I stare at the text for a long moment, remembering three days ago, when I showed her how to enable the camera in the picture, before my body shifts into action. It’s not just the laptop that I open, or my fingers stroking across the keyboard to get the video to load. It’s my cock, hard and full, just knowing my girl is downstairs in that lingerie.
Unless she’s fucking with me.
God, please don’t let her be fucking with me.
The circle icon on the screen spins as the stream loads, but the video quickly blinks to life. The image is clear—I sprung for 4k, two-way audio for this one—and Story suddenly fills the screen.
“Fuck me,” I mutter to myself, my erection throbbing. I knew the set would look hot on her—she’s gorgeous, after all—but damn, she looks like an absolute vixen. The cups of the bra push her tits up into a nice, supple cleavage, and I can fully appreciate why Killer enjoys fucking them so much. I can just imagine the head of my dick pushing through those things, knowing what’s hiding beneath. The scars are partially hidden between them, but I can still catch a peek of raised, discolored skin. I wonder if the sight of my initial carved into her flesh will ever stop making my blood simmer.
Doubt it.
She walks back to the camera and reaches to the back of the skull, giving me a nice view of the panties. Scratchy feedback comes through my speakers, and then her soft, tentative voice. “Can you hear me?”
My lips quirk, voice emerging a couple octaves too low. “Loud and clear, sweetheart.”
“Well,” she moves back in front of the camera, giving me a flash of her ass, “what do you think?”
“I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” I sit back in the desk chair, wincing at my painful erection. “I also think if Rath steals those panties, I’m going to commit arson on the piano.”
I can hear him in there right now, pounding away at the keys. Ever since the night Story disappeared into his bedroom, the sounds of their fucking loud and obvious, he’s been a raging musical lunatic, playing into all hours of the night. It doesn’t bother me anymore, but he’s clearly recaptured his muse.
She laughs, shyly tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’ll try to hide them.”
Reasonably, I offer, “You can come up here and hide them on my face.”
God, but she’s fucking sexy like this, looking like a dish, but still so coy and uncertain as she ducks her head to hide a grin. “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for taking care of me during my period. And for…” Her eyes slide away, a rosy blush spreading over her cheeks. “… before, with Killian.”
“Trust me.” I reach down to give my dick a squeeze. “The pleasure was all mine.”
She sits on the edge of her bed, and I can practically see her gathering up some courage. I don’t know what for, at first. But then her thighs fall open, giving me a view of the smooth expanse of skin, leading to the lacy fabric between her legs. My eyebrows climb my forehead as she intentionally runs her fingertips along her inner thigh.
“I was just thinking how…” Her head tips to the side, showing me the long column of her neck. “… you’ve really kept to my boundaries lately.” Her teeth rake over her lip as those fingers on her thigh slowly climb. “That’s not easy for you, is it?”
“You have no fucking idea.” My jaw flexes as I watch, realizing what this is. “But I keep my promises.”
“I kept my promise, too,” she says, moving her other hand to play with the strap of the bra, a slender finger tracing the lace detailing. “Even though I don’t have to anymore, I haven’t touched myself. Not without permission.”
Muttering a curse, I reach under the waistband of my shorts and take my cock in my hand, giving it a slow stroke. “No? Why did you do that?” God knows the rest of us have been beating our dicks like they owe us money.
“I don’t know,” she answers, her fingers making tiny circles on that pale patch of inner thigh. “I just don’t think I could bring myself to do it. Not if one of you isn’t a part of it. It wouldn’t be as… good? I think I just want to save it.” She says it with this little pensive crease between her eyebrows, like maybe she’s learning something about herself. “I want to save it for you.”
My head falls back, a groan rumbling in my throat. Jesus, this girl. I try to contain myself, keeping my voice low and controlled. “Do you want to touch yourself now, sweetheart?”
She nods, biting down on her lip. “I do, but only if you’re okay with it.”
Okay, now she’s toying with me. I know it. She knows it. But I don’t give a fuck. I don’t give a fuck that she knows my weaknesses, or that there was a time in high school she did this sort of thing semi-professionally. It still feels like mine. For me, and me alone. It’s sexy and sweet, and this woman might be the most dangerous fire I’ve ever played with, but fuck it.
All I want is to get burned.
Slouching back—getting comfortable—I reply, “You have my permission,” and pull my cock out of my shorts. It bobs dramatically, and I run my thumb over the precum accumulated at the top. “Just take it slow and make sure you’re in range of the camera. I want to see everything.”
“Like this?” she asks, tugging down the straps of the bra and letting her tits free. Her fingers roll her nipple, tugging it into a sharp peak, while her other hand slides between her legs, pulling the panties aside to give me a view of her sweet, wet cunt. She blinks guilelessly at the camera. “Is this good?”
Yeah, she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Just like that, sweetheart.” I mimic her movements, rolling and tugging my balls in my palm. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?”
