by Lily White
He’s not done. Nowhere close. But now that he’s wrecked me thoroughly, he won’t apologize for taking what’s his.
Ezra shoves me forward until my back is to the mattress, then he moves between my legs, one arm shoving my legs apart as his hips slam against me with a punishing force, his cock driving deeper, and faster and harder.
I’m helpless but to accept it.
This feral man.
This sensual violence that only he can give.
It hurts as much as it feels good.
It’s as vicious as it is seductive.
My body is pushed up the bed as his hand grabs my ass and lifts my hips so that he can go even deeper with every aggressive thrust.
I’m lost to him by the time I can feel a familiar tension, my eyes flicking open to see the sweat that slides down his chest.
Reaching up, I press my palm to his cheek, his eyes snapping to mine as if hating me for it.
Still, he doesn’t stop, his voice a tight wire when he says, “Please tell me you’re on the pill.”
One nod of my head and he thrusts deeper one more time, his cock somehow thicker, Ezra coming so hard inside that I can feel every pulsing throb.
His head drops forward, and I run my hands through the sweat damp strands as he peppers quick kisses on my chest, my neck, my shoulders.
As quick as it left, the tension is back between us, our bodies relaxed, but our hearts jaded.
Ezra’s amber stare catches mine, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“And we can’t do that,” he jokes, bringing us back to the rules again.
“Definitely not that,” I agree while dying inside.
When he pushes away from me, it feels like I’m freezing.
Ezra drops his legs over the side of the bed, laughing to himself about still being mostly dressed.
I watch as he holds his jeans up enough to walk to the bathroom and clean up, his stare trapping mine as he returns with a damp cloth to clean me as well.
Dropping it onto the floor when he’s done, he stretches out beside me and tugs my back to his chest.
“We can’t do any of that, Em. Not again.”
I wonder if I’ll ever dry up so that the tears stop falling.
“I know,” I whisper, afraid to close my eyes, terrified this moment is over.
Ezra
Emily fell asleep with me beside her. Dark red hair would fall across her face every so often, and I brushed it away so I could memorize her features this way.
For a few hours, I watched her sleep. Counted every slow, even breath, imagined that her heart beat only for me.
Outside her room, voices would rise and fall, laughter mingling with music, the usual rowdy bullshit that reminded me of when Em and I were in high school, and all the parties at Yale she never attended.
It becomes white noise through the years as you get used to it, like the chorus of frogs in the South, or traffic in busy cities. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t piss me off when I first arrived here and had to wade through it.
Not that I had to shove kids aside or threaten them with a glance. My reputation precedes me, apparently, all those little fucks moving as I walked through, their eyes following me as I made my way down the hall toward Emily’s room.
There were a few whispers I ignored because my head was stuck on what I would say to Em when I walked in here.
It had been my intention to lay out the rules, to ensure that we could ride out these next six weeks with minimal damage.
But when I opened the door and found her asleep in bed, all those intentions went straight to hell because I couldn’t resist the urge to crawl in beside her, to hold her if only for a few minutes to remember what it used to be like.
I was stupid in high school to believe that anything good could happen in my life.
And Emily is so good.
Too good.
She’s everything I want but don’t deserve to have.
How can a beast ever be good enough for a queen?
How can a beaten down man ever be enough for a woman who stands tall despite the weight on her shoulders?
Still, it doesn’t stop me from pretending that I can be what she needs.
Now I’m curled up beside her several stolen hours later after breaking every rule I’d hoped to set, my eyes staring at the red glow of numbers in the alarm clock next to her bed.
It’s three in the morning. The party is still going strong outside her door. And I need to get the fuck out of here before I fall asleep.
The problem is I don’t want to.
As soon as I walk out that door, we’re back to being friends. I’ll be back to watching her have an easy relationship with Damon while casting angry, little scowls at me. Mostly because I know I’ll still be angry. I’ll still hate what she did to us and hold it against her.
I’ll still be the bastard holding her feet to the fire because I can’t let it go.
I wish I could say I’m a better man than that, but her betrayal cut too deep. And I’m not dumb enough to try to lie to myself about something as obvious as that.
On a deep exhale, I push my body up from the bed and swing my legs over the side. My head falls back as I roll my neck, my teeth grinding together because of the fight it is to just get up and fucking go.
Another heavy breath and I’m on my feet, walking through the dark toward her door, my body hesitating again as my hand touches the knob, and I turn back to look at her.
After staring at her for another minute and quietly convincing myself to leave, I walk out of the room and into a hall lined with a younger pack of prep school brats that remind me of us at that age.
Fuck, we must have been annoying.
Unfortunately, the smirk on my face quickly disappears as soon as I walk past three punks who make a joke of the wrong fucking thing.
“Wonder if they’re making more videos? Although there’s only one of the twins this time.”
His buddies snort as my eyes snap their direction, but Funny Guy is too busy flapping his trap to realize I have my stare locked on him.
