“Are we going to go upstairs?” Monica asks. Her tight body is glued to my side, hips undulating with the beat of the music. The room is packed, everyone excited to be out on a Thursday night. Monica’s tits rub against my side while another girl offers me a beer. I’ve been playing all of them up all night. My reputation was very close to taking a hit last time, when I couldn’t get it up. I haven’t had that problem again—not since I broke my dry spell with Story in the upstairs hall, nor since I claimed her virginity.
I’m not ready to commit to monogamy, but only one girl is getting my cock hard these days.
And isn’t that the bitch of it? The only girl who gets me hard also gets me so fucking furious that I can barely stand to look at her. I was such a fucking idiot, thinking she was cuddling to me the other night because she might want me. I see it now for what it was. Just another ploy. A mere thirteen hours later, Marcus was telling me about her mixing it up with that old pervert, Cartwright. Old habits die hard, huh?
They must, considering all it took for Tristian to fall back into her good graces was a forty thousand dollar car. The whore really doesn’t fall far from the whore tree, does it? After all this time, she’s still looking for some fool to throw money at her. You can bet your fucking ass it won’t be me.
So whatever, I’ll take her glares and cold shoulders. Watch her sit on Tristian’s lap and giggle like a bimbo. Lay in bed at night knowing she fucking ducked and chose to sleep with Rath instead.
I’ll get what’s mine.
“We can stay down here if you want,” Monica says when I don’t answer, taking my hand and settling it just below her tits. “Oh, hey! What about that hot tub out back?”
I look down at this girl. Her blonde hair. Her bronze skin. Her green eyes. I haven’t been with her before, but I can tell from the way she moves that she walked in here tonight, confident about being the one to please me. What she doesn’t realize is that girls like her can’t fix a guy like me. Used to be I’d give it a whirl, see how it shook out, but I get it now. I need something else. Now that I’ve actually lived my fantasy—had my stepsister beneath me, pliant and warm and wet—there’s no going back.
Anyway, I have a new pregame ritual, and it doesn’t involve any of these bitches.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m out for the night.” One pledge passes by and I grab him, jerking my chin at the girl. “I bet my boy Tucker here would love to show you three a good time, though.” The other two girls look pouty and crestfallen at my rejection. Being one of my pregame fucks is an honor. I pat Tucker on the shoulder. “Isn’t that right?”
Tucker looks like a kid who just got handed a golden goose. He grins, this charming little smirk that I’m sure has helped him pull a hundred girls before, and says in a slow drawl, “I’d be honored to entertain you beautiful ladies.”
There’s no doubt Tucker is going to be nicer to these girls than I would be, so I hand them off and cut through the crowded room in search of Story. She and Tristian had been over by the bar, flirting and downing drinks. She dressed for him in a pair of tight booty shorts and an even tighter FU tank top. I didn’t miss her scowl in my direction before they slipped out of view.
Jealous or pissed?
Both possibilities make my dick twitch.
Rath is DJing, and I get his attention with a snap of my fingers. He lifts one headphone, so I ask, “Where’s Cherry?”
“Saw Tris take her down the hall. She was slamming down drinks.” He points toward the library. “All good?”
“Yep,” I say, clapping him on the back. He loves commanding the music at these parties, lording his eclectic taste over the rest of the frat. I spot Tristian by the pool table, cue in hand, and make my way over. “Where is she?”
“Shit, man.” He knows who I’m talking about, nodding over at the stairs. “Our girl was sloppy drunk, so I tried to carry her up to her room. We didn’t make it, though. I left her in the library passed out on the couch.”
“You left her alone?” I ask, anger shooting through me. “Passed out, in a house filled with frat boy degenerates?”
Tristian rolls his eyes. “Dude, who are you even talking to? After you broke every damn phone in the frat, no one is going to make a move on our Lady. She’s safe as houses up there.”
Well, he’s got a point there.
“You better fucking hope.”
“Go check on her if you’re so worried.” He takes a swallow of his drink, pausing. “Actually, I’ll go up with you.” For all his bluster about her being safe, I can see I’ve talked him into worrying a bit. Truth be told, Tristian is better at this than the rest of us. Taking care of what’s important. Keeping people happy. Protecting the things he cares about. I’d trust him with her life over anyone else.
Even me.
We head down the hall, past a few closed doors that lead to guest bedrooms. They pretty much only exist as impromptu fuck pads, and during parties like this, they’re first come, first served. I hear giggles behind one and assume Tucker is showing the girls a good time. The section of the house with the library is off limits during frat events, a rule established after Ms. Crane had to dedicate a whole-ass weekend to cleaning piss out of desk drawers. It’s not worth listening to her bitching about it, and honestly, it’s nice to have one room in the house not covered in bodily fluids and beer.
