Thank you…
Her words keep ricocheting around in my head, so I shut them out, focusing on nothing but the feel of her hot, wet mouth around me. I watch her instead of all the guys in the room, the way a lock of her hair catches on her lips, the fan of her eyelashes as she works, eyes closed. It’s all at once the best and worst.
It’s the best because it feels even better than I imagined. The sight of my dick disappearing between those lips is the culmination of years of fantasizing. And fuck, she’s actually good at what she’s doing. Even if every motion is stiff and detached, it’s still the perfect tempo, the right amount of suction, never any teeth. Her tongue works against me as she bobs her head. For years, I’ve been thinking back on that night with the others, feeling envious of Tristian for having the balls to actually go through with it. Wondering how good it felt. Wishing I’d been the one in front of her, feeding her my come. Now I don’t have to wonder, and more than that, I know for a fact I’m getting it better than he did—better skills, more drive, harder purpose. It’s a battle to remain stony and aloof when all I want to do is grab her hair and throw my head back, basking in this victory.
…Because after this …
It’s the worst because it doesn’t feel like a victory at all. It feels more like defeat than anything else. The head is good, but she’s only got skills because she’s been sucking Rath’s dick and liking it. She doesn’t like this. She looks bored and rigid, like she just wants to get it over with. There’s no heat there. No desire. Nothing. And the whole time, all I can think about is what she said about liking me. About maybe wanting…something. With me. Back then.
I can tell myself over and over that it’s probably a lie and it wouldn’t matter. The confession still catches on something inside of me—this sick sense of satisfaction I thought I’d given up on chasing years ago.
Carter, this dickwad Philosophy major who’d pledged with the three of us freshman year, belts out a crude, “Make her choke on it, Payne!” and the others rally behind it with gleeful taunts. He’s too close to Rath to be saying shit like that, and Rath makes sure he knows it. The sound of his slap against Carter’s head reverberates through the room with a sharp crack.
“Show some fucking respect,” he snaps.
…there’s no part of me…
Even though I’m not planning on it—this isn’t a fucking porn show for them—she pushes down until I hit the back of her throat and hangs there, breathing roughly. The whole move is spiteful and insolent, like it’s a fucking challenge.
I can’t help myself then, biting back a groan as I reach down to grab a handful of her shiny dark hair. I have to pull her back, and the sound she makes—this long, raspy inhale—shoots straight to my balls.
…no fucking cell in my body…
I’m used to everyone watching me, cheering me on the second I step onto the field. I’ve always thrived on having an audience. But while the frat is watching Story, my friends aren’t. I can feel Tristian and Rath’s eyes on me instead as I fuck her mouth, using my grip on her hair to set a punishing rhythm. Story might have been sucking Rath off for a few days now, but I can tell this is her first time taking it hard and deep. The awareness makes my stomach tighten, knowing I’m the only one who’s fucked her mouth like this. I clutch onto it like a man possessed, and why the fuck shouldn’t I? It’s clear now that nothing else of hers can be mine. Nothing.
…that’ll feel anything…
This is it, right here. This is all I’ll ever have of her. A forced blow job in a dimly-lit basement in front of forty-five other men.
It hits me like a boulder, right in the chest.
Curling my fingers into a fist in her hair, I grab the base of my dick and yank her off, jacking it fast and hard. She gasps in a breath before clamping her mouth closed, but I roughly demand, “Open your mouth.”
She fixes her eyes to my stomach and obeys.
…but disgust for you…
The orgasm hits me like a punch, seizing my balls tight. I tip her head up, shooting my thick ribbons of come onto her outstretched tongue. It fogs me up so entirely that I can hardly keep focus on it—this fantasy I’ve been so goddamn desperate for.
The reality is such a fucking disappointment.
I don’t even want to watch her swallow me down. Catching my breath, I hike up my pants and thrust my chin toward the door. “Go.”
Even now, she doesn’t run. She rises to her feet, smoothes down the skirt of that pretty peach dress, spins on her heel, and strides silently away.
Tucker, who’s sitting near the back, cups his hands around his mouth to bellow, “Make another deposit!”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Tristian barks, springing forward to grab a thick handful of his shirt. “Say one more word to her and I’ll cut your goddamn tongue out.”
I stare in shock for so long that I miss her exit. Tristian is always composed and there’s good reason for it. It’s taken him years to perfect a façade. He’s got skin that flushes up at the smallest bit of anger, and he’s always hated it. I haven’t actually seen it in years, but there it is now. Glowing fucking red.
Tucker raises his hands defensively. “Sorry, just chasing the vibe.”
I dismiss them before this can turn any worse than it already is. Tristian and Rath follow them all out, probably to make sure everyone actually leaves. If I’m right—if one of them is using access to the house—then we’ll need to be more careful about who comes and goes.
When the room is empty, I stand there, trying to get my bearings. I let the quiet sink into me, but it doesn’t stay—not with her words bouncing around in my head, unwanted but incessant. That boulder in my chest is still heavy, driving me fucking insane. Only one thing could fix that.
The guys are nowhere to be found when I make my way upstairs, pouring myself a glass of whiskey. I throw it back and savor the burn, but now it’s worse. Now I’m remembering that kiss from before, back in my old bedroom. I’m remembering the way she kissed me back, those hands pulling me closer. She’d tasted bitter but somehow still sweet. I know she got off riding my thigh. I had to clamp my hand over her mouth just to quiet her sharp, surprised cry. But I could still hear it, trapped in her mouth. I could still see the way her face collapsed in pleasure, eyes squeezing shut, and fuck.
