jackson.” As I step closer, he stumbles away from the door. I always knew he was all bark and no bite. Guys like Jackson are cowards with mommy issues beneath the cocky attitude. “What did you plan on doing at the party? Beat me up? Break a bone or two so that I can’t play football? Send a message to Cole?” My teeth grind together. I hate the thought of someone hurting Cole. But one thing that enrages me even more is the thought of someone using me against him.

Jackson’s throat jumps, his eyes falling to the bat in my hand. “Blaise, man…let’s talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” I ask. “How you and your friends targeted me at the party?”

Nervous laughter bubbles up from his chest. “It was just a bit of fun.”

I hum as I drag the bat through the shattered glass on the ground. Jackson’s fear is palpable in the air, like a sweet aroma I can’t help but breathe in—a crackling fire on a summer’s evening, popcorn at the movies. “I’m all for fun, too, as you can see.”

Jackson skates his gaze to his car behind me, and I jerk forward with a “Boo.”

He falls onto his ass, like the scaredy cat he is, then jumps to his feet and runs to the edge of the porch, where he leaps over the railing like Spiderman.

I fucking love a good chase.

Cracking my neck, I let out a loud holler before setting off after him. Leaping over the railing, I land with a hard thud and laugh with glee. When was the last time I felt this thrilled, well, except for when I was balls deep in Cole? I force the memory aside. Now isn’t the time to remember how he felt, smelled, or how he groaned when I pounded him.

Tiago and Ronnie are hot on my heels. We run down the side of the property and catch sight of Jackson escaping into the forest at the edge of the yard.

If he thinks I’ll let him get away, he’s got another thing coming. While the plan was never to hurt him, I’m tempted to break his skull.

Sprinting across the lawn, we enter the forest, slapping branches out of the way. We catch up to him as he climbs up a tree, like that will keep him safe.

We pace around the trunk like a pack of starved lions. Tiago turns back, leaving me with Ronnie. I jerk my chin at him. “Go get him.”

Ronnie gawks at me behind his mask before glancing up at the tree. “I can’t climb up there.”

“Why not? Jackson did it.”

“What if he kicks me, and I fall?”

“You won’t fall.”

“The likelihood is that I will,” he argues. “It’s not so easy to ‘retrieve’”—he makes quotation marks—“a six-foot football player from a tree. He’s not a baby kitten.”

Snorting, I direct my attention to the fucker quivering on a thick branch near the top of the tree. “Maybe that should be your nickname moving forward? What do you say, kitten?”

“Baby kitten,” Ronnie corrects, and I wave him off.

“Kitten. Baby kitten. Whatever. Why don’t you come down and play with us?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re sick in the head?” Jackson spits.

I screw my eyes into slits before ramming my foot into the trunk and whacking my baseball bat against it as though I’m Superman. Of course, nothing happens, but I’m sure Jackson nearly pisses himself. “Don’t make me come and get you, baby kitten.”

“Fuck you!”

“You already tried that, remember? I wasn’t interested then, and I’m certainly not interested now.”

“I’ll make you regret this,” he snarls.

“Oh?” I laugh. It starts out softly before gaining strength, like an incoming wave. I have to brace my hand on my trunk because I’m laughing so hard. “Are you threatening me, kitten?”

“You’re dead. So fucking dead!”

“You’re pretty ballsy for a guy who’s stuck up a tree. Want me to phone the fire brigade for you? I hear they rescue cats. We can get a man in uniform to help you down.”

Ronnie makes a strangled noise beside me, turns to face Tiago, and asks, “Where did you find those?”

Tiago sets a heavy plastic container on the leafy ground and holds up the saw in his hand. “I found it in their basement,” he says.

“It’ll take you hours to fell the tree with that,” says Ronnie, gawking. I roll my eyes and reach for the saw. Sometimes, he really is a fucking bore.

“Ready to come down yet?” I ask Jackson and rest the serrated blade against the trunk. “Or do we have to help you down?”

“Fuck off,” he snarls, his lips thinning over his teeth.

“Have it your way,” I reply, applying pressure to the saw. The blade cuts through the bark, and my dark smile grows until my cheeks hurt. I bet he’s trembling like the leaves surrounding him. “Scared yet, kitten?”

He curses, and I toss the saw to the ground, my muscles burning from the exertion of sawing through such a thick trunk. Ronnie was right—we would be here all night. I reach for the container and uncap the lid. Jackson shifts on the branch while I douse the trunk in gasoline. The pungent stench pricks my nose, reminding me of late afternoon trips with my dad to the garage when he needed his tires replaced. The lanky man behind the counter, with scraggly hair and yellowed teeth, used to wink at me while wiping his oil-stained hands on a dirty rag he pulled from his back pocket. I used to like those trips because I always got to pick a lolly from the jar the man kept behind the counter.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you insane?” Jackson asks frantically. The liquid splashes against the trunk. I keep going until the container is empty, then toss it aside. Tiago throws me a small box of match sticks, which I catch mid-air. Anticipation hums in my veins. I strike a flame, watching it flicker menacingly in the darkness.

“Blaise?” Ronnie asks shakily.