The library doors are open, and Story is lying there on the leather chaise by the window. She’s on her back, hair brushed haphazardly out of her face. Her shorts are wedged between her thighs and one of her legs is hanging off the edge of the cushion. From the doorway, I have a perfect view of the milky white skin between her legs, a hint of black lace panties peeking out.
She doesn’t just look like she’s sleeping.
She looks like she’s dead to the goddamn world.
My cock fills up instantly.
“Jesus Christ.” I look over my shoulder, pinning Tristian with a glare. “We’d have to fucking blind someone if they saw our Lady like this,” I hiss.
He peers over my shoulder, wincing. Throwing a hand out, he insists, “She was covered up when I left. She must have kicked the blanket off.”
I see it now, all pooled on the floor. That’s what he gets for buying all those ridiculous get-ups for her to wear. Fucking booty shorts and miniskirts. At least Rath got her some jeans.
“I’ll take it from here,” I say, going to shut the door.
Tristian shoots out a hand, palm landing on the wood. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Excuse me?”
He pushes past me, into the room. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know why you’re up here. You told me yourself you’d be adding her to your pregame ritual if you won before.” He spreads his arms, daring me to argue. “Well, you won.”
My jaw aches with how hard I grind my teeth. “That’s my fucking right. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do with my own goddamn Lady.”
He holds up a hand, voice even. “I know. But I also know she slapped you yesterday and you’re pissed off about Cartwright. You can’t control yourself, Killer.” He glances at Story, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. “I’m not going to let you hurt her. If you want to fuck her, then you’re right. I can’t stop you. But I’m also not leaving.”
I roll my eyes so hard, I see spots. “You’re going to watch?” Jesus, we haven’t done that shit since freshman year. “That’s not a part of the ritual.”
He scoffs. “Please. One time does not a ritual make.” He moves behind me to close the door, locking it. “Plus, you did it in the hallway last time. It wasn’t exactly private.”
I reach down to squeeze my hard-on, muttering a curse. “Fine, but you’re the one who needs to control yourself. Your cock isn’t the priority here. This is my ritual and shit has to go down a certain way.” When he opens his mouth, I shove his shoulder. “I fucking mean it. You get my dick soft tonight and you’re going to find out what it’s like to have your car torched.”
“It’s okay to feel insecure, Killer.” He gives me a slimy grin, reaching down to squeeze his own cock. “I know it looks intimidating when you compare them.”
“Hardly,” I sneer, turning to Story. I take a minute to watch her. For once the lights are on and there’s little threat she’ll wake. Her chest rises and falls with even breaths. I stand over her, eyes roaming over that tight little body. She looks so delicate and vulnerable like this, but I know better. She’s a fighter. An opportunist. A manipulator. She fooled all those sugar daddies, my father, Tristian. But now, all passed out on the chaise, I’m the one in control.
Completely and wholly.
“You know, seeing her like this,” Tristian says, head tilting, “I think I might get the appeal.”
He and Rath have never understood my preference for sleepers. They used to give me shit for it in high school every time I’d tell them about watching her, whipping my dick out and leaving a little part of myself with her. Pathological, Tristian had called it.
Now, he’s staring at her like he wants to climb between her legs.
I step in front of him before he has a chance.
This is mine.
Story isn’t asleep. She’s drunk. Barely conscious and completely pliable. My dick gets harder the longer I watch her. Looking as though he’s testing the waters, Tristian reaches out to brush a strand of hair off her face. She sighs gently, but doesn’t wake. Emboldened, I run my finger up her bare leg, up to the softness of her open thighs. Her tongue darts out, pink and warm, but her eyes never open.
I don’t care that Tristian is here. I could fuck Story six ways to Sunday with her passed out like this, and it’d be the best fuck I ever had. No having to worry about her waking, no concern about what she’ll remember. This is complete dominion.
“No,” Tristian suddenly says, voice quiet. “You’ve got to give her some time to heal, Killer.”
I throw him a look, weirded-out that he can read me so well. “I’m not here to fuck her,” I say, even though I would if I wanted to. But I’ve got a ritual to perform, so I jerk my chin at her. “She knew I’d be coming for her tonight. Maybe that’s why she drank this much.” Looking at the rise and fall of her chest, flushed from the alcohol, I idly muse, “Maybe it’s an olive branch or something. She knew I’d like it.”
“Or,” Tristian offers, petting her forehead, “maybe it’s the only way she could stomach it.”
I toss him a threatening glare. “Maybe you can keep your opinions to yourself.”
