Page 48 of Monstrous Serpent

“Hello! I said get out.”

Trembley snorts. He’s got Blue's paw pinched between two fingers, lifting it up and extending the middle toe at me.

My fists clench until my fingernails bite into my palms. “Put him down.”

“Nuh, uh.”

“You know what, fuck you both. I’m done.” I head for the kitchen because if I stand in front of him for one more second, I'm going to punch his face in, and my knuckles are still bruised from last time. I yank the fridge open, grab the milk, and drink straight from the carton.

This is rock bottom. This has to be rock bottom.

I put the milk back, slam the fridge, then rest my forehead against the cool metal of the door. “You two dipshits leaving yet?”

“Everyone says I talk too much. But you might actually have me beat,” Trembley says as he comes up behind me.

I whip around, and he grabs my throat, shoving me against the fridge. The back of my head thumps against the door, and I grunt, then reach up with both hands and claw at his wrists. “At least everything I say is worth hearing.”

“Mm, I don't know.” His thumb shifts against the side of my neck. A shiver runs down my spine. “But I kinda like your little squeaks. Make some for me.”

“Not a chance in hell. But you can, asshole.” I reach down, wrap my fingers around his balls, and squeeze—hard.

His grip on my throat loosens, and I duck sideways, backing away from the fridge to put distance between us. Until I hit something solid.

Or someone.

Shit.

Kincaid’s hand is in my hair, his grip tight enough my scalp stings. “No running this time.”

I reach up, trying to pry his hand off me. “Why would I? This is my house, asshole. You’re the one trespassing.”

“Keep talking, and I will shut you up.”

I angle my head back the best I can, eyes narrowed. “I’d like to see you try, dipshit.”

He leans in closer, his warm breath fanning over my face. “Think you can take all of me in that cocky mouth?”

“That's not—I didn't mean—”

Kincaid releases me, and I stagger away from him. My gaze bounces between him and Trembley, who has one hand pressed against the fridge, the other rubbing his balls.

My face and neck are on fire.

Why’s it so hot in here?

Trembley’s eyes drift down my body, his lips curling into a lopsided smirk. I swallow hard, following his line of sight.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I swear to god I’m not sure who I want to kill—them or my own damn body. Because, of course, my shorts are tented.

A grunt catches my attention. I turn to look at Kincaid. He’s staring at my shorts, head cocked, stroking himself over his black jeans.

My dick twitches, my gaze trailing up, locking with Kincaid’s. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, and the temperature in the room turns up a thousand degrees.

Or at least it feels like it does.

“If you're not gonna get on your knees for him, I call dibs. My dick’s prettier too. And more fun. It’s got a nice curve to it,” Trembley says.