“You fucked not only with me,” I tell Jackson, “but with what’s mine, too. Do you think what we did to your car is bad? Trust me, you’ve seen nothing yet.”

“Blaise,” Ronnie pleads. “Think about this… You’ll set the tree on fire. He’ll pass out from smoke inhalation and…” His unspoken words hang like whispered promises in the air. Jackson trembles visibly on the branch.

“Consider this a warning,” I say, blowing out the flame and winking at him.

It’s latewhen I return. The TV flickers in the living room. Dad nurses a beer on the couch while watching an old western. His wife is still nowhere in sight.

I sneak by, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards. I’ll be in deep shit if he spots me now. Sure, I’m eighteen and allowed to stay out late, but sneaking home past midnight, covered from head to toe in filth and sweat, is not my best look. It also raises questions. Dad won’t take well to me smashing up Jackson’s car, even if the fucker deserved it. My lips pull up at the thought.

When I enter the room, Cole is asleep. I close the door softly before crossing the floor and climbing into bed. The sheets smell of him, reminding me of the first time I met Cole.

Dust flecks dance in the air as a guy sidles past me in the kitchen doorway. A muscled arm brushes against my chest, and I catch a whiff of his cologne—he smells of citrus and late summer evenings.

I look up from my phone and frown.

Who are you, and why are you in our kitchen?

Tufts of his dark hair peek out from beneath his backward red cap, a black T-shirt stretching across his broad shoulders, and his shorts hung low on his narrow hips. The bored expression on his face screams, ‘Don’t fuck with me.’

I’m immediately intrigued.

Dad stands by the table with his arm draped around a dark-haired woman. His smile does little to hide his disapproval when he glances at the boy, who’s undoubtedly the woman’s son. The resemblance is striking.

Pocketing my phone, I enter the room, treading carefully like a soldier avoiding landmines. My dad is away on business a lot, so the truth that stares me in the face blindsides me—he had met a woman and failed to give me the heads-up.

I study the tall teenage boy by her side. His dark eyes lock on mine and harden. I can already tell that he doesn’t like me, and that makes me want to find out more. I raise a brow, and his jaw tightens.

“This is Rachel, your new stepmom,” Dad says. “And this young man is her son, Cole.”

The mattress shifts beneath my weight as I climb on top of him like a lion on the prowl. He looks so damn irresistible asleep on his front with his arms beneath the pillow. Trailing my nose up his spine, I breathe him in, and he stirs when I slide my fingers through his bed hair to twist the short strands. At the same time, I grind my hard dick against his ass—a crash wave colliding with the shore.

“Blaise?” he whispers sleepily. I decide then and there that it’s my new favorite sound in the whole fucking universe. Sinking my teeth into the crook of his neck, I pull hard on his hair.

“Why do you smell of gasoline?” he asks as he shifts beneath my weight. I capture his wrists with one hand and trap them on the pillow. “I need to be inside you,” I whisper in his ear, ignoring his question. “Fill you up with cum. I want it to leak out of you tomorrow when you’re with your friends.”

“Fuck,” he groans, shuddering.

My lips spread into a smile, and I release his hair to shove his boxers down his legs. “Tell me you missed me tonight.” Ripping open my belt, I nip his ear while freeing my cock. “Tell me you thought about my dick tearing through your tight hole.” Cole squirms against my grip on his wrists, but there’s no real struggle behind it. I smack the hard length against his ass cheeks and peer down between our bodies, lip trapped between my teeth. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” he replies, jutting his ass out. “Fuck, I want you.”

“Yeah?” I squeeze his smooth skin. “You want me to fuck this ass?”

“Yes…” he groans, the sound muffled in the pillow.

Reaching across the bed, I root through the nightstand for the lube to prep him. “Remember the first time we met?” I ask as I squeeze a healthy dose of lube onto my fingers.

The slippery liquid threatens to drip onto the bedsheet. I smooth my fingers over his tight ring of muscles, my dick twitching. “Answer me, or I will stop.”

“I remember,” he says in a breathy voice, humping the mattress and wringing the creased sheet.

I press a finger into him. “What did you think about me that first day when you stared at me from across the kitchen?”

“I thought…” He grunts as I work a second finger inside his tight hole. “I wanted to punch the smug look off your face.”

My breathy chuckle dances across his bare shoulder. I hum as I work my fingers in and out of him. “You intrigued me that day,” I admit, then hiss. “Fuck, you’re tight. I can’t wait to stretch you with my dick.”

“Intrigued you?” he asks, unable to leash his curiosity. “Intrigued you how?”

Slipping my digits out, I squirt more lube onto my hand. Cole sucks in a breath as I fill him up with three fingers. My dick throbs at the snug fit. I can’t wait to feel him squeeze the cum from my balls.

“You looked at me like you were a cornered snake, and I liked that.” Sucking on his earlobe, I graze it with my teeth. “The threat was clear in your eyes.”

“What threat?”

I remove my fingers to lube up my throbbing cock. “You would strike if I got too close. Unless you haven’t noticed,” I whisper and nip his shoulder with my teeth before flipping him over onto his back and palming his weeping dick, “I like a challenge.”

