“This is a lot of murder for one day,” I grumbled, standing up and walking away. I went into the kitchen for some water, and I listened to the three of them continue to talk in the living room.
“I’m sorry.” Foster’s voice was quiet and close.
I turned, resting my ass against the counter and giving him a onceover.
“You don’t have to apologize to me,” I said. “You saved my life.”
“I risked it, too.”
“No. That wasn’t you.” I pushed the glass of water I’d been drinking from across the counter toward him. “Or maybe it was. Just a risk of being your friend.”
“Kevin,” he groaned.
“It’s worth it. You’re a good friend and a good man.”
“Ronan hates me.” He polished off the water and set the glass back down on the counter.
“He doesn’t hate you. He loves me,” I corrected. “He loves you.”
“Doubtful.”
“He loves you,” I repeated. “He always will.”
“I do.”
We both turned, finding Ronan leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes warm and friendly.
“My life has just…ruined everything I care about,” Foster muttered.
“Nothing is ruined,” Ronan assured him, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Everything is exactly as it’s meant to be.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ronan
“If you don’t let me come, I’m going to die.” Kevin’s words ripped out of his throat, jagged and painful, as he raised his voice at me.
“Is that the case?”
“Ronan!”
Above his head, the chains secured to his wrists rattled, and he shifted his weight, barely able to hold his balance on the tips of his toes. I’d strung him up to the ceiling and paddled his ass until his cheeks were a solid and rich shade of purple. He’d wept with relief and then agony. It was a week since Foster had been shot, nearly a month since Kevin had been allowed to come. His attitude had been suffering for it, but he was the masochist and so it was pain that I always offered him.
I unclipped the chain and lowered his arms, slowly so the blood didn’t rush back down to his fingers. Kevin’s entire body was covered with a thin sheen of sweat, his muscles pulled tight and trembling beneath his skin. His breath stuttered and his eyes were hazy with the fog of his desperation. I stood in front of him and grasped his hands, using the pads of my fingers and all of my strength to massage feeling back into his muscles. I worked my way up his forearms to the ditches of his elbows, then to his armpits. Kevin whimpered, knees shaking as I dug my fingers and my knuckles into his already exhausted muscles.
“Get onto your knees.”
Kevin did as he’d been told, and I took the chains still looped through his wrist cuffs and hauled the length toward a bolt in the baseboard across the room. It pulled his freshly massaged muscles taut again, his cheek pressed against the floor and his ass raised on display.
“Here,” I said, propping my phone against the wall a few inches from his face. I pressed play on the video we’d made weeks before in the bedroom. The sound of his moans filtered into the room. “Some viewing material to get you in the mood.”
I let the video play through twice, watching it myself and getting more turned on with every second that clicked past. Finally, on the third watch, Kevin’s hips started to gyrate, bucking toward the floor as he searched for friction to get himself off.
“Kevin.” I dropped the tub of lube on the floor beside his knee and scooped out a reasonable amount, smearing it around his hole. He whimpered, seeking out the penetration my touch promised.
“Ronan.”
I stroked my cock, coating my hardness with leftover lube, then lined up and pushed into him.