How the hell did I go from such great heights to…this.
Huffing, I throw back another glass before searching for the guys. They’re not on the first floor, so I check the second, then the third. As I pass Story’s room, I linger, trying to hear something behind the door.
There’s nothing.
Clenching my fists, I descend the stairs and go out back, but the garden and hot tub are empty. It isn’t until I round the side of the house that I find them, standing in the shadow of the basketball court, sharing a cigarette like two goddamn degenerates.
Tristian shakes his head as soon as he sees me. “You don’t want to be near me right now, Killer.”
I hold my arms out. “Got something to say? Say it.”
“It was too much, dude.” It’s Rath who steps up, handing the cigarette over to Tristian. “There’s a reason you didn’t tell us what the hell you were doing. You knew we’d say no.”
“This isn’t a fucking democracy,” I snap, feeling the anger swell up in my chest. It’s good. Better than the weight of that goddamn boulder. “I don’t remember either of you asking me permission for jack shit. She got what she deserved. She’s been fucking cheating on us!”
“You don’t know that!” Rath argues, thrusting a finger into the center of my chest. “You suspect it, but you don’t know anything. She’s done everything we’ve ever asked of her. Jesus Christ, she even did that! If you can’t look at the facts and see that she’s loyal, then you’re just too fucking hot-headed to think objectively.”
“He’s right,” Tristian says, tossing the cigarette aside. “I know you’ve got issues, but ever since she walked through that door, you’ve been losing your grip.”
“My grip is just fucking fine,” I growl.
“Bullshit,” Tristian disagrees, eyeing me with displeasure. “It’s one thing that you leave us to take care of South Side business while you go off to your bogus family dinner, but taking our Lady down there and doing that to her? She’s not just yours!”
“I let you two go unchecked on her every goddamn day, but the second I do something, you’re up my ass about it!” Ticking off on my fingers, I say, “I can’t withhold meals, I can’t leave marks, I can’t make her blow me. I’m getting sick and tired—”
“We don’t break her,” Rath says, interrupting me with another one of those chest pokes. This guy’s about to fucking get it. “Neither of us has ever corrected her out of anger. But that’s all you fucking do. You don’t even pick up the pieces after—you leave that to us.”
“She isn’t your goddamn punching bag, Killer.” Tristian run his fingers through his hair, visibly trying to calm himself down. “It’s fucked up.”
I raise an eyebrow, feeling my blood boil. “Oh, it’s fucked up now, is it? That’s rich, coming from you.”
His eyes narrow dangerously. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe you’re so high on that horse that you can’t see it, so let me spell it out for you.” Lifting my chin, I look down my nose at him, seething. “Making her suck a dick in front of our brothers wasn’t a concept you had a problem with three years ago.”
His face contorts, voice lowering. “That was different.”
“No, it fucking wasn’t, and you know it.”
He points at the house, eyes flashing hotly. “You humiliated her in front of forty-five people in there!”
“Yeah, and she’s still here.” I shrug, even though there’s a little voice in my head telling me to stop. To salvage this. Like always when I hear it, I barrel forward. “But you fucked her up so bad, she ran away.”
His laugh is cold and mocking. “No, I didn’t. The more I get to know her, the more I see the truth. She could have handled what me and Rath did to her, however fucked up it might have been.” He steps up to me, chest puffed out. “It’s you, Killer. You’re the reason she ran. You drove her away on a daily fucking basis, because you’re so messed up that you can’t even fall in love with someone without sabotaging yourself.” He gives my fuming expression a cold smirk. “Don’t deny it. All three of us know the truth. You didn’t just want to own her. You got attached. You fell for her, and you couldn’t handle it. So, you let every man in your life get a piece of that ass first, and you want to know why?” Closer—quieter—he hisses, “It’s because you’re a pussy.”
The shove sends him to the ground instantly, sprawled on his back. He doesn’t stay down long, jumping to his feet to throw the first punch. Tristian is faster than me, but I’m bigger—stronger. I can’t dodge his punch, but I hit him back twice as hard, sending his head whipping to the side.
Before I can get in another, I feel a hit to my jaw, cracking up through my temple. Rath. These motherfuckers.
I tackle him next, getting him to the ground easily. Rath is even slower than I am, but he’s also a malicious little shit. His knee catches me right in the balls, sending sparks through my vision for a moment.
But then Tristian is there, dragging me off of him. I plant a hard elbow into his side, but he barely reacts, burying a knee right into my kidney. I grunt, kicking Rath before he can lever himself up. It’s all a crazed whir, taking one out just to swat at another. Fucking gnats. That’s all these two are.
With a big burst of power, I shake Tristian off of me and regain my footing.
But so have they.
The two of them stand there under the light of the court, breathing hard, stares sharp like daggers, and suddenly I’m just done with it all.
I spit, my blood splattering on the pavement. “She’s a liar and a whore and she’s got you two so pussy-whipped you’ve forgotten that this is a game. That’s all it is, a game!” I take a step back, spreading my arms wide, knowing what I have to do. “But if you want her so bad, then you can fucking have her.”
