So I’ve picked up running lately.
By lately, I mean this is the third day. The first was when I tackled Brandon to the ground and felt the flexing of his muscles as I whispered in his ear.
Good times.
In fact, they were infinitely more than good. Fucking hot is the word I’m looking for.
There’s something about shoving him around, messing with his golden-boy persona, but what I enjoyed the most was trapping him beneath me, having him compliant one second and fighting the next as if his life depended on it.
Kolya got his most straining hard-on in a week. The first being when Bran sat on my lap.
Once again, no amount of foreplay or greedy mouths and willing holes were cutting it for my newly picky dick. He couldn’t even get it up or grow enough balls to leave my pants.
It’s another story when different images play in my head, though.
I had to be a caveman and jerk off alone while picturing that blotch of red creeping up Bran’s neck when I growled in his ear or the goosebumps covering his skin when I locked him in place with a hand on his nape.
He didn’t fight. Again. He just lay there begging to be fucking used.
Though he’d tell you otherwise.
He’s kind of an asshole, that guy. While I’ve been having a blast running with him the past couple of days, I have a feeling it’s not…mutual.
I’ve been only greeted with the narrowing of his eyes, his death glares, and the occasional puff of air from his luscious lips.
Not to mention his monosyllabic replies and continued orders.
Back off.
Step away from me.
Do not touch me.
Remove your unpleasant presence from my vicinity.
He speaks like royalty. Not complaining, though. There’s something about ruining a good boy that does shit to me.
Which is why I’m back for round three.
I wait by the Elites’ mansion entrance, jogging in place and punching the air. I can’t stay still.
Not when the mere thought of Bran in his shorts and fitted T-shirt sends blood rushing to my groin.
I’d like to point out that I tried to remain calm, but then again, calm and I have been at odds since I was born, and I can’t possibly be expected to leave him alone. He’s turning into this sweet addiction that adds meaning to my days.
Solution? Try to wear him down.
Creep beneath his skin.
Wreak havoc on his heart in the process.
He’s just so fun to mess with. He’s usually expressionless, unless he’s faking this creepy smile that looks like a psycho’s, so whenever I catch him off guard, he has this deer caught in the headlights expression. A flaring of nostrils here, a bobbing of his gorgeous Adam’s apple there.
I’m living for that shit. Literally.
For two days, I’ve only been thinking about bugging the fuck out of him. Five thirty in the morning is my favorite time of the day until further notice.
Sooner or later, he’ll fall at my feet like everyone else. Or, more accurately, to his knees.
I like to think I’m making progress in some way. Yesterday, he didn’t try to run away from me, though he did attempt to use the stupid AirPods that you can bet I removed and kept hostage until the end of the run.
He did pretend I wasn’t there while I asked him a shitload of questions. I can’t remember many of them, but they were mostly things like, what does he do after a run? What’s his favorite food? Movie? Color? Hobbies? Clothes? Hair products? Cologne?
Does he like the fight club? Violence? The crunching of people’s bones?
Was that a bit pushy? Who the fuck cares, to be honest?
He wouldn’t have answered anything even if they weren’t pushy.
He’s not exactly cooperative and lets my questions wash off him as if he never heard them until he runs back to his big castle.
But then again, I’m nothing short of persistent and fucking love a challenge.
Mom and Jeremy say I’m like a bull who doesn’t stop until I get what I want, so…off I go again, I guess.
I have all the time in the world now that Kolya is going through a fucking abstinence period.
Though he doesn’t seem all that uninterested when a certain brown-haired Prince Charming is in his vicinity, which boggles my mind.
Well-groomed, posh men like Bran are not my type. At all.
But something about him—
My movements abruptly stop when the gate creaks open and lotus flower steps outside dressed in black shorts and a royal-blue tee that stretches over his broad shoulders, expanded chest muscles, and lean waist.
He’s not in your face, but he definitely has a superior build. He’s toned in a lean way, hard and firm everywhere.
Kolya twitches in my shorts and I groan under my breath.
“Fuck, dude.” I glare down at him. “Make up your mind. Are you easy or hard? Pun intended.”
I get no answer. Naturally. He’s literally a dick.
Lotus flower takes his picture of the day and posts it on Instagram. I’ll peek at it later after he escapes to his prince’s mansion. For now, I’d rather get my fill of him. Add new material for my daily jerk-off session and all that.
He marches with sure, slightly forced movements down the road. His gaze flits sideways, probably searching for me, but I’m well hidden behind the trees.
Can’t have their cameras catching me and reporting back to the major douchebag Landon. Not that I’m opposed to pummeling that bitch to the ground and cracking his skull in two, but I’d rather not trigger any complications when I’m trying to get into his brother’s pants.
Or ass.
Anyway, lotus flower keeps searching his surroundings and I remain hidden just to fuck with him.
Yesterday, I jumped to his side as soon as he rounded the corner and he was far away from the mansion’s cameras. He looked at me with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, and even though that expression lasted for a fraction of a second, you can bet I added it to my mental catalog full of everything Brandon King.
Today, I’m using a different strategy. Can’t let him get used to my modus operandi and quit showing me those special responses.
