“Killian…”
I watch as Story sighs my name; the camera moving from her supple tits to her sleeping face. Her lips are slightly parted, cheeks flushed a soft pink. Once again, I reach down to adjust my boner, listening to Tristian ask her if she misses waking up to my cock.
The hallway feels too hot, even though it’s December and drafty, and if I had a little less respect for myself, I’d just whip my dick out right here and get off like an animal. But I don’t. In the time it takes Story and Rath to wake the fuck up, I’ve replayed the video Tristian sent me a time or two. Or five.
Or… twenty eight.
I wait until precisely nine to pound on the door, tired of pacing out here with that video playing on a loop, both on my phone and inside my head. It’s getting real fucking old. She wants it. She wants me in her bed. She wants to wake up to me. That little frown on her face while Tristian was whispering in her ear was pure disappointment.
So what the hell does a guy have to do?
Rath’s the one to yank the door open, looking surly and tense. From the tent in his boxers, I can guess why. “You’re the worst goddamn cockblock, you know that?”
I look over his shoulder just in time to catch a flash of Story’s bare chest as she closes her shirt. My dick throbs. “You can’t hole up in here all fucking day. Let’s get on with it.”
With that, I leave them, fully intending to march my horny ass back up there in ten minutes if they don’t show. I look for Ms. Crane next, but she’s a lot easier. I find her in the garden, back hunched against the cold as she aggressively puffs at a cigarette. This isn’t generally an unusual state to find her in. For being such a curmudgeonly bitch, she follows the rules about not smoking in the house.
It’s just that, this morning, she’s wearing a red and green reindeer sweater—I’m pretty sure there are bells on it—and an elf hat.
She peers one beady eye up at me when I stop, speechless at the sight in front of me. “What are you looking at?” she sneers in her rough voice.
“Funny.” I stare at her. “I had the same question.”
She flicks the ashes from her cigarette. “You’re looking at an old woman getting her morning nicotine fix. Christ, you’re sharp as a marble.”
“I just mean, you’re looking so,” I waver, wondering if the lashing I’m sure to get is worth it, “festive.”
Her left eye twitches. “’Tis the fucking season, is it not?”
“Yeah, but—”
She points two fingers at me, the cigarette wobbling between them. “The last forty years, Christmas has meant jack shit to me but a houseful of cranky, bipedal erections. If I want to wear shitty sweaters and bake cookies, then that’s what I’m going to do, and the whole lot of you are going to keep your goddamn mouths shut about it.”
I hold up my hands. “By all means.”
Cookies?
Jesus wept.
I catch Tristian in the kitchen before he can make the same mistake. “I think Ms. Crane is into the whole Christmas spirit thing. Don’t mention it to her.”
He pulls a face. “Seriously?”
Ms. Crane will be content for the day once she sees what we left her. A bottle of Scotch, a box of French chocolates, a fat blunt, and a new copy of Paul Newman’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid with extra scenes. She’ll be drunk, fed, horny over Paul, and out of our hair for the night.
“You got her gift?” Tristian asks.
“Wrapped and ready.”
Buying a girl a gift—any girl—isn’t something I’ve ever done before. My motto has always been ‘no expectations-no strings’ and frankly, getting a taste of the Killer D is gift enough in my opinion. But shit isn’t the same with Story. Nothing is the same. Everything has shifted between us.
At nine thirty, Story and Rath finally appear, dressed but trudging down the stairs, like they’d rather be in bed. She’s pulled her hair up, some of her makeup from last night still visible around the edges of her eyes. I only caught a brief glimpse of her and Tristian coming home from his parent’s party, but it was enough to see his hair was tousled, eyes glazed over as he watched her glide toward the stairs. I don’t know if he was drunk, stoned, or high on pussy. The blissed-out expression on Story’s face when she walked past the den has me placing odds on pussy.
Ms. Crane insisted we have a tree, and sometime during the craziness of the last week she put one up, gaudily, with those strings of tinsel that get all over the place. There are no big gifts or stockings filled with treats. We’re three adult men living in a frat house. This year is an exception only because Story is here. Her gift is the only one I actually care about. Story takes a seat between Tristian and Rath on the couch and looks at the package on the coffee table curiously.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she says, shifting uncomfortably between them.
Rath throws an arm over the back of the couch, insisting, “Just open it.”
Although this was mostly my idea, Tristian tells her, “It’s from all of us.” He still throws me a skeptical look. Even Rath is worrying his lip ring against his tongue as he watches her pick it up, peeling away the wrapping paper.
I completely expect the flash of stunned disbelief in her eyes when she lifts the lid on the box. “No way.” Her wide eyes jump to mine, cheeks spread into a grin that looks automatic. “This is mine? Really mine?!”
There’s a strange bloom of warmth in my chest. I have to stop myself from reaching up to rub at it. “You have to learn how to take care of it,” I warn, not expecting her to lurch up from the sofa and fly toward me.
