AGE EIGHTEEN
My head buzzes with a strange type of energy. As if I’m plummeting to earth and shooting for the sky at the same time.
It’s a feeling I’ve never experienced before and it’s forcing me to move, to jump out of my skin and just…go.
Somewhere.
Anywhere.
Like a shooting star—aimless, heartless, and absolutely destructive.
I parted ways with Astrid and told her I’m going to fuck one of the girls, which is usually her cue to give me the stink eye, call me a pig, then let me have my fun.
Then she’ll call someone to drive us home, usually my brother. She’s loyal and responsible like that. The “we can’t drive while we’re drunk” Astrid. The “please tell me you wear condoms, because I don’t want to be an aunt this young” Astrid.
In short, the best wingman I’ve ever had. Except for the fact that she doesn’t like partying and I have to drag her kicking and screaming as if she’s heading to her hanging.
Actually, she doesn’t like people in general and prefers to remain hidden like a stone that’s camouflaging a diamond.
Unlike her flashy, seductive stepsister.
That’s where I’m going right now—after Nicole.
Yes, I lied about fucking the other girl, because the moment I saw Nicole sneaking about, I knew she was up to no good.
Not that she was ever up to anything good.
If trouble were a club, Nicole would be their face, soul, and the inspiration for their name.
I shouldn’t give a fuck what Nicole is up to. In fact, I made it my mission not to focus on her, not to get pulled into her manipulative web, where she lures her victims, then sucks their souls like the blood countess sucked young girls’ blood to remain beautiful and ageless.
That shit is real. Look it up.
If Nicole lived in those times, she would’ve been her wingman and best advisor. Hell, she wouldn’t even have been caught for it. Since, well, that countess had the brain energy of an aimless bird.
Back to the reason why I’m following Nicole with the persistence of a crooked detective.
She’s been different today. Talkative, though still venomous. Dressed in a fuck-me dress and heels as if she was out to get some.
And why the fuck am I getting so bloody hot that I want to set my own clothes on fire?
So when I saw her gulping a drink, ignoring her holy circles of glorified bitches and slipping through the crowd, I followed her.
Just like I followed her that day ten years ago when she nearly died in my arms.
I shouldn’t have.
Since that day, she’s been a thorn in my fucking side.
Prior to that incident, she always had a smile on her pretty little face, and acted nice in an annoying kind of way. So seeing her sneaking about was an occurrence I’ve never witnessed.
It’s why I left the game and tailed her. Then I watched her stealing peaches, hiding them behind her white lace dress, and tiptoeing so no one would see her.
Now feels like a repeat of that time.
As if she’s about to steal a peach, go eat it in an obscure place, and…die.
That’s what the doctor said that time. Her allergic reaction was only oral when she was younger, but after she turned eight, it became respiratory, too. He said that the next time she eats a peach, she’ll stop breathing.
She’ll drop dead.
There will be no more Nicole and her fake smiles and dainty dresses.
I waited for her to wake up so I could ask her again why the hell she ate peaches when she already knew she was allergic to them.
I wanted her to explain if liking something was enough of an excuse to push herself to the brink of death.
However, I didn’t get the chance to ask anything, because she’s a fucking backstabber and got out of the whole situation by blaming it on me.
I’ve never seen Mum as disappointed in me as she was at that moment.
Not that she’s been a model mother all our lives. Her mission has been, for as long as I can remember, a self-pity party, to mourn her youth for being with my cheating bastard of a father.
Anyway, Nicole is now avoiding everyone, walking in the background, almost as if she’s floating on air.
She’s the type who makes her presence known anywhere she goes.
Fucking anywhere.
She’s hot and the worst part is that she knows it.
She dresses for it in her designer clothes and bags and heels.
Not only that, but she flings it all over social media, too. As if she’s a model looking for representation.
Though it’s beneath her. As she says in her snobbish fucking tone.
After all, she’s an aristocrat who only knows how to look down her haughty nose at people. Unlike Astrid, who never embraced that side of her bloodline.
Nicole, however, breathes that life. The prim and proper side of it. The arrogance that comes with it. The extravagance that coats it like honey. And she has the looks that go with it.
She’s a bombshell with legs that go for miles and hair so blonde, it’s more blinding than the sun and just as burning. Her body is slender, with curves that are made for grabbing onto while I fuck her senseless.
I pause, internally shaking my head.
Did I just think about fucking Nicole? What in the bloody hell was that all about?
These ominous bloody thoughts should stay in my subconscious where I can’t even reach them, let alone entertain them.
My attention, though hazy and a bit blurry, returns to the present when Nicole slips into a secluded room on the ground floor. Soon after, Chris throws a quick look around, then follows her in.
So he’s the one she dressed up like a sin waiting to happen for. He’s the one she’s been taking those shots for.
I wish it was like ten years ago and it was about her weird fixation on peaches.
I wish I hadn’t already painted a picture in my head about what’s going on inside.
But I did.
And all I can see in the midst of my now red vision is Chris removing Nicole’s fuck-me dress and heels and pounding into her until she’s biting her lips and screaming.
That’s fucked up. My thoughts. The accuracy of the image. The rage that’s covering my vision.
The fact that I don’t want anyone to see or hear Nicole while she’s in the throes of pleasure.
I should find Astrid and leave. I’m in no mood to party or fuck or anything.
But that’s not what I do.
My legs are leading me straight to the room and I can’t stop them.
Or maybe I don’t want to.
I jam the knob open and I don’t know why my heart squeezes. Like that first time when I was thirteen and saw Dad kissing a woman that wasn’t Mother, teenage style, while smearing her face with all types of food.