He doesn’t know her as well as he thinks he does.
Her breasts are pressing against the cotton of her tank, braless like she’s been instructed. I push down the straps, sliding them over her shoulders, revealing her supple tits. The cool air makes her nipples tighten and peak, and I graze a thumb over one to feel it stiffen even harder. Story is a beautiful woman. Prettier than she was when we met. That awkward, gangly teenager is long-gone, replaced with womanly curves and an understated grace.
“What was it like?” Tristian asks, and looking up, I realize his eyes are just as dark and hooded as mine. His hand is in his pocket, but I can tell he’s rubbing his dick. He elaborates. “Fucking her, taking her virginity.”
I look back down at her rosy nipples, thumbing the button on my jeans. “Tight,” is my answer, not even bordering on sufficient. “Soft. Wet. She fought a little at first, but I knew she was into it. Scratched my back up a bit when she came.”
He makes an indistinct sound. “So it was good?”
“It was good.” Lower, I tell him, “She was good for me.”
He hums, not looking bothered when I push my jeans down, removing my shirt. My cock weighs heavily between my legs, the ache deep in my balls. The desire I feel for her, the all-consuming want…
It never abates. It just gets worse. The guys call me obsessed. Addicted. Pathological. They’re probably right. Nothing this girl can give me will ever be enough. I should stop.
I can’t.
I place my hands under Story’s armpits and haul her up. Tristian moves behind her to cradle her neck. I snap my teeth and open my mouth to tell him to get the fuck away from what’s mine.
Our eyes lock over her head and he says, “I know you want to piss on her, Killer, but she’s not your territory to mark. She’s ours. She belongs to all of us.”
We stare at one another for a long moment, Tristian determined to hold his ground, me trying to reconcile sharing her. I know he’s right. The bitch of it is that it’s not even about the contract, or tradition, or the structure of the Lords. It’s not even about how far we go back, how entwined we’ve always been. Tristian’s the one who finally cornered her in the laundry room that night, setting this ball into motion. Rath manipulated her into feeling somewhat comfortable in the house. All three of us helped create this. Take even one of us away, and the whole thing would crumble.
She’s our Lady.
He nods, watching me process this, and repeats, “Ours.”
“Hold on to her neck,” I say as a way of agreement. We position her so that she’s reclining on the chaise, no longer slouching. My nose is inches from hers and her eyelashes flutter open. I go still as her hand clumsily touches my stomach. She mumbles something incoherent, and a second later, her eyes close again.
Exhaling slowly, I ask, “What was it like for you?” I watch her lips, parted and so, so red. “When she sucked you off—when she wanted it—what was it like?” It stings to ask for this knowledge that only he and Rath have access to. For me, that day down in the basement, it hadn’t been what I really wanted.
Tristian gathers her hair to the side, his voice low and sympathetic. “Trust me, Killer. You don’t want to know.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes.
“I do, or I wouldn’t have asked.”
He pauses for a moment, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “There’s a wild side to this girl, Killer. Sure, she fights a lot, but deep down, she’s hungry for it. If you could take the leash off of her for a minute, you’d get to see it, too. When she chooses to give in, she’s so eager and responsive.” He traces her bottom lip, looking lost in thought. “All it takes is giving her a little control—even if it’s flimsy—and she just…blooms like a fucking flower.” Sighing, he gives me a significant look. “So yeah, I gave back a little of her control and she rewarded me with the best goddamn road head of my life.”
“That’s why you gave her the car,” I realize. It wasn’t a quick fix to buying her forgiveness, which I should have known. That’s not Tristian’s style. It was just another brick in the foundation.
Shrugging, he answers, “Of course. Why do you think she was willing to get so hammered with me tonight?” He looks down at Story, who currently is susceptible to our every whim. “Relationships require a little give and take, Killer. Even in a situation like this. Sometimes you have to lose a little to win a little.”
I snort at his logic. “Well, tonight I’m going to take from our Lady and give a little in return. Since I’m feeling generous, you can stay and watch.” I climb over her, knees on each side of her chest, cock aligned with the valley between her tits. I stroke up and down the shaft, knowing it’s too dry. I lean forward and thumb her lips.
Tristian crouches down beside her, smoothing her hair back. “Open up for Killer, sweetheart.”
“Hmmm?” she asks groggily, eyes staying closed.
“Open your mouth,” he whispers as I force my thumb inside. “Let him in.”
She hums against the intrusion, sucking my finger. Tristian cups her jaw and wiggles it loose until it slacks. Then I test her by bracing forward, pushing the tip of my cock through her lips. Her tongue flicks out and she sighs. When I’m sure she’s truly out and not going to take a bite out of me, I slide the length of my cock past her soft lips and over her warm tongue.