She squeals, and even though I’ve stiffened instinctually at the sudden explosion of movement, I catch her in my arms, lost for a moment in the soft, feminine scent of her hair.
“Thank you.” She presses a quick, thoughtless kiss to my neck before zipping away, and I’m not prepared.
It feels like my lungs have collapsed.
I clear my throat, watching her test the weight of the pistol in her grip. “It’s a smaller caliber, but—”
“It’s so pretty!” she gushes, the light catching on the silver as she closely inspects it.
My boys and I share a perplexed look. We’ve heard guns referred to as a lot of things, but ‘pretty’ is a first. I’d chosen it carefully, because Story isn’t the type of girl who’d say so, but I can tell guns have made her a little twitchy since she shot Ugly Nick. This one is smaller than the one she used that night. Lighter. Easy to conceal. I arch my eyebrow smugly at Tristian.
Told you so.
Fucker wanted to get her jewelry.
I can tell when she catches sight of the engraving on the barrel because she squints, reading it aloud. “Lady’s choice…” When her gaze lifts to mine, a current passes between us—a memory.
“What was it I gave you?”
“A choice, big brother.”
I tear my eyes away, squirming under the weight of it. I’m not a good person, not a good brother, and god knows I’m absolute shit at being something more. But sometimes, when she looks at me like that, all soft and assured, it makes me think I could try.
“Okay,” Tristian says, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Now that everyone is armed...”
“Marcus texted me last night,” Rath says, sprawling out. “He says the snow hill is ready, and he got the machine to pump out extra.” Marcus is an excellent linebacker. He’s also a mechanical engineering student and handy as fuck to have around.
“We’re really going to go sledding?” Story asks, still holding her new gun. She looks excited about it, and Rath and Tristian share a grin.
“Oh, this isn’t just sledding, baby.” Rath reaches out to grab her hips, tugging her closer, “It’s snow rolling.”
She tilts her head. “What’s that?”
Five hours later, we’re all standing in the kitchen getting geared up to go to the hill, and Tristian is giving Rath a rundown of terms and conditions. “Make sure I’m hydrated,” he says, eyes narrowed at the Molly in Rath’s palm. “But not too hydrated. And don’t let me grind my teeth so much. My dentist is already on my nuts for brushing too hard.”
Rath rolls his eyes, but nods along. Same shit, different year. “I know how to handle you when you’re rolling, Tris. Just take it.”
Begrudgingly, Tristian sticks out his tongue, and Rath drops the tablet on the tip of it.
“I don’t know why you bother acting like you’re so above this.” I pull on my jacket before grabbing Story’s off the hook and passing it to her. “We all know you look forward to this dumb shit every year. In an hour, you’ll be creaming your pants over how much you love the texture of air or whatever.”
Story cranes her neck to watch as Tristian takes it into his mouth. “What does it feel like?”
Rath gives her a quick, surprised glance. “You’ve never done ex?” When she shakes her head, he explains, “It makes you feel good. You know, like…euphoric.”
Tristian adds, “You want to touch everything.”
“You want to fuck everything,” I offer.
“You get hot.” Tristian holds up his hoodie—no coat for him—before tugging it over his head. “And thirsty, and like you just want to bite the fuck out of something.”
“Everything just feels amazing.” Rath’s crucial mistake is that he shows her the baggy, which must have at least a dozen still in it.
I wince, already knowing what’s coming.
Her eyes sparkle as she stares at the bag. “I want some.”
I’d long ago brought up the difference between rolling on Molly during our epic Christmas rager versus being stuck at home with no one but each other and her. No girl is prepared for that amount of clinging horniness. Because of that, we’d all agreed it’d just be Tristian today. The two of us could keep him in line.
But Rath is giving me this dark, impish little smirk. “What do you think, big brother? I have enough to keep everyone rolling until after sundown.”
Biting back a curse, I look at our Lady. “You’d better be fucking sure.” The last thing I want is her coming down and getting all pissy about whatever happens out there. Rolling or not, if she starts rubbing up against me, I’m not holding back.
She gives a quick nod, raising her chin. “I’m sure.”
Rath looks at Tristian before reaching into the bag. He approaches me first, placing a tablet on my tongue, but when he gets to Story, he plucks one from the bag and places it on his own, giving his tongue a wiggle.
She raises an eyebrow, straining up on her toes, and in a move that I sincerely fucking hope is setting the mood for things to come, closes her lips around his tongue, cheeks hollowing when she sucks.
I watch a shiver run through Rath as she pulls back, giving him a peek of the tablet between her teeth.
This is either going to end really fucking bad or really fucking good.
“Here we go,” I mutter, watching Rath zip down the hill. “He’s going to wipe out.”
“No. I’m sure he’ll—” Story stops, her hands covering her cheeks as we both watch the impending crash. Rath’s sled hits a small bump built into the structure and he goes flying, arms and legs flailing as he rockets into the air. “Oh, no!”
He tucks and rolls, coming to a sliding stop at the bottom.