She leans back on the bed, legs hanging over the edge, and lets her thighs fall further apart. “Only for you.” The pads of her fingers make a quick rubbing motion against her clit and she moans from the friction. My breathing matches the rise and fall of her chest, but I notice when her eyes dart to the side. It takes me a moment, but I realize she’s looking at the door.
Ah, big brother is on the prowl.
“Is he out there?” I ask, cock surging at the thought of her touching herself for me while he’s so close.
“Always,” she breathes, fingers keeping their slow, circular rhythm.
Fisting my cock, I wonder, “Are you going to ever let him back in?”
She gives me a slow blink, but doesn’t stop her movements. “I-I don’t know.”
“You fucked him,” I point out, eyes fixed on the image of her pussy. “Twice. Why the freeze on this?”
“Because letting him in here…” She leans back again, breath hitching. “I’m just not ready.”
It’s fair. I know what he does to her at night. I had the two of them pegged that day in the living room, realizing that Killian still has a lot to learn. He knows how to own her, but he doesn’t know how to let her move and breathe and be. I might be a control freak, but I’d be lying if I said a part of me didn’t get off on seeing her like this. Not knowing what she’s going to do. Having to work for it. The slow march of time wearing at my patience, and the willpower to hold on to it.
It’s a certain kind of foreplay.
I watch as she poises an index finger at her entrance, ready to enter herself, and I find my body going tense at the thought. Unthinkingly, I command, “Stop.”
“What?” she asks, staring owlishly at the camera. Her cheeks are red, eyes all glassy and dazed, halfway to losing any sense. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, no,” I assure, giving my cock a slow stroke. “I have a request.”
She runs her finger up and down her slit, slow and pointed. “Oh. Okay.”
Clearing my throat, I start, “I know the agreement is that we can’t tell you who or what to fuck, but…” Well, there’s not much to add to that. It is the agreement. Nevertheless, I take a chance. “Don’t finger yourself. I don’t want anyone inside you but us.” A strange feeling builds in my chest at hearing the words come to life. “That pussy’s so precious, sweetheart. And it’s ours, isn’t it?”
Her lips part, eyes shining back at me through the camera. “Y-yes. It’s yours.”
All the tension in my spine melts away. “That’s right. And when your pussy clenches around something, it should be one of our cocks. Don’t you think?”
I don’t have the right to ask. I gave that up—willingly. But Story nods, lip trapped between her teeth. “I understand,” she says, voice shaky.
I swallow back a groan and twist my palm around the head of my cock. “That’s my good girl. You don’t need it anyway. You can come just like this, can’t you?”
She writhes at the praise, eyes never leaving the camera as she circles her clit, nodding. “Can you?”
My laugh is ragged and quiet. “Oh, sweetheart, I could absolutely come just from watching you play with your clit like this. But I do have my cock out.”
I know what she’s going to ask before the words even exit her mouth. I can see it in the spark alighting her eyes, the way her thighs clench around her hand. When she breathes, “Show me?” I’m scrambling for my phone, opening the camera and pointing it right at my dick.
Now, as a rule, I take a lot of time with my dick pics. Lighting, angle, and grooming are all very important to the integrity of the piece. Philistines like Rath would just snap a shot in any old position with no care as to composition and form. But a good dick pic takes time and heavy consideration. It’s not something I snap on a whim after a workout. I carve out a good hour, really give the girls something worth opening and sharing around.
Right now?
I couldn’t fucking care less.
I lift my dick in my hand and hit the shutter, hastily sending it off in a text. A moment later, she’s grabbing for her own phone, thumbing the text open.
She breathes out this quiet, slow little, “Oh,” that has my lips tugging up into a smirk.
I continue stroking my cock. “Like what you see?”
She looks away from the screen, eyes heavy as she works her clit. “Does it feel good?”
“Not as good as you,” I confess, matching the rhythm of her slowly rocking hips. Words spill from my lips like an avalanche. “Fuck, you were so wet and perfect the other day. Haven’t had a fuck that good in so long. Should have gotten Rath in there. We would have pumped you so full of our come…”
Shit, that really gets her going, head falling back as her fingers grind into her clit, mouth opened on choppy breaths. “H-how… how would you…”
“We could take you just like before. Back to back,” I answer as my fist bobs up and down, voice gruff. “Or…”
The muscles in her thighs flex as she rocks into the motion of her hand. “Or?”
“Well,” I offer, vividly imagining it, “three of us. Three holes…”
Her head shoots up, stare wild and heavy as that blush crawls down to her chest. “You mean…?”
“I’d fuck that pretty, wet pussy.” My hand speeds up on my dick as I watch her shudder. “Rath could take you from behind, give that tight little asshole of yours a proper breaking in. Killer could take your mouth, fuck your face.” She looks both stunned and electrified, which is exactly how I know she’s moments from coming. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Taking all of us at the same time? I bet you could handle it. All three of us making love to our sweet, nasty little slut…”
She lets out a soft, almost pained cry when she comes, thighs trapping her hand between her legs as she quivers so prettily. Mine is messy, practically an afterthought considering where my mind is, lost in the images of everything I’m describing to her.