Cole throws his head back on the pillow. “Fuck…”

“You like that, huh?” I goad, stroking his veiny cock. “You gonna come for me? Make a mess on my hand?”

“Blaise,” he groans as he wrings the sheets.

Releasing his cock, I palm his balls and massage them between my fingers before rearing up on my knees and spreading his legs. His dick leaks all over his taut stomach. I swipe my fingers through it and suck them clean. A groan rumbles in my chest at the salty taste and the drunk look in his eyes. I want more. So much more. Lining my dick up with his back hole, I sink inside him slowly, careful not to hurt him. My heart races, and my T-shirt sticks to my skin as sweat beads on my back. Cole is naked while I’m fully dressed. Something about that power dynamic turns me on.

“Blaise,” he chokes as I palm his hard length and give it a firm stroke. Thrusting shallowly, I work my dick deeper until I finally bottom out. The feeling is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. He’s tight and warm and fucking perfect.

My dick twitches inside him as I tip my head back with a groan. “Jesus, Cole,” I moan, spreading him wider with my hands on his knees, wishing I had switched on the overhead light so I could see my dick buried deep in his ass. “You’re killing me.”

I pull out to the tip, and then sink back inside him—the feeling is exquisite. Collapsing forward, I capture his lips and wrap my fingers around his throat. “Do you have any idea how good you feel?” I breathe into the kiss before delving my tongue into his mouth and tasting his choppy breaths. I kiss him deeper. Cole’s fingers are everywhere—on my back, threaded through my hair, and squeezing my ass. We’re a tangle of sweaty limbs. He groans into the kiss and pulls on the hair at my nape.

“Cole…” I break away to catch my breath. “I can’t…” I swallow, kissing him roughly before trailing my lips across his defined jaw and whispering in his ear, “I’m gonna fuck you hard now.”

Before he has a chance to reply, I dig my fingers into his neck and sink my teeth into his bottom lip, assaulting the kiss-swollen flesh by pulling it away from his teeth and biting down until coppery blood rushes to the surface. Cole grunts and tries to pull away, so I grip his jaw to keep him in place while I feast on his mouth.

When I slide out to the crown, only to drive in hard, he claws his short nails down my back and palms my ass. I make true to my promise to fuck him senseless. The headboard knocks against the wall with my next thrust. It’s reckless, the thrill of knowing my dad is downstairs while I’m balls deep in his wife’s son. But I can’t stop myself from doing it again. Especially when Cole lets out such a loud groan that I’m forced to clamp my hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. Fuck me, we’ll get caught if I don’t calm myself the fuck down.

“You need to be quiet,” I instruct, and Cole tries to shake my hand off his mouth. Instead of easing my grip, I tighten it to lock him in place. “Touch your dick. Make yourself come.”

Cole’s nostrils flare as his hand disappears between our bodies, and I feel him stroke his dick.

“Good boy,” I praise, slowing my thrusts. “You feel so damn good… So tight. You drive me insane.”

He makes a strangled noise beneath my palm. I’m on the edge—a thin layer of sweat beading on my back from the pressure of holding back. “I need to come inside you.”

Cole, the fucking asshole, sinks his teeth into my palm, and I rip my hand away with a hiss. My palm throbs painfully in the aftermath as I shake out my hand. I don’t have to turn on the lights to know I’m bleeding.

I grip his stubbly chin with a snarl, smearing his skin with blood, and bite his lip hard enough to cause him to flinch. He must like pain because, in the next second, cum erupts from his cock.

“That’s it,” I coax, feeling it soak through my T-shirt. “Come all over me, big brother. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Seeing him fall apart tips me over the edge, and my own thrusts become erratic. My hips roll into him again as my balls draw up tight. I lock my jaw and push up onto my hands as every muscle tenses in my body just before my dick pulses inside him. Cole rears up on his elbows to dip his fingers beneath my T-shirt and tease my contracting abs—the dark happy trail. I’m still shuddering through my orgasm, my cock emptying inside him.

“You’re so fucking hot when you come,” he says, trailing his hand higher to pinch and roll my nipples. “But you better stop calling me your big brother, especially while inside me.”

My chin meets my chest, and I chuckle. I’m too exhausted to hold myself up, so I collapse on top of him and bury my face in his neck, where his pulse thrums like the wings of a hummingbird. Even now, coated in sweat and cum, he smells delicious. As he strokes his fingers through my damp hair, a sense of contentment washes over me. My dick is slowly softening inside him, but I make no move to shift my weight off him. If I had my way, I’d stay wrapped up in him forever.

“I should have punched the smug look off your face the first time I saw you,” he whispers into the darkness, making me laugh.

I lift my head from his damp neck. “Yeah, you should have.”

“It’s not too late to do it now.”

“I like it when you talk dirty to me,” I tease and kiss him softly before rolling off him and stripping out of my clothes. There is no chance in hell I am sleeping in my jeans.

After plugging in my phone to charge on the nightstand and ignoring a text message from Jackson, in which he threatens to take revenge, I roll back over, pull Cole close, and do something I’ve never done—not even with Mia.

I fall asleep cuddling someone.