I give a slow, loud clap. “Graceful as fuck, Rathbone!”
The only movement from the dark shape of him sprawled on the ground is the emergence of two arms, raised to flip me off.
It’s a shame this is being wasted on the three of us. Mount Marcus, named after our frat brother, is the best sledding hill yet. I can just imagine fifty wasted frat boys tripping over themselves to break a bone on this fucker.
“Here,” I offer Story the sled. “Your turn.”
“I’m okay,” she says, flashing a small grin. “You go again.”
Her snow hat is askew, and I can tell the Molly is hitting her because she’s gnawing on her hoodie string like it’s a bone. Although her expression is cute and innocent, her pupils are blown wide, two deep pools of black peering up at me.
I’ve been three times and the guys have each gone four.
“What gives, little sister? Don’t trust Marcus’ handiwork?” I nudge her with my elbow, but the Molly must be hitting me too, because she stumbles with the force of it. I shoot my hand out to catch her, yanking her into my side. “Oops.”
She gives me an uneasy laugh. “Oh, I trust his skills,” she promises, but looks down at the bottom, where Tristian is helping Rath off the ground. “I’m just not super into, um, my own. Right now. Specifically.” She’s gnawing on that string and staring wide-eyed at the expanse of white slope, and Ah.
I look at her dubiously. “Is it hitting you too hard?” Well, she is a tiny thing compared to the three of us. Maybe Rath should have started her off with half a tablet. Fuck.
“No, it’s not that.” Her arms cross and the pom-pom on the top of her hat bobs. “I just don’t think I’d like how it feels.”
It isn’t until her eyelashes flutter that I realize I’m fondling her hair. I consider stopping, but decide it feels really good against my fingers. Like spun sugar or gold or something. “Sounds like you’re scared.”
Which is surprising and funny. This woman has shot a man, faced down my father, avoided a stalker for years, and exacted revenge on the three of us. Yet she’s scared of a fake, snow-covered hill.
She lifts a shoulder. “So what if I am?”
I drop the sled on the top of the shoot and position my legs around each side. Just before I sit, I reach out and grab her, pulling her against my chest and dragging her down.
“Killian!” she shouts, fighting against me. “Let me go!”
I struggle to settle her thrashing little body between my legs. “Stop fighting,” I growl, cinching my arm around her waist. “If you’ll just chill out for a second,” I say, blowing a strand of hair out of my mouth. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
She finally stills, but her spine is rigid, shoulders all stiff.
“Lean into me.” I nudge her toward me, and she relents, tipping her back against my chest. “What are you afraid of?”
“I don’t like the way my stomach feels when I go down big hills,” she admits, fingers curling around my knees. “You know, that crazy swoop you get?”
“I’ve been in the car with you.” I clench my teeth at the way she’s rubbing the denim over my knees, all mindless like she doesn’t even realize she’s basically feeling them up. “You drive like a fucking maniac.”
“That’s different.” I feel her ease a little, sinking into my chest. “I drive the car, it doesn’t drive me. I trust myself.”
I get a little lost in the way she feels against me, like I could get us both naked right now and not even need to nut. Just feeling her body against mine would probably be the most amazing fucking thing I’ve ever felt.
And then her words register. “So you don’t trust me.” Fuck, I’m not expecting the sting of that, but even I have to admit, “That’s fair.”
She looks back at me, her dilated eyes giving me a blink. “Is it? We’ve both done some shitty things to each other, but we’ve also had one another’s backs.” Frowning, she looks down at the slope, giving my knees another idle petting. “I suppose we’ve moved past that, haven’t we?”
The cut of her jaw is too tight, muscles and tendons flexing, and I touch her chin mostly to ease the pressure there. To remind her that she doesn’t need to clench up. To get those eyes back on mine, so I can say, “I think we have.”
I brush my lips over hers, tasting the hot cocoa she drank earlier, but she instantly deepens it, opening her mouth to my eager tongue. The rush of heat that spreads through my limbs makes me rumble, deep in my chest, because I’ve changed my mind. The slick warmth of her tongue against mine has to be the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt. I could easily succumb to it, let myself fall into how good it is, just being inside her mouth.
But I pull back, jaw going tight at the restraint I need to do so. “Take this ride with me, little sister. I’ll keep you safe.”
Her eyes flutter open, and she might be high right now, but I know some of that glassiness in her gaze is on account of me. “Promise?” The question is loaded—more about than just a simple sleigh ride. It’s about life and everything hurtling our way.
And it’s easy to answer.
“I promise.”
She faces forward and squirms her ass against me, making my cock swell.
Rubbing up against me.
But despite my earlier thoughts about not holding back, I just can’t bring myself to ruin the moment by pushing anything. Her arms loop around mine, holding on tight, and it does something to me, having her in my arms. It’s the same way I felt those few times she curled against me to sleep. Like this is something I need to protect. Something I need to be careful with.