By the time I come back into myself, she’s out of frame, the image showing nothing but her empty bed.
I stare at it for a long moment, my fist and stomach covered in my spunk, before exhaling jaggedly. It’s not until I’m in bed, showered and clean, flicking off the light by the bed, that realize how bone-tired I am. It’s the first night I haven’t spent down on the basketball court, or jogging the darkened streets of Forsyth, looking for any healthy way to blow off steam. It’s either been that, or me jerking off to the video of her and Rath down in the pit, and I’ve about worn that clip raw.
What I needed was to see my girl biting down on her bottom lip. To tell her all these dirty things I’ve had rolling around in my mind. To breathe life into them. To plant their seeds into her brain. To know they can make her come like that, watching as the orgasm rippled through her. That’s what finally settles me.
As my eyes adjust to the light, I notice the screen is still up on my laptop—and that the camera is still filming in night vision mode. Story is in her own bed, covers pulled up to her chest, with one pale leg jutting out.
She didn’t block me out.
I lay on my side, staring at her sleeping form, trying to figure out what kind of hold Story Austin has on me. I know it’s more than her physical looks. It’s her fight—the way she pushes back—the roiling emotions under the surface. Maybe it was the way she begged Rath to fuck her with the knife handle that night in the funhouse. Maybe it was the day in the computer lab when she got on her knees for me. Fuck, maybe it was even before all that. Maybe it was that night, years ago, in Killian’s laundry room, when she looked up at me with those eyes.
She’s innocent, yet dirty and depraved, and strong enough to take it. It ignites something in me that no one—not Genevieve or any other female—has sparked before. She makes me want to make her feel good. She makes me want to give her everything. I don’t want to burn her down.
I want to burn with her, high and bright.
“No.” My father’s voice is clear and brooks no argument.
“It’s only one year,” I reason, wiping my face. My morning workout had been hard, pushing me to the brink. I usually try to keep it chill, but I knew this godforsaken call was coming. “I have too much to do. I can’t drop everything for a dumb Christmas party.”
“Dumb?” Fuck. I know that low, dangerous tone. “The annual Mercer Christmas party is dumb now?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” I can’t exactly tell him the truth, which is that we’re dealing with some psycho murderer who wants our balls on a platter, and the exposure of the annual Mercer Christmas extravaganza would be idiotic. “I just mean that it’s a bad time.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” My father’s voice drips with sarcasm. “I know how incredibly difficult it must be to be the heir to the Mercer fortune.”
“Dad,” I start, but he interrupts.
“No, no, no. I completely understand. Just like I completely understood when you blew us off for Thanksgiving. Your mother and I have only been planning this event since March.” Christ. Real guilt tripper, my old man. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
Well, that’s a whiplash moment. “Stupid? Where did I imply—”
“This is about Daniel Payne,” he says, voice hard. “And I think you need to remember whose son you are. You’re going to be here on the 24th at seven sharp. You’re going to wear the tux your mother’s had painstakingly tailored for you. You’re going to smile and shake hands and be so goddamn charming that people are still talking about you at the next one. You’re going to be the immaculate representation of the family you actually bear the name of. Is that understood?”
My father doesn’t make threats. Never has, doesn’t need to. It’s unspoken, but plainly obvious what denying his request will mean.
Silently fuming, I bite out, “Yes, sir. Seven sharp.”
“Attaboy,” he says, hanging up.
I toss my phone on the weight bench, pushing my sweat-dampened hair back. Rath doesn’t know how easy he has it. His dad is some absent sperm donor he’s never met, and his mom couldn’t care less what he does. Killian and I have to exist with the knowledge that some asshole holds the keys to our future, and they’re constantly being dangled over our heads, just out of reach.
Except Killer’s actually grown enough balls to fight back.
I think about this as I shower and change for classes, dreading that fucking party. It’s always a huge spectacle, the Mercer Christmas party. It’s more of a ball than a party, full of champagne and pretense, and usually I’d be all over it. But this year, I have more important things to worry about. Like keeping Izzy and Lizzy safe from this psycho. Like watching over Story. Like finding out who the hell this guy even is. I don’t have time for photo-ops and speeches and waltzes.
I’m just heading down to find Killian—he’ll feel my pain—when he finds me.
“Got a meeting in ten.”
I pause on the second floor landing, inspecting the hardness that’s fallen over my friend’s features. “Meeting? We have classes in—”
Fists clenching, he explains, “It’s the only time he’ll see us.”
Ah. So Killer really can feel my pain.
Crossing my arms, I ask, “You told your dad about Viv’s finger.” He gives a jerking nod. “And he wants to talk it over? Compare notes?”
“That’s the plan,” he says, the vein in his temple jumping. “Now or never.”