I want him to get as close as possible. Until I smell him. Until—
He stops a few yards away on the dirt road and I get a front-row seat of his side profile. Is he sure he’s not interested? Because he dressed up so prettily for me. Though he does wear the same clothes in different colors, there’s something about today’s color. Blue brings out the blue in his mysterious, snobbish eyes.
Though I’d rather he go shirtless so I can get a front-row seat to his body and possibly sink my teeth into it.
Figuratively, of course.
Who the fuck am I kidding? It’s definitely literally.
I’m about to close the distance between us when a convertible Audi stops right in front of him.
A blonde bombshell jumps out of the car, wearing skimpy shorts that reveal the crease of her ass and a sports bra that barely covers her big tits.
Her lips are unnatural as fuck and she’s wearing more makeup than a drag queen.
She lunges at Brandon in a ferocious hug, her entire body gluing to his front. “Babe!! I’m so happy you decided to give this a go again. I promise everything will be better this time. You know how much I love you, handsome.”
He pats her back, but there’s no enthusiasm behind his movement. His expression doesn’t change, not even a little.
Like a robot.
I got a better reaction from him by plucking out his AirPods, blondie.
Not that I care.
I don’t.
And yet my hand twitches, demanding I throw her off the nearest, steepest cliff.
How dare she interrupt our morning ritual that’s been going on for three days?
Two.
She pushes back, smiling like a model, her face soft as she coos at him and kisses the corner of his mouth. Disgusting.
Oh, look at that. Brandon’s favorite word.
“Do we have to go on a run, though?” She pouts like a goddamn toddler. “You know I don’t like that, or waking up early, actually.”
A lot of you knows are thrown around.
Who is this chick?
I probably saw her on his IG that I spent a whole night going through, thank you very much.
Though the only occurrence I remember was two years ago when someone who looked like her, sans the bleached hair, was hanging on his arm.
The reason she caught my attention is because he never posts pictures with girls who aren’t his friends.
Considering I acquainted myself with his female—and male—friends, I knew she was not on the list.
Clara.
I remember the name because I made a note to visit her IG as well, but I didn’t have time since it was already five and I needed to get here.
Who the fuck are you, Clara, and what’s your favorite way to die?
I’m about to step into the scene and ask her just that—or maybe just scare her away. That shit comes naturally to me.
Leaves crunch beneath my shoes and Brandon’s head tilts in my direction, but he doesn’t look at me.
“You don’t have to run, Clara.” He sinks his fingers into her hair, drags her head back, and slams his lips to hers. Her tongue peeks out and he resists for a fraction of a second, keeping his lips shut, before he opens, just the slightest bit, and she shoves it inside his mouth.
I stand still, head cocked to the side as I watch him kissing her.
Or is it the other way around?
His muscles ripple and roll, his back rigid, his biceps bulging, then his long fingers tighten in her hair.
Fighting.
That’s what he’s doing. He’s not enjoying the act. He’s fighting.
What are you fighting, lotus flower?
He seems to be struggling to kiss her, or maybe he’s struggling to keep his libido under control.
My gaze slides down to his shorts, and no. There’s no erection in sight. Kolya would’ve gotten that in a few seconds after a heavy make-out session.
Old Kolya, that is. The new one is clearly an idiot who will be written out of my will.
Brandon whirls her around, so I’m greeted by her back as he deepens the kiss. I don’t even look at her meaningless presence, my gaze zeroing in on his face that barely contorts.
Barely moves.
Barely feels—if at all.
He’s Frenching the fuck out of the girl, but his eyes are wide open. Not once closing or getting lost in the act like she is.
His gaze flies to mine and I hold it, locking my eyes with his robotic ones as I cross my arms.
Show me what you got, straight boy.
A frown appears between his brows as if he can hear my thoughts while I remain there watching, not the show, but his face.
I relish the subtle change, how his expression morphs from control to conflicted emotions. Hate? Lust? Both fucking hot, if you ask me.
I reach down and adjust my dick, then keep my hand there and clutch it through my shorts, showing him the damning effect he has on Kolya.
He didn’t even speak to me, but a mere look is enough to turn a man into the worst sinner.
Bran’s eyes widen, and yeah, he’s definitely not focusing on Clara one bit right now. Not even a fraction of his attention is on her.
Just to fuck with him, I roll my bottom lip beneath my teeth, then mouth, “Wanna give me a hand?”
His eyes spark a bright shade of blue as he jerks away from Clara almost violently.
“Whew, that was intense, babe,” she breathes out and I’m about to bash her head in and send her over that cliff in her convertible.
He faces away from me, but not before I see the evidence in his shorts.
My, my. Is that…a fucking erection?
I mean, he could’ve gotten that because of kissing her. It couldn’t have possibly been me.
He’s straight.
Insert rolling of eyes here.
He hides away behind his flimsy walls, subtly adjusting himself before he faces Clara with the most fake-ass smile. “I just missed you.”
Bullshit. I don’t even think he believes what he’s saying.
Blondie sure does since she throws herself in his arms again. “BABE! I love you so much. This time forever. I’m never leaving you again.”
I have to physically force myself to turn away, because if I don’t, I might go over there and punch Clara. Or accidentally kill her. And we don’t want a dead bimbo on our hands.
Besides, I might have a more adequate plan for Clara.
Prince Charming better watch his fucking back.