I rock back and forth, gaining enough momentum to push off, sending us down the chute and onto the ice covered hill. She lets out a shocked little screech, but it’s followed by a sudden peal of laughter. Down at the bottom, the guys cheer us on, and I feel the tickle in my belly—the one she talked about—that swoop that feels loose and out of control.
It’s not the ride or the drugs that make me feel it.
It’s the girl.
This has been seven solid hours of agony.
The Molly’s good—Rath knows his product better than most—which means that we spend all afternoon looking for excuses to get Story into our laps. Sledding was the easy bait.
She acts like a cat, rubbing herself on the three of us. She seeks skin; pressing her icy hands against our faces and slipping up shirts. It’s the tiniest of touches, but everything is heightened and by the time it’s dark and we’re all sitting around Tristian’s ambitious bonfire, I’ve had a boner for hours.
I’m actually grateful we’re coming down. Or, at least the three of us are.
Story is still stroking the back of Rath’s hand. “You were right,” she whispers, staring wonderingly at his skin. “Everything feels amazing.” She shivers and he wraps his arm around her, pulling her close. We’ve been out here for a few hours and the chill has settled in.
“I can’t believe you’re still rolling.” Rath looks at her the same way she’s looking at his hand. “Your metabolism is fucking insane.”
“Remember freshman year?” Tristian pokes at the fire with a stick, stoking the flames. He always gets this devious glint in his eye around an open flame, like the little imp inside his head is dying to come out and play. “That pledge who got so high they had to tie him down? Handsy little fucker.”
I laugh, replaying the memory. “I wonder if he was actually gay, or if the drugs were just that good.”
“In all fairness,” Tristian says, “the hot tub was a sausage fest that year. When it comes to pussy, options are never good for a pledge.”
Story looks around and then turns back to us, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “The hot tub! Would that feel good, too?”
“Oh,” Rath says, already standing and pulling her with him. “Let’s find out.”
Tristian bends over the box of fire supplies, still muttering about the fire. “If I add some lint and rearrange the kindling—”
“Tris!” I bark. His eyes snap up, and I point toward the house. “Hot tub, dude. Priorities.”
His eyebrows shoot up as he watches Story and Rath jog over to the tub. She stops by the edge and unzips her hoodie, and he springs into action, closing the box. “Oh, right. Good call.”
In the blue light coming from the tub, I see Story shivering in a t-shirt and panties, dipping a toe in the steamy water. While she eases in, cautiously dipping beneath the surface, Rath punches the button on the panel, starting up the gurgling jets.
We all take our beers with us as we approach, Rath undressing first to step into the hot tub in his boxers. Tristian peels off his clothes as he walks over, carefully laying his outfit on a nearby chair. He gets down to his boxer briefs and drops them, too.
“These cost two hundred dollars,” he says, holding them up. “All natural and organic fibers cultivated in Peru. I’m not subjecting them to all that chlorine.” He jumps in next, looking pleased when the splash makes her shriek.
I strip down, shucking off my pants. The cold air slaps my ass and I do a full body shiver. All three of them look over, and I shrug. “Commando today.”
I don’t hesitate to get in the water, the blistering heat warming my toes. The hot tub is big, being made for a frat and all. We’ve had more than one party out here, plenty of big guys and their tail of choice packed in ten, fifteen deep.
The water sloshes as I sink under, but my eyes zero in on Story’s tits. Jesus. She’s sitting across from me, between Rath and Tristian, still in the white shirt, but it’s pasted on like a second skin, nipples dark and round beneath the clinging cotton. I feel the blood rush to my cock. From the way Tristian and Rath are staring at them, I’m guessing they know the feeling. But she’s too distracted with feeling the surface of the water to notice.
“Crackly,” she murmurs, swirling her fingers around.
“No offense, Tris,” Rath says, resting his arms on the edge of the tub. “But this is way better than your shitty fire.” He dips his chin toward the glow in the distance, the flames already beginning to die.
“A good fire requires constant attention. You have to feed it, stoke it.” He grins over at Story, watching as her eyes track the paths her hands are making just below the surface. “Kind of like this Lady of ours.”
She flicks him a quick, absent-minded glance. “Did you just compare me to a fire?”
“It’s a compliment.” He kisses her neck, sucking on the skin below her ear. “Trust me.”
That at least gets her attention away from the water. She gasps, tilting her head to give his mouth more space. “What else do you do during these parties? Besides the sledding and bonfires and hot tub things?”
I tip back my beer, thinking of our previous bashes. “There’s Jingle Bell Pong. Which…is basically beer pong, only with bells instead of ping-pong balls.” Come to think of it, “It’s not really a good substitution.”
Tristian gestures to me with the neck of his own beer bottle. “There’s also the thot patrol.”
“Plus, Candy Cocks,” Rath throws in. “And too many drinking games to remember.”
“What’s a thot patrol?” she asks, even though the look on her face says she’s not sure she wants to know.