Or the time Zach was screaming at Mother for letting Dad get away with it and she admitted that she had to pretend she didn’t know because her family didn’t want her back and she had nowhere to go.
Oh, and he’ll take us away from her.
I never hated the world more than at that moment.
Never wished I could gut-punch Dad and shove him in the nearest dumpster.
Not only for hurting Mother but for also turning her into someone so absorbed in her pain that she failed to see me or my brother anymore.
So in a way, we lost both parents.
It’s the same feeling of betrayal now—as if someone I gave a piece of me to is burning it alive.
Which is fucking ridiculous. Nicole and I are nothing.
If anything, I hate how much of a bitch she’s become. I hate her band of mean girls, who think being vicious is the new trend.
And yet, I can’t chase away the bitter taste from the back of my throat.
Nicole is lying on the bed and Chris is hovering over her, his hand on his belt.
“Mind if I watch?” I’m taken aback by the slur in my voice.
Chris’s attention slides to me, but Nicole doesn’t even stir.
No idea why that makes me rage like a bitter fucker on pills.
“Get out, Sterling,” Chris bites out. “Why are you ruining my fun?”
I lazily walk to a chair that’s opposite the bed and that’s when I get a glimpse of Nicole’s face.
Her eyes are closed. Is she pretending to be asleep after she heard my voice?
Something doesn’t feel right.
Instead of sitting down, I stride to Chris, who’s now standing to his full height by the side of the bed. The tension in his shoulders resembles a bodybuilder on crack. He probably is, considering his unnaturally bloodshot eyes and the twitch in his fingers.
Why would she even choose this…this crackhead cunt who has more drugs in his system than an eighties’ rock star?
Not that I have a say in who the fuck she chooses, but it’s the weird buzzing in my ears coupled with the hotness in my chest that’s acting now.
“Shouldn’t she be awake for the fun to happen?”
“She likes being woken up with dick, what’s in it for you?”
My teeth grind together and the unbearable heat burns up a notch. “So it’s a habit of yours to wake her up with dick?”
He jerks his chin with a nod.
“Funny, because I don’t remember you being her boyfriend.”
“She’s my side bitch. Are you done questioning your senior?”
“No, not yet.” The fact that he called her a side bitch makes me ball my hands into fists.
Nicole isn’t the type who’d settle for being anyone’s side anything.
She’s the main course. The highlight of a show. The film’s premiere.
I’m about to punch Christopher in the face, out of pure crazy emotions that are raging through me, when a moan echoes in the air.
Nicole’s.
She slowly gets up into a sitting position, her eyes drooping. She looks like a fucking goddess with her slightly flushed cheeks and dewy skin. I want to grab her by the throat and mess her up a little, ruin her a little so she’s not so perfect anymore.
So she finally stoops to my level.
“What’s with all the noise?” she asks with a slur of her own.
“Fuck this,” Chris mutters. “And fuck you, Sterling.”
Then, he storms out of the room, forcibly closing the door shut behind him.
Bloody cunt.
Everything in me is shouting to go after him and punch the bastard until his blood is dripping all over the ground.
“D-Daniel…?”
My attention slides back to Nicole. Her dress has ridden up to her waist, revealing her creamy pale thighs and a hint of her white lace knickers.
Her lips are plump and parted and a red flush covers her cheeks and neck.
No clue if it’s the weird sensation I’ve been having since earlier or the rage I’ve been feeling since I imagined her with Chris or a combination of both, but this view of her gets my dick hard in an instant.
The traitorous fucker strains against my jeans until it’s physically painful. Until the need to grab her is far more powerful and urgent than anything I’ve felt before.
It’s an animalistic need.
An instinct.
Or maybe it’s far deeper than that but I don’t want to think of it as such.
“What are you doing here?” The slur in her voice matches mine—light, subtle but also magical.
Almost like none of this is real.
Maybe it isn’t and this is one of my bothersome nightmares about her that I can’t stop my subconscious from conjuring.
“Do you really like being woken up with dick?” I don’t know why I ask the question, but I do, and I also keep approaching where she’s sitting and watching my every move like a deer caught in the headlights.
“W-what?”
I didn’t think it was possible, but my dick thickens even more at her soft voice. There’s no haughtiness and snobbishness in it. It’s almost as gentle as she looks.
“I said, do you like being woken up by dick? Is that why Chris was here?”
“What…? No…”
“Then is there something else you’re into that I should know about?”
“Why?” She licks her lips, pauses, then lowers her voice until it sounds like something out of my deepest, darkest fantasy. “Will you make it happen?”
“Maybe.”
“Even if it’s a dangerous kink?”
I smile. “My, Peaches. I thought you were as prim as a princess and didn’t even say crude words. Now you have a dangerous kink?”
“I…do.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I’ll only tell you if you promise to make it happen.”
I pause, contemplating the answer. I don’t usually make promises unless I know what it’s all about.
“If it’s about eating peaches, then no way in fuck. You’re not touching that shit for a lifetime.” I breathe harshly.
Why the fuck did I sound so serious? Protective almost.
“No, it’s not about peaches. It’s something more dangerous.”
“What is it?”
“Promise first.”
I purse my lips, then say, “Fine, promise. Now, tell me what the kink is.”
She gets on her knees and inches closer, bringing the sheets with her until she’s eye level with me, then whispers, “You.”
And I know, I just know I’m not only going to fuck Nicole Adler, but I’ll also enjoy and regret every second of it.
