Story is sitting in the backseat of the truck with Rath, the remaining body glitter sparkling in the passing lights. The queen’s crown sits askew on her head, and she is fucking glowing. “I can’t believe I won this,” she gushes for the tenth time, spreading the cash out like a fan. “Oh my god, guys. This is fifty-grand! Look at it!”
For the third time, I gently point out, “That’s not fifty grand, sweetheart.”
For the third time, Killian agrees, “It’s maybe two grand.”
For the third time, Rath lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “For someone without money, they might as well be the same thing.”
The money she’s holding is her official cut for just participating. Merch sales, mostly. People pre-order the FU Screw Year’s Eve shirts a week in advance, even if they have no plans to attend. Never underestimate the marketing power of a good pun. But the check for the rest is sitting in my pocket—have to keep it protected—and she’s beaming, as she should be, so fucking proud of the win. It makes me wonder if she’s ever had one before. A big win. An important win, with a crowd cheering you on and your team having your back. Because that’s what this was.
She’s always been our Lady, but tonight was the first time she actually wielded it, owned it, used it, and goddamn, it looked good on her. The sight of her up on that stage, the whole of LDZ gathered around her as Killer hoisted her onto his shoulders, is still branded into my memory. She’s not the only one who’s proud. Our girl kicked the Cuntess’ ass, and it was glorious to watch.
“You were amazing,” I say, turning to face them from the front seat. I take a swig from one of the champagne bottles Rath nicked from the after-party and hand it back to her. “I thought for a minute someone was going to have to do CPR on that bitch if you kept cramming Jell-O down her throat.”
“I thought about it,” she says, taking a swallow from the bottle. It’s a sloppy swig that leaks out the corner of her mouth, bringing up the memory of Christmas evening. She’d been fantastic tonight, tits and ass barely covered, rolling around like a girl possessed. Fuck, like a Lady possessed. “But then I remembered tonight is about charity, not murdering bitches.” She gives me a toothy grin. “The most important charity being mine.”
“That’s our girl.” Rath slides an arm around her waist, dragging her close. Although she showered off in the gym locker room, the thick scent of cherry Jell-O still clings to her, filling the cab of the truck. Rath drags his tongue down her neck and nips at her collarbone, like he’s tasting it. He hums out a low, “Sweet cherry…”
She looks up at him, and I know what’s coming seconds before she covers his mouth with hers. I’m used to watching their teasing backseat antics by now, but it’s usually Rath driving it, flirting with the skin of her inner thighs or coaxing her into quiet, wet-sounding make out sessions. This time, she’s the aggressor, surging forward to push her tongue between his pierced lips.
“You taste good, too,” she purrs, tucking her hand beneath his faded black shirt. “Taste good, smell good, look good…”
Damn, she must really be amped up, burning from her win. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her like this—ever—and when she climbs into Rath’s lap, I think both of our brains shatter. We share a stunned look over her shoulder, but his focus is short-lived, stolen away by her mouth on his neck.
She rocks down against him, saying, “I still have more prizes to collect.”
“Fuck yeah, you do.” Rath’s eyes are like magnets to her mouth. “You gonna let them watch?”
She nips at his bottom lip, right between the piercings. “Just watch?”
I don’t know what this prize is, but consider my attention piqued.
In my periphery, I see Killian glance in the rearview and do a comical double-take. “Hey,” he barks, whipping his head around. “No orgasms in my back seat. Upholstery is a bitch to clean.”
Rath makes an agreeable sound, reaching down to get two big handfuls of her ass, hitching her up against him. The roll of her hips is very deliberate. Rhythmic. Undulating. Jesus, I didn’t even know she could move like that. It’s pure sex, the way she’s grinding against him, and I know it’s gotta feel good, but there’s some part of it that just…feels like she’s putting on a show.
Rath sprawls out, legs spread so he can buck up into the movement of her hips. Her ass is facing me, and her shirt rises up, exposing the smooth skin along her lower back. The top of her thong peeks out of her pants, and it’s just. Like. Give me a break here. I’m only one man.
I reach over the distance to run a fingertip down that delicious peek of spine, plucking at the thong until it drags against her ass. She arches her back in response, which pushes her tits right into Rath’s face. He reacts immediately, cupping them in his hands, rolling his thumbs over her nipples.
My cock throbs in my pants and I say, “That’s it, sweetheart. You won big. Celebrate a little.”
“We should celebrate,” she says, taking a break from her obvious fucking humping to take a big swallow of champagne. She tilts the bottle toward Rath’s lips, and the alcohol spills out, dribbling out of his mouth. “It’s New Year’s Eve. I’ve got the Throw Down Crown and fifty Gs. We have champagne.” She plucks a bill out of her waistband and waves it in Rath’s face. “I’ll give you this if you let me see your cock.”