“It’s where the Lords gather up the hottest bitches to pair off with the highest-scoring LDZs.” Tristian’s fingertips skate down her neck, dipping just beneath her collarbone. “Have to keep the soldiers incentivized, yeah?”
Her forehead wrinkles. “So they, like, go off to have sex with them?”
“Uh…” Rath looks to me for guidance, but ultimately agrees, “Sure, yeah. They go off.” When she narrows her eyes, he buckles. “Well, sometimes.”
Shrugging, I see no point in sugarcoating it. “Other times, they just take them right there in the basement where everyone can see.”
Tristian explains, “When the parties get that wild, private fuck spots are a hot commodity.”
She purses her lips. “Hmm.” It’s a much milder reaction than I’m expecting, which is why I’m caught off guard when she asks, “What’s ‘Candy Cocks’?”
I choke on my mouthful of beer, coughing, but Tristian sends her a smirk.
“That’s a game for the Lady.” His eyes dance as he watches her, beer halfway to his lips. “The Lords and five lucky LDZ brothers all drop trou, hide behind a screen, and then the Lady has to try to guess which cocks are her Lords’.” It’s a gentle description, since most games of Candy Cocks end in the Lady giving a generous amount of head.
Surprising me again, Story just buries a laugh into her palm. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” Tristian answers.
There’s a beat of pensive silence, and then her jaw drops. “You were going to make me do that?!”
“Make?” Rath’s eyebrows climb his forehead.
Quietly, I explain, “No one’s ever had to make a Lady play Candy Cocks before.”
This was always an issue, I suppose. Story didn’t choose to become our Lady—not really. She was here for protection, maybe some revenge, but it was never something she wanted. I doubt she’ll ever be able to understand that some girls do, and it’s not always just because of the status and benefits. Candy Cocks, the house rules, the rivalries, the crazy, uninhibited sex…
It’s supposed to be a good time for all.
Sure, there are Royal women who get dogged on. God only knows what kind of sick shit the Counts get up to behind closed doors, and the Dukes, well…they brand their goddamn house mark into their Duchesses. The Lords have rules—strict rules—for their Lady, and I’m not deluded enough to think it’s an easy position to fill. Some have cracked, others have probably persevered past their own limits. But even though we might all be sadistic fucks to a certain degree, no one who isn’t at least a little bit into it would audition. No one’s that crazy.
The silence that falls over us is awkward, slicing right through the easy fun of the day.
Weirdly, Story’s the first to shake it off.
She tips her head back, eyes closing. “Just so we’re clear, I would have crushed it.”
My eyes follow the rise and fall of her chest, the steam not thick enough to hide the flush of her cheeks. “Is that so?”
“Yep.” She lazily cuts her arms through the water. “I could totally pick your dicks out of a lineup. Any day, any time.”
Tristian shoots me and Rath an amused look. “You really think so?”
She lifts her head, nodding. “Oh, yeah. They’re so distinctive.”
I’m the one to ask, “Distinctive?” A dick’s a dick, if you ask me, and I’ve been in a lot of locker rooms.
“Oh, definitely,” she says, eyes so wide and guileless that butter couldn’t melt. “For instance, Tristian is—” She pauses, and then suddenly leaps through the water at me. “Here, I’ll show you.”
I let her guide me between the others, and when she makes a lifting gesture, looking frustrated when we all just stare at her, I’m the first to get the hint. “Well, we already know mine’s the biggest,” I say, standing.
Tristian catches on, whipping his head around to laugh in my face. “In what fucking universe?”
The air is like icy razors against my skin when I prop myself on the edge of the tub, and from Tristian’s hissed inhale as he follows suit, I’m guessing he feels the same. Rath’s the last to get with the program, but when he does, he rolls his eyes.
“Aren’t we a little old for a dick measuring contest?” He reaches beneath the water, shoulders shifting as he pulls off his boxers. “Pretty sure I won this Junior year of high school.”
When we’re all lined up on the edge of the tub, Story rubs her cheeks and just…looks. Her eyes ping from one dick to another, taking them in. Despite the cold, Tristian and Rath, like me, are already approaching full staff.
“Yes, see?” She bobs up between Tristian’s knees, sliding her palms up his thighs. “Tristian’s is always so nice and trimmed. He really takes care of it, you can tell.” We all watch, transfixed as she reaches up to run a fingertip down its length. “You can tell he’s proud of it. He always smells so good, even down there.” She gives his cock a long, considering look. And then she nods, like she’s come to some very grave decision. “I like it.”
He reaches down to tuck a palm behind her neck, and I’d know that flash of darkness in his eyes anywhere. “Show me, sweetheart.” He wraps his other fist around the base, nudging her close. “Show me how much you like my dick.”
She barely has to be encouraged. One second, she’s inspecting it wistfully, and the next, she’s swallowing it down.
Tristian puffs out a cloud of warmth into the chilled air, letting his dick go only to press a palm to the back of her head. He pushes her down—forces her—until I can see her shoulders contract with the struggle to breathe.
“Tris—” I start, but he just fists his fingers into her hair.