“Can’t wait to see the new shit and rub Dylan’s nose in it.”
He’s still chuckling it up, but his friends have their wide-eyed stares directed at me, both of them shooting him looks silently begging him to shut the fuck up.
Too late.
I’m heading their direction.
It sucks for them that I’m already on edge after what just happened with Emily.
The two buddies back up as far as they can while Funny Guy finally comes to the realization that someone is standing behind him.
Slowly turning, his eyes lift to my face, his throat bobbing as he swallows.
I grin down at him, not that he’s much smaller than me, not in height anyway.
“How old are you?”
Confusion floods his terrified eyes at my question, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he takes a step back, and I step forward.
“Your age. What is it?”
“W-why?” he stutters, his cracking voice sounding like he’s about three seconds from pissing himself.
My grin widens. “Tell me.”
“Eighteen,” he stammers, obviously well aware of what I’m known for.
Voice deceptively calm, I answer, “That’s good.”
“Why?”
“It means you’re legal.”
Funny Guy goes down hard when my fist cracks his face, one fucking punch and he’s on hands and knees at my feet, spitting out blood, his body buckling in pain.
I pick him up by his hair and slam his head against the wall to get my point across one more time before dropping him again.
My eyes snap to his two friends next.
“What about you two? Did you want to keep talking about something that’s none of your fucking business?”
They both shake their heads hard enough to give themselves brain damage.
Chaos erupts around us, some kids laughing,
a few shouting, the crowd backing up when I turn around to run my stare over all of them.
Voice loud, I challenge them to do something else besides stare at me and whisper behind their hands.
“What about the rest of you fucks? Is there anybody else here who wants to say a fucking word about my brother or me or Emily? Because if so, step right the hell up and say it to my face. I just happen to be in the perfect mood tonight to teach all of your asses why it’s a bad idea.”
Many of them back up farther, a few holding up their phones to record the shitshow. They drop them real quick when my gaze slides their direction.
Dylan makes his way through the crowd to see what’s going on, his eyes locking with mine as his cheeks heat with anger.
He can fuck off, too, if this is the shit he’s letting these punks do to his sister in her own fucking house.
“No? Nobody? Well, let me put it this way then, the next time I hear about any of you talking shit about Emily, Damon or me, you can bet your ass I’ll show up to have a conversation with you about it. Have I made myself clear or do you fucks need another example of what I’m willing to do?”
They all back away more, a few shaking their heads in silent answer.
Apparently, I was yelling a little too loud because all their eyes shoot past me in the next second.
I glance behind me to see what they’re looking at and curse beneath my breath.
Emily is staring out at me from her room, the door only partially open.
Dropping her gaze down to the kid still bleeding and crawling on the floor, anger floods that turquoise stare before her eyes shoot up to me again.
It feels like we’re right back in high school where another kid was bleeding, the same night the cops were on their way to drag both Damon and me off to jail.
Shaking her head, Emily says nothing, but I can feel the anger rolling off her before she slams her door shut.
“Fuck...”
Stabbing a hand through my hair, I march down the hall, not surprised when kids practically dive left and right to stay out of my way. The only one who doesn’t move is Dylan.
He stands solidly in the middle of my path, his eyes narrowed on me with hatred and his hands balling into fists. I step up to him so close that our noses are almost touching.
“Did you want to say something?”
His jaw tics, his nostrils flaring, but he doesn’t say the first word.
Jabbing a finger at his face, I warn him, too.
“Stick up for your sister, you little prick. Stop letting people disrespect her in her own house. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Another tic of his jaw, but still not a single word. He eyes me like he wants to throw a punch, but those arms don’t move. His shoulders flex in an indication that he’s thinking about it.
Dylan is welcome to bring it on.
Considering I’ve already upset Emily by hurting the other kid, I realize it’s better to walk away from this than teach her brother a lesson in respect as well.
Smirking at his tough boy act, I knock him out of the way and head through the foyer to the front door, the door slamming hard enough to shake the wall when I let myself out.
Fuck all those assholes for bringing up old shit. Why do they even care about that video? It just makes me hate this place even more than I already did. Makes me hate our families and the bullshit social circles.
The Jeep’s tires squeal over the driveway when I drive away, my hand gripping the wheel as my foot hits the gas a little too heavy.
But I can’t help it. I’m too pissed. Not because of the video or those kids’ stupid comments, but because Emily had to see what I did.
I almost laugh to think that this entire trip was a wasted effort.
The rules I’d wanted were blown to shit, as well as any good feelings Emily might have had left for me.
Emily
We’re right back where we started.
Regardless of what he shared with me and those secret few hours in my room, Ezra and I are back at each other’s throats the second we see each other again.
Thank God for Damon. If not for him, these friendship dates we keep having would be an absolute nightmare.
Oddly, it’s the temperamental brother who keeps things lighthearted, the hot-headed twin who manages to act as a calming influence and prevents constant arguments.