Killian snorts a laugh. “Save your money, little sister. He’ll give you his cock for free.”
“It’s true,” Rath agrees, smirking up at her. “My dick’s a non-profit, baby. Just call me UNISEF.”
There’s a beat of laughter, muffled against his neck, and then they’re kissing again. It gets heavy quick. Rath’s hands are all over the place—sweeping up her shirt, curled around her neck, tangled in her hair, stroking up her thighs. It looks like he’s down to fuck her right here, just like this, because soon they’re plucking at each other’s flies, arms all wedged between their writhing bodies.
Unthinkingly, I reach down to pop the button on my own jeans.
And then the truck comes to a hard, abrupt stop.
Before we can all get pissed about it, Killian says, “Let’s get inside,” in this deep, strained voice. He’s been watching them, too. I can tell from the grimace on his face when he slides out of his seat, reaching down to adjust himself. She doesn’t know it yet, but after what happened with her on Christmas, we talked about it happening again. It was so goddamn good, but also a bit disorganized on account of it being super fucking unexpected. We’re not getting caught unprepared for something like that again. Next time, everyone knows their role. I’m pretty sure we’ve all jacked off thinking about it. It’s rare we get Story like this, all hot and squirming with need. It needs to be capitalized on. Now.
“Baby, baby,” Rath is saying against her mouth, “we’re home.” He reaches for the door just as I hop out, jogging around the truck to watch Killian wrench their door open. The two of them are already glistening with sweat, and whatever she’s doing with her hips must work for her, because it’s like she doesn’t even realize we’re here. She keeps kissing him and rocking against his lap, and it takes him turning away to tear their mouths apart.
Rath gives Killian a glazed, helpless look.
Killian answers by reaching inside, winding an arm around her waist and wrenching her back. “Just a second,” he says at her plaintive cry, and it’s a good thing he’s basically spent all night peeling her away from people, because the way he throws her over his shoulder is quick and efficient.
“Hey!” she shouts, kicking out as her expression transforms to outrage. “I was busy.”
“You can get busy in the house,” Killian says, clamping his arm down on her swinging legs.
Rath gets out of the truck, adjusting his jeans, trying to get his hard on under control. Luckily, it’s late and a holiday, so there’s no one around to see that all three of us are bulging in the crotch.
“Put me down!” she shouts, making a dog bark down the block. “I can walk!”
Another plus to no one being around. I don’t even want to think what this looks like.
“Jesus, she’s fired up,” Rath says, looking a little rattled as his eyes scan the street.
“A little help,” Killian says, struggling to get in the door. Story is still fighting against him, kicking and squirming in his arms. She’s not going anywhere, Killian’s strong as an ox, but the new lock system I had installed scans off our phones, and it can be a little fussy. Not missing a beat, I whip out my phone and put in the code. There’s a moment of unified distraction, because Killian gets fed up with the thrashing and decides to take care of it the only way he knows how.
He reaches up and crams his fingers below the crotch of her shorts.
Story freezes, her breaths loud in the silence of the porch, and Rath and I both watch as Killer’s fingers shift beneath the fabric. “Oh,” she moans, squirming.
Rath asks, “Is she…?” and Killer’s jaw goes tight.
“She’s fucking soaked,” he says, kicking at the door. “Come on, get this thing open.”
As soon as the door unlatches, Rath swings it wide, allowing Killer to carry her over the threshold. She grunts and whines, but it’s a lot less ambitious now that big brother’s probably got two fingers buried into her cunt.
I think we’d all prefer her in a bed, but the stairs might as well be the third stretch of a triathlon for how unattainable climbing them seems. Killian leads us to the den instead, dumping her without ceremony onto the couch. She bounces with a small, pained sound, but her fists are clenched into his shirt, so she drags him down with her.
“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” she says, eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed.
He glares back, pinning her down. “Well, you never fucking listen.”
“You never fucking ask nicely!” She thrashes out, but he catches her wrist, and I can see the flash of excitement in her eyes when he forces her into submission.
“You don’t want me to be nice!” he growls, seeing it, too.
“Yeah, they’re definitely horny,” I sigh, grabbing two more bottles of champagne out of the refrigerator behind the bar. Rath is sitting on the chair closest to the couch watching the two of them. “This is foreplay for these two.”
I look over just in time to see Story’s hand get loose and rear back. Killian stops the hit, snatching her wrist right out of the air. He lowers his face until it’s an inch above hers. “Why are you always such a cunt? Can’t you ever act like a normal girl?”
“Normal?” She squirms beneath him, her cheeks getting redder. “The last thing you want is normal, big brother. If you did, you wouldn’t be here on top of me. You’d be with that girl you have tattooed on your arm.”
A tense pause falls over the room.