“Nah, she can take it.” After a moment, he tugs her back, dick twitching between her lips at the wetness in her eyes. His voice is gravelly, but somehow still soft when he asks, “You like taking my cock like that, don’t you? Tell them, so they know.”
She nods, gazing up at him. “I like feeling you in the back of my throat.” Her voice is rough, but she doesn’t clear it. She ducks in to plant a long, sucking kiss to the head before backing away. Tristian tries to drag her back, but she’s already swimming to Rath, eyes taking in his cock next. “Dimitri’s feels the best inside, because it’s got this wicked curve right here.” She runs her lips over the shaft, voice hushed against the skin. “And he knows just how to use it. He’s always so precise and teasing.” She tilts her head, pressing her pensive face against his thigh. “It hits all the right places. I’d know this one anywhere.”
Rath watches her with parted lips, his wet hair hanging in his eyes as he flexes his hips. Story takes the tip between her lips, and looks up, holding his gaze as she sinks down.
“Fuck,” Rath sighs, shoulders going slack. He touches the part of her cheek that hollows with a suck, but it’s weirdly tender—a brush of his knuckles against the flushed skin. “Your mouth’s so fucking good, baby.”
She hums and it looks indulgent, the way she slowly slides away, a thin string of spit following her retreat.
I fist myself, stroking my dick through the ache of want that’s got it pulsating so hard and ready when she finally appears between my legs.
“And you,” she whispers, raking her lip through her teeth as she watches my hand squeeze the shaft. “It’s so thick that sometimes it hurts, and I think…” She glances up at me, quick and reluctant. “I think I kind of like that part of it. But the best part, by far?” My body stiffens as she leans in. The warmth of her breath against the tip is enough to make my toes curl, but then she drags the slick point of her tongue over it, eyes sliding closed. “You taste the best.”
“Yeah?” My voice feels like it’s dropped three octaves as I run the head of my cock over her tongue. “You like my cum, little sister?”
She answers by taking me into her mouth—just the tip—and humming. I catch a peek of her tongue as it swirls around, like she’s trying to catch the taste. I lean back, groaning at the heat of her mouth, and rest on my palms to watch. Rath and Tristian are ramping up, too, their dicks in their hands.
Fuck.
How long have I wanted this, craving the sight of her head in my lap? How many nights, mornings, afternoons have I spent with my fist around my cock, imagining what it’d be like to have her sucking me like this? All those nights back home, sneaking into her bedroom and running my cock over her mouth, don’t compare. That day down in the basement, making her suck me as punishment as the whole frat watched…
I wish I could just fucking erase it.
This is what her first real, coherent taste of me should have been. Her slick lips gliding down my shaft, hands so soft and insistent as they touch me. I’m fucking drowning in the heat and suction, and I know when my dick starts surging with precum, because she chases it greedily as she takes the flavor onto her tongue.
Tris slides over, cupping a palm against the back of her head. “Come on, sweetheart. Show your big brother how deep you can take it.” He pushes her down, but I can feel that he doesn’t need to, that she’s driving it into the back of her throat under her own will, fingertips pressing divots into my thighs.
Suddenly, the air feels too thick, too hot. I’m gulping it down and shaking with the effort it takes not to just…grab her face and fuck the absolute shit out of it. How the hell do Tristian and Rath handle this? How do they keep from fucking it up and losing it?
Tristian looks at me, saying, “Do it,” and I laugh. It’s a ragged, broken sound, because these three people know me too well. “Fuck her throat, Killer,” he insists, and behind his words, a moan emerges around the head of my cock.
She drags herself off my cock, sucking in a series of wet, deep breaths, before staring up at me. “I can take it.”
Her jaw is loose beneath my thumbs when I cradle her skull, guiding her back onto my cock. The Molly must still be pumping through my veins a little bit, because when I buck forward, cock hitting the back of her throat, something thunder-like erupts in my chest. I wrap her hair around my fist and thrust, bringing her down as I drive forward. For a short moment, it’s mindless, animalistic, brutal as I pummel her throat, because that’s the reality. I can’t control myself. I never could—not when it comes to her. But at the same time, I know.
I know my brothers will stop me if I go too far.
It’s what allows me to really let go, to hold her head in my wide palms and growl as I fuck into her mouth. She’s making these sloppy sounds, deep in her throat, almost identical to the water slapping against the walls of the tub.
Tristian is the one to ease me off, thumbing a tear track from her cheek when I free her. “That’s my girl.” His encouragement propels her to suck and lick my head, sending shivers down my spine. Tristian strokes his cock slowly, not in any rush as he looks up at Rath, “Come over here and touch her tits. Keep her warm.”
Rath stands, water sloshing around the edges of the tub, but when he moves behind her, the first thing he does is start peeling that white shirt up her body. He tugs her away from me, shushing her when she makes a plaintive noise. “Just real quick, baby.” True to his word, he gets the shirt over her head and lets her go at my cock again.