For a few days, I’m so pissed at Ezra I can’t see straight. We spoke a total of five words to each other on the three dates we’ve had.
Damon and I have no problem getting along, and I spent most of my time talking or laughing with him, while Ezra hangs in the background glaring at the two us, his piss poor attitude problem a shroud hanging over everybody.
He’s acting more like a babysitter than a friend, and I have to wonder why he’s so insistent to be a part of this when it’s obvious he’s miserable.
But that’s Ezra. He’s so damn controlled and contained that he can endure hours of doing something he hates without giving up and moving on.
Still the question of why lingers.
Why is he insisting on this?
Why won’t he just walk away?
Why is he holding me to an agreement that’s torturing all of us?
Not that I’m trying any harder than him. Not after seeing what he did to Dylan’s friend, and not after Dylan informed me the following morning that Ezra threatened him, too.
I’m just thankful Damon wasn’t there. Once one of them gets to the point of throwing punches, you can bet your ass the other one will jump in to help.
These two would have sent all of those kids to the hospital if given a reason and the opportunity.
I still don’t even know what set Ezra off. I just know the shouting woke me, and when I opened my door to peek into the hall, I saw a kid spitting up blood and Ezra scaring the shit out of people.
On one hand, I’m furious that he hasn’t grown up enough to stop the fighting. But on the other, I have a feeling whatever the twins were put through by their piece of shit father was enough to stunt them both in maturity.
All they know is violence and anger, instead of having been taught how to let things go.
That’s another problem riding my thoughts. Ezra owes me another piece of his story soon, I’m just not sure I want to talk to him and let him tell me.
Not with the way he’s been around me.
Not with the hatred so visible in his eyes.
I’m not sure I should call it hatred, though. If anything, what I see when I look at him is betrayal and pain.
I have to give him credit, though. He’s a master at spoon feeding me so much guilt that I’m choking on it.
To makes things worse, Ivy fled town after playing that prank on Gabe, and while she’s spending her time beach-hopping in sunny California, I’m stuck here without anyone I can talk to.
Not that I could tell her exactly what’s going on. I’m still not willing to fully admit how I ended up in this position with the twins in the first place. But it would be nice to have a buffer, or just an excuse for why I can’t be with them all the time.
Yet here I am.
A full week has passed, and I’m walking up to their front door to watch movies and order pizza for our fourth date. Damon opens the door before I have the chance to ring the bell.
Dressed only in a pair of jeans that hang loose and low on his narrow hips, he isn’t making it easy for me to ignore the sculpted planes and hard ridges of his chest and abdomen, the shadow of muscle over his broad shoulders or a set of perfectly defined arms that should be illegal.
My eyes trace the tattoo on his shoulder. It’s identical to Ezra’s.
Seriously, this man is the sweetest of candy, the hard kind that you have to suck on for a while before you reach the -
Okay. I need to cut that line of thought off before I lose the ability to stand on solid legs.
Forcing my eyes to his face, I don’t miss the blatant offer in his stare for me to keep exploring wh
at his body has to offer.
“Hey,” he says simply, so much heat in his amber eyes that the color is liquid and tempting.
I shake myself of a reaction I can’t be blamed for. Just about any healthy female - and even a good number of males - would feel the same.
“Hey.” My voice comes out on an awkward croak.
Clearing my throat, I give him a weak smile and lift my brows in silent question as to whether he’s planning on letting me in.
Eventually, he takes the hint and steps aside, but he doesn’t move enough that I can get through without our bodies brushing together, his scent wrapping around me as I pass.
Then it’s his arms wrapping around me and his chest against my back.
Stopping in place, I close my eyes and take a breath. Enjoying having Damon so close is wrong, but it’s not the same type of feeling I have when it’s Ezra holding me like this.
Still, I can’t claim I don’t react to Damon’s presence. It’s hard not to. I had a relationship with him as much as his brother when we were younger. I’d tempted fate so much that all three of us were hurt because of it.
I won’t do it again.
I flat out refuse.
Which is why we both need the reminder that there’s a third part to this friendship.
Especially now that he’s burying his face against my neck as his arms squeeze tight.
Especially now that I can feel another part of him that’s a bit too excited to be this close to me.
“Where’s Ezra?”
Damon stills at the reminder, several tense seconds passing before he slowly releases me and answers.
“He went to Tanner’s place for a little bit. Something happened with Luca, and Tanner is freaking out. We were both supposed to go, but I offered to stay here since we’d already made plans.”
Turning to look up at him, I try to ignore the sharp edges to his expression. The tension in his jaw is making his cheeks shadow, his stare tangling with mine as if begging me to step closer and ease whatever pain he’s in.
I see memories in his eyes.
Ones I’m not entirely immune to experiencing myself.
Ones that slice at my skin in a desperate bid to reach my heart.
I have to keep the topic of conversation light.