“That’s our good girl,” Tristian breathes into her ear, and I just barely stop myself from rolling my eyes. I don’t know where he gets off calling me pathological with his hard-on for showing off.
Thankfully, he backs off before I get territorial again, propping himself up against the wall as he watches.
The urge to fuck her face is so strong that I’m almost grateful for Tristian’s presence. That’s not what this is about. But fuck, it’s good—good and so damn wet that I have to force myself to pull out, sliding my cock slick from her red mouth. Easing back, I grab her tits and squeeze them together, rocking up into the valley between them. The sweet friction is exactly what I’ve been looking for, made all the better by the responding, sleepy twitch of her body.
Story’s got nice tits, and that’s a fact. But they’re a little too small for this, forcing me to crush them tighter and closer as my dick glides between them. I graze my thumbnails over her nipples as I do it, and she lets out this tiny little breath of a whimper that shoots straight to my balls.
“Fuck,” I grunt, the soft skin combined with the warm pressure already making me crazy. She feels good—so fucking good—and I hold on to her as I thrust upward again and again, my balls slapping against the underside of her tits.
“Not so hard,” Tristian says, but there’s no threat in his words. I can tell by the low octave, along with the sound of his zipper lowering, that he’s jerking off behind me. Somehow, that just makes it hotter, knowing that he’s witnessing me take her like this, understanding just how badly he wants her, too. He certainly doesn’t stop me, not when I squeeze her breasts again or when I touch her nipples and she makes those fucking sounds, like maybe she’d regret not being cognizant for this.
For a while, all there is are the sounds of our harsh breaths and slapping flesh. The sight of my dick pumping between her tits is hypnotizing. It’s not like last time, lacking all the lava-hot hatred from her. I’ve got plenty of my own, though, easily imagining her talking to that fucking pervert the other day. Not just a pervert, but a King.
A Count.
My body draws tight at the reminder, and it isn’t until Tristian says, “Ease the fuck off, Killer,” that I realize how hard I’m squeezing her. Bruising her, probably.
That just makes it better. Even with Tristian jacking off six feet away. Even with her eyebrows knitting together like she’s not sure what’s happening, but is too deep under the surface of consciousness to do anything about it. I think about her sleeping in one of their beds, them peeling off her top and seeing my fingerprints pressed into her flesh. I think about them—all these fucking vultures, just dying to have her—unwrapping her like a present, only to find that she’s already been used and marked. The Counts. Cartwright. My own goddamn father…
I still with a low grunt, my dick pulsing between her tits. Thick ribbons of my come paint her chest, one shooting all the way to the soft peak of her delicate chin. My shoulders jerk with my release, and I do let go of her tits.
But only to run my finger through that glob of spunk on her chin, rubbing it along her lips before pushing it in her mouth.
Tristian spits a low curse from his spot in the corner. “Can’t believe I had to jizz in my pants like some goddamn mongrel. And look at that.” He tosses a hand out toward her tits. “Now she’s going to know tomorrow. You were too rough. Again.”
Pulling a wrist across my mouth, I sit back, committing the sight of her, absolutely covered with me, to memory. “She’s fine,” I argue, stepping unsteadily to my feet. “She’s always bruised easy.”
I want her to know.
I want everyone to know.
She may be ours, but tonight she was mine.
“Jesus, I need to change.” Tristian buttons his pants, grimacing. “Can I trust you to get her to bed? I’m no bitch, but hauling her up the stairs was hard enough, and she still had some of her legs then.”
Nodding, I pull up my pants. “Leave it to me.”
I wait until he leaves to carry her out of the library, cradling her limp body in my arms, and there’s a moment in the hallway, standing between my door and hers, that makes me pause. I should put her in my bed. That’s where she belongs. But then Tristian’s words come back to me.
…lose a little to win a little.
I go right, kicking her door open and carrying her inside. Carefully, I lay her on her bed, arranging her top just-so. Tristian would clean her up. He’d go into her bathroom and wet a rag and gently take away all the evidence.
I don’t.
I want her to know what I did to her, leave her a reminder of who’s in charge. Before I go, I look over my shoulder, making sure we’re really alone. Then I tilt her face to the side and push a gentle kiss into her clammy temple. Her only response is a lazy, half-asleep sigh. Deep in my chest, I shove aside the knowledge of why I do this. Tristian can give her control and reap the rewards, but that’s him. I want her incapacitated like this because it’s the only time she can’t reject me. She can’t pick someone else over me. Not Tristian or Rath. Not the sugar daddies.
Not my father.
Only me.