He mouths at her shoulder as he palms her tits, and Tristian and I watch him, groaning at the way his hands look over them, squeezing. It’s one of those things I wasn’t expecting, the way the two of them look with her. It’s just like that day she held onto me as Tristian fucked her.
She moans, releasing me to gasp, “Oh, that feels good. Hot and cold. Cold and hot.” Spinning, she faces Rath and kisses him, winding her arms around his neck. I have to admit it. They look good together. Right. Like they fit in some incomprehensible way. My eyes drop to her ass when his hands do, her silk panties clinging to her like a second skin. Her kisses trail down his neck to his chest, down his belly and back to his erection, bobbing just above water. “Dimitri’s all about the process, dragging it out as long as possible.” She laves her tongue over the tip. “But he doesn’t waste a single second. It’s all so good. So good.” There’s this expression on her face as she says it, almost pleadingly, as if she’s begging someone to understand why she can’t stop herself from taking Rath into her mouth.
Dimitri must hear it, because he makes a low, gritty sound and gathers her hair back, saying, “You can have this dick anytime you want, baby.”
The urge I’ve been suppressing all night washes over me, and I just can’t stop myself from dropping back into the water. My hands fit perfectly around her hips. I’ve always liked that about her, the way she looks so small up against me, like I could toss her around or swallow her up in my arms. I press my cock against her ass, nestling it between those sweet cheeks of hers, and I wish I could go back in time to the crazed motherfucker I used to be, just so I can tell him we get it.
She lifts away from Rath, turning to examine me through heavy, wet lashes. “Jealous, big brother?”
I don’t get out an answer before her hand thrusts out, gripping my cock. The smooth touch of her fingertips sends sparks flickering under my skin, and I know it’s the lingering effects of the drug, but it feels electric, like every nerve ending is connected to the searing point of her touch.
“I sure as fuck am,” Tristian admits, sliding off the edge.
Her gentle laugh as she turns to face him makes my lungs constrict. “Tristian Mercer demands attention. I’m shocked.”
He doesn’t bother disagreeing, the spoiled little fucker. He just sighs when she touches him, her hand dipping lower to fondle his balls. Her lips look red and swollen as they sink down onto him. If I’m looking for any cues that this isn’t actually something she wants to do, then I’m failing to find them. She moans when Rath reaches out to touch her, arching into the press of his palm on her neck.
Rath pushes her down, insistent but easy, like he’s curious to see just how deep she can drive herself onto Tristian’s cock.
The answer to that is, apparently, really fucking deep.
Rath’s voice is low, full of awe. “Goddamn, girl.” He strokes his own dick as he watches her nearly bottom out, lips stretched wide around the root of Tristian’s cock. “Am I gonna get some of that next?”
She pulls off Tristian, and without missing a beat, spins to take Rath into her mouth. She doesn’t perform as much for him, and it takes me a second to realize why. She knows what Rath likes. How many evenings has she spent up in his room doing this, learning what makes his shoulders hitch like that, finding out what elicits that rumble from his chest?
I try to be patient. I swear to fucking god; I do. But she’s basically making love to Rath’s dick with her mouth, and I need it. For myself. Luckily for me, all it takes is a touch on her shoulder and she’s whirling around, sinking her lips onto me. She lets me thrust into her mouth, but I don’t fuck myself into the back of her throat like last time. I don’t need it. I just need the way she looks up at me with those dazed eyes, so eager and trusting. It’d be enough to make anyone bust.
And then Tristian scoots close, caressing her cheek.
She takes us like that for a long while, deep throating Tristian until Rath gets impatient. Lavishing Rath’s dick with affection until I can’t take it anymore. Savoring my cock until Tristian nudges her. It’s quiet and over-warm, the three of us standing in some fucked-up, erotic triangle, thigh-deep in the bubbling hot tub, as we breathe too loud, eager for our own turn.
Rath licks over his lip ring as he watches her bob up and down on his dick. “Apparently, ex makes our girl a multi-tasker.”
And good at it, too, because it’s only moments later that she’s stroking me closer to a different kind of ecstasy. This one is so much more pure, natural enough that I feel it settle into my bones. It’s not just the drugs, it’s her. It’s all of us: the breath, the heartbeat, the aching balls. It’s Tristian’s gentle words of praise. It’s Rath’s quiet, dirty promises. It’s my soft grunts as I fuck myself against her slick tongue. It’s her little, barely suppressed whines as she enjoys us.
I’m not a musician like Rath, but I know a symphony when I hear it.
This is new territory for the three of us. Sure, we’ve been blown by the same girl before, but never like this. Never with her being passed from one to the other. Never with me watching that dark, possessive glint flash in Rath’s eyes, or the flicker of something tender and satisfied in Tristian’s as he makes her choke on it. If I’m being honest, I wouldn’t think one girl would be enough for a trio of sick, horny bastards like us, but here she is. Fucking killing it.
