All Chapters of Craving The Wrong Brother: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

Knox watches me the whole time. I slide the belt out in one quick pull and toss it aside, going for the zipper. When I finally reach in and wrap my hand around him, he jerks, hips twitching into my palm. His dick springs free, hard and ready, and as I hold it in my fist, he reaches up and pushes my bangs off my face. "You look hungry," he says. I can't pretend. "I am." "Food’s right here. All you gotta do is put it in your mouth." Those words are like a floodgate, releasing the pent-up need I've been holding back. I adjust myself, positioning my body so I can take him in my mouth. I start at the base and lick a slow line up his shaft, circling the piercing at the tip with my tongue. I can taste the slight metallic tang of his precum, and it only spurs me on. "Fuck," he groans, his hands gripping my hair, holding me in place. I take one of his balls into my mouth, rolling it gently with my tongue while I massage the other with my hand. His grunt of approval is music to my ears.

I stare at the wall just past Hunter’s head, my jaw clenched. Well, I guess that settles it. That woman’s going into early retirement—locked in a tower, guarded by a fire-breathing dragon if I can manage it. “He wants to hurt her,” says Hunter. “Maybe even Soraya. She’s stupid enough to think it's a mutual transaction in whatever twisted deal they have going on.” “Mutual transaction?” I ask. “What could she possibly need from him?” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Ask her. But for the record, I think I’m on the list of people he wants to hurt to get to you. So you’re paying for the extra security I hired. I told a psychopath to get lost yesterday and resigned from the CEO position in his company. You definitely owe me.” He turns around and starts climbing again, and I find myself staring at the back of his head while following him up. So this is where we are—Mateo’s decided I’m the scapegoat for what went down all those years ago. Figures. The man clearly skipped therapy and went straigh

“Yup,” Knox says without looking up. I reach out, fingers brushing the smooth head sticking out of the packaging. It’s foam. Dense and thick with sculpted features. The head is oval, with bulbous black eyes and a tiny slit for a mouth. “What’s beneath it?” I ask, looking down. He’s already begun tearing downward, slicing open the rest of the wrapping. What emerges is…well. A body. Large. Square. The surface is spongy and cloth-wrapped, shaped like a mattress with two raised mounds on the upper area—clearly meant to resemble alien breasts. The mouth, or whatever that opening is, sits lower on the body, oval-shaped. Webbed limbs extend on both sides, forming legs that bend outward, giving the thing an awkward but strangely endearing posture. My eyes widen as it dawns on me that this is probably mine. Who else likes aliens in this house? I don’t say anything right away. “So,” Knox says casually, “what do you think?” “You got me an alien SpongeBob?” I squeak. “Huh? No. That’s a

The car slows in front of the same house I’ve known since childhood, and even with four armed men packed into the car with me, it still feels like I’m arriving alone. I shift against the door as the vehicle stops. The moment I step out, I see it—my mother’s car. Parked clean in the middle of the driveway. Knox wasn’t lying. I hate that he wasn’t lying. The guards begin to move when I do, stepping forward like shadows in formation. My hand goes up before they can trail me up the walkway. “This is a very personal business,” I say without turning around. “I’d like for you all to stay right here, okay? I’ll be out soon.” “Boss said we shouldn’t let you out of our sight,” one says. I turn slowly. “This is my father’s house. You think Mateo’s in there?” “Rules, ma’am.” “I’m your boss’s girlfriend,” I say, biting out the word with a little more heat than I intended. “And I’m giving you another rule.” They glance at each other, visibly hesitating, but none of them move when I walk a

*** ~~SLOANE~~ *** The last time I saw my mother, she was aiming a loaded gun at me. It had been one of those nights you don’t forget, no matter how much time passes or how many good days stack themselves on top of it. Now, I’m seeing her again. She’s lying still on a bed, palms resting one over the other on her stomach. Her eyes are on the ceiling. Her face is drained, like she’s been crying for hours and somehow still has more tears left to shed. I stand in the doorway for longer than I should, my hand pressed to the frame. I don’t know what to do. Don’t know if I should walk in, touch her, speak, or sit beside her. She’s so still that I almost wonder if she's alive. A wave of guilt hits me. Can't tell why. It’s not like I was the one who caused this. But I wonder… if that day hadn’t gone so badly or if I’d reached out after it did, offered an olive branch instead of silence, would she still be pregnant? Would the stress have been less, the pressure bearable? It’s a long re