Rath and I share a look, and he’s obviously as surprised as I am that she still doesn’t know. I’m half committed to telling her myself. It might be a violation of our bro code, but letting her think he’s got some random slut inked into his skin has to be a violation of something else.
Killer makes the decision for me. He grabs her beneath her tense jaw, fingertips digging into her cheeks, and snarls, “I am with the girl tattooed on my arm.” The shifting muscles underneath his shirt are the only warning she gets. He crashes his mouth into hers, so fast that I can’t even tell whether she understands the confession.
She fights back, but it’s weak, her hips rising off the couch to meet his. Killian makes a rough sound and presses back, surging into the cradle of her thighs. They grind against one another for a long stretch of time, and neither Rath nor I stop them. They’re good to watch like this, always pushing and shoving, pulling and grasping.
Without tearing my eyes away, I nudge Rath’s foot with my own. “What was the prize?”
Rath tips his head to the side, observing them through dark lashes. “Anal.”
I sputter on my mouthful of champagne. “Seriously?”
Secretly, I found the prospect of working up to that daunting and annoying. She obviously likes it when we play with her ass, but girls are always so irritatingly coy about shit like that. I should have known she’d be different.
Still, this one goes to Rath, fair and square.
It’s the only reason I interrupt the impassioned dry humping currently happening on our couch. “Come on, Killer.” I give his shoulder a tap, noticing how deep Story’s got her nails embedded in the skin of his neck. “Get her naked, brother.”
Killian’s good at taking instruction—I know that from the last time we fucked her together—but it’s still a relief to see him reach between their bodies and start unbuttoning her shorts. He makes quick work of it, jostling her entire body as he yanks them over her thighs, panties and all. That’s why it has to be Killian. Rath would drag it out, and this is not the fucking time.
He goes for her shirt next, pulling it up her torso and over her head, but the second it clears her ears, he’s already bending to mouth at her nipple, gathering the weight of her tit in a palm to give it a hard suck. She keens, bucking up into him.
I think I like it like this. Her skin all naked and bare as he looms above her, completely clothed. There’s a roughness to it that I bet she can feel. The denim of his jeans against her soft thighs. The texture of his hoodie against her flat belly.
Licking my lips, I reach down to squeeze my cock, ordering, “Flip over. Get under her.”
He lifts her effortlessly, and Rath and I watch appreciatively. Killer has this habit of tossing her around like a doll, but it’s hard to protest when it ends with her settling on top of him, looking flushed and flustered, a little divot appearing between her eyebrows as she rucks up his sweater.
“Off,” she demands, clawing the fabric away, even as he tugs it over his head. Her eyes go to the tattoo and linger there for a dozen heartbeats, her chest heaving as she inspects it. I don’t know how she never realized it was her face. The dark hair, the sad eyes—it’s got everything but her name emblazoned beneath it.
I try to get things back on track. “Get his dick out.”
She licks her lips, holding his gaze as she thumbs his fly, pushing up on her knees to shove them down. Killer’s cock catches on the elastic of his boxers, and then flops hard against his hip when she frees it with a swift yank.
“Easy,” he snaps, reaching down to protect his balls. “Goddamn, fucking impatient, crazy-ass—” His words cut off when she lunges down to kiss him. It’s a pointed kiss, full of teeth, and the second her bare pussy drags against his cock, the grunt in Killer’s throat dissipates. He palms at her thighs like he’s memorizing the softness of the skin there, and fuck. The way they look. I could get off just at the sight of this alone. That slow, visible transition from annoyed to enraptured. The way his inked hands look, curling just below her hips. The quiet, gentle sound she makes when she rocks against his dick.
Rath bends to reach into the bag he’d brought in from the truck. “Hold this,” he says, throwing me something.
I snatch it out of the air, realizing it’s a bottle of baby oil. Right. Preparation prevents poor performance. Dragging in an inhale, I whisper to Rath, “Do you think she could take it?” I give him a significant look. “Both of you?”
He tugs his shirt over his head, eyes glued to her writhing body as he approaches. “Guess we’ll find out.” He starts off with nothing but the sweep of his palm down her spine, but it’s enough to make her arch up, chasing it.
He’s already got his pants unzipped, cock in his hand as he slowly makes a path down her back, which is why it’s easy for her to turn her head and zero in on it. Rath’s other hand is on his cock, his long fingers stroking up and down, toying with the tip. He doesn’t need her mouth right now.
But when she leans in to mouth at the head, he doesn’t exactly say no.
I know all about his edging kink. This fucker can draw it out all night, waiting his turn, holding out until it probably halfway kills him. Christmas night aside, Rath isn’t usually a joiner. When he plays music, it’s just him and the piano, and it’s the same when he fucks—just him and Story holed up in his shitty room, doing god knows what.
But not tonight.
If he wants her, then he has to share her.