She’s wrong about one thing. I’m not jealous. Maybe there was a time watching her so hungry for them might have rattled around in my chest, but it’s long ago settled into its place there, wound tight around whatever sad, corrupted organ could be called a heart.
Story nudges us all closer, until we’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and our cocks are all in her face. She licks and sucks, running her tongue over each. I glide my hand up and down my shaft, keeping up the pace whenever her focus is on the others.
Finally, her mouth closes around me and I cradle her face in my hands, tipping her gaze to mine. “You ready for my cum, little sister?”
I don’t know if it’s my words, her anticipation, or the way I’m rubbing the pads of my thumbs against her cheeks, but she slows, staring up at me with eyes that are so open and full of longing that it makes my stomach clench. It’s what triggers the tightness building at the base of my spine.
She takes it just like that, opening wide, my cock jerking against her bottom lip. I make this shuddering gasp of a grunt that I might think to feel embarrassed about later. Right now, I come too hard to care, shooting right onto the pink of her swollen tongue.
She doesn’t swallow it.
The second I’m done wringing my orgasm from the tip of my dick, she’s turning to pull Tristian’s cock into her mouth. “Holy fuck,” he breathes, hips rearing back, only to plow back between her lips. “God, I love how fucking sloppy you get.” My cum is leaking from the corners of her mouth, and I know he’s close when he starts muttering broken, obscene things. “Such a perfect little slut for us. You’ll take it all, won’t you?”
Rath reaches down to touch her chin, running his fingertip through the trail of come, and then he prods it back into the corner of her mouth, slotting his finger right up against Tristian’s dick. Her lips stretch to accommodate it, and she hums like she’s grateful for the help.
If I hadn’t already come, I’d do it again just watching them keep my cum inside her. Lurching forward, hips frozen mid-beat, Tristian releases with a long, agonized-sounding groan. Tears burn at the corner of Story’s eyes, but she takes it. She takes all of him—everything he has to give—dick shooting into the back of her throat.
“Don’t swallow,” he directs her, panting. “Not until Rath finishes.”
She nods, jaw tense, and that’s when I swoop in, grabbing her from behind. I settle her between my legs, back against my stomach, to cradle her as Rath takes position. Slowly, he strokes up and down his cock, eyes tracking the path my hands make to her tits. I massage them in my palms, pluck at her nipples, and she tilts her head back, waiting.
Rath dips forward to run his cock over her lips. “Can you take it?” he asks.
She nods, unable to speak.
Like always, Rath takes his sweet time, jerking his cock slow and steady against the crease of her lips. Every now and then, Tristian or I will push our cum back into her mouth, or Rath will nudge it back inside with the swollen tip of his cock, and fuck.
My cock gives a feeble twitch at the sight of it.
When he finally starts tensing up, shoulder bobbing in short, quick jolts, he shoots out a hand to steady himself, landing on my thigh. He raggedly whispers, “It’s coming, baby. Open up for me,” and she does, back arching to catch the first thick rope that erupts from his dick. It dribbles over her lips, but Tristian and I are there to catch it, feeding it back to her.
Tristian waits until Rath backs off to rest his fingertips against her throat. “You can swallow now, sweetheart. Take your time. Get every last drop.”
She chokes it down, and when I put my sticky fingers to her lips, she sucks them clean, not wasting a single fucking drop. Part of me wonders if we—if I—trained her to like cum this much. But I know there are some things you just can’t force on people. She enjoys it too much to be anything other than genuine.
“Do you still like the way I taste the best?” I ask in her ear, dipping my fingers between her legs.
“Yes.” She pants and squirms against me, confessing, “But I also like it when you’re all together. It’s all mixed up, but I can still taste each of you. And it’s… it’s mine. Right?” Her eyes fall closed when I find her clit, and she opens for me so easily, spreading her thighs wide. “No other girl has ever…?”
“No one,” Rath promises, still breathless when he ducks down to lick into her slick, abused mouth.
“Good.” She licks out to catch his tongue, bucking against my fingers. “Then it’s special. All mine.”
My gut twitches and I hoist her out of the water, keeping her warm against my chest. I use my hands to keep her thighs spread wide, and I don’t need to tell my boys what to do. They’re already stalking forward, eyes fixed to her pussy.
“Now?” she asks, as Tristian and Rath approach. Rath shimmies off her panties, losing them in the water. She doesn’t fight, but I hold her anyway, back against my chest. That push-pull turns her on, just as much as Tristian’s tongue swiping over her clit, and Rath’s finger teasing her pussy. She tenses against my chest, breath caught, already horny from sucking us off.
“Ho, ho, ho,” I say, while running my thumbs over her nipples. The boys are in the giving mood. Holiday spirit and all that shit. We finish off the night like this, warm in the tub, bringing our Lady to the tip of the sharpest edge, then toppling her over, allowing her the freedom of riding out the pure ecstasy of the four of us together, safe in this bubble. When the orgasm finally hits, I lick her lips and whisper, “Merry Christmas, Little Sister, from all of us.
