by Megyn Ward
You’re wrong, chief. The shitty thing to do was getting involved with her in the first place. You’ve got no business thinkin’ you deserve to be happy. To have something for yourself.
And that’s the real issue, isn’t it?
I don’t.
I don’t deserve to be happy.
I lost the right to want something good for myself a long time ago.
“So are you?”
Like I was caught peeping through her window, I yank my gaze away from the back of her head to find her friend looking at me. Not just looking at me— turned around to face me completely.
“Am I what?” I’m too tired to be cordial. Too close to Briana to fake civility. I left the club and rolled directly into an early morning study-group because my asshole study partners don’t seem to understand the sanctity of sleep or that some people don’t work normal jobs with normal hours. On top of that, I got a call yesterday afternoon from the Dean of Students at Notre Dame. Kyle’s been kicked out for cheating.
Apparently, it wasn’t the first time. He’s been on academic probation since his Sophomore year. We’ve been lenient with Kyle due to your family’s circumstances but in light of these new allegations… I stopped listening after that. Knowing that he pulled the dead parents card to get himself out of trouble makes me angrier than it has a right to, considering the fact that I’m the one who killed them.
“Going to the pool party?” She cocks her hip ant plants her hand on it. “It’s the last one of the year before schools starts back up.”
That’s when I notice they’re wearing bathing suits. Through the sheer fabric of her cover-up, I can see the outline of Briana’s bikini. A couple of scraps of white fabric and some string, tied into bows at her hips and back. Her hair, messy and loose, on top of her head like she likes to wear it, exposing the long line of her neck. She smells like vanilla and coconuts again and being this close to her is likely to kill me if I have to stand here and breathe her in for one more goddamned second.
It was easier when I didn’t know.
What she tastes like.
What her hands feel like in my hair while I eat her pussy.
What my name sounds like in her mouth when she comes.
Amelia leans into the space between us and narrows her gaze at me. “Are you having a stroke?” I’d think she was being a smart ass I didn’t hear genuine concern in her voice. Before I can answer her, Briana pipes up.
“He just got off work,” she says, threading her arm through her roommate’s to turn her around and pull her away from me. “He’s tired and he’s not coming to the pool party.”
He just got off work.
She says it like I work in a factory, not a sex club. Like what I do isn’t big deal. Like she isn’t thoroughly disgusted by me.
The elevator doors slide open on my floor and she makes room for me to exit.
“Well, I hope you change your, mind,” Amelia says to my back. “We haven’t seen nearly enough of you lately.”
“I’ll be there.”
I look right at her and say. Have the fucked-up satisfaction of watching her stiffen instantly—shoulders going tight like I just made some sort of threat—right before the doors slide closed between us.
Twenty-six
Briana
I didn’t think he meant it. I really didn’t. If I had, I would’ve made some lame excuse to hole up in my apartment instead of coming up here.
But he’s here.
Standing on the other side of the pool, sipping at something in a red plastic cup. Making conversation with random people who approach him. Everyone knows who he is.
The new guy in 8J.
Even though he moved in three months ago, that’s still what people call him because he’s practically a hermit. Hides under his hat and sunglasses. Avoids human contact like the plague.
Except when he’s making out with you in the laundry room.
Or dragging you into his apartment so he can tongue fuck you.
Or telling you it was a mistake.
“He’s been staring at you since he got here.” Amelia looks at her bare wrist like she’s wearing a watch. “Which was about forty-five minutes ago, in case you’re wondering.
I wasn’t.
I know how long he’s been here, standing under the awning near the DJ booth.
I know because I noticed him the second he stepped off the elevator and pushed his way through the crowd.
I look over at Amelia and roll my eyes. “He’s wearing sunglasses—you have no idea what he’s looking at.”
“The fuck I don’t.” She laughs like I just told her the funniest joke she’s ever heard. “That man is staring at you so hard, it’s a wonder your ass doesn’t burst into flames.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I take a sip of my drink and purposely angle myself out of his line of sight. “He’s surrounded by women, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed.” She waves a dismissive hand in my direction. “He’s the one who hasn’t noticed. Because he’s too busy staring at you.”
I stand up and snag my cover-up from the back of my chaise to pull it on. “I’m going inside." I can’t take it anymore. I’ll change take a shower, change into sweats and order pizza. Eat the entire thing and binge watch Jessica Jones.
If that doesn’t cheer me up, I’ll call Claire and nag her into watching My Fair Lady with me over the phone.
If that doesn’t cheer me up, I’ve got an emergency bottle of Merlot and a bag of chocolate stashed under my bed.
You don’t want chocolate and you sure as hell don’t want to watch Jessica Jones.
What you want, you can’t have.
Keaton.
He’s the only thing that’s going to take the edge off and you know it.
“Want me to come with?” Amelia says, watching me jam my flip flops onto my feet and toss my damp towel over my shoulder. She doesn’t really want to, I can tell, but she will if I ask her too because she’s my friend.
“No.” I shake my head and lean down to give her a quick peck on her cheek. “You stay here and have fun—one of us should.”
“Okay…” she looks skeptical but doesn’t get up. “If you need me, text and I’ll come right down.”
I give her a snappy salute and she swats at me with her hand. “You’re an asshole.”
“I know.” I give her one last cheeky grin before heading for the elevator. Weaving my way through the crowd, I feel a large, warm hand close over my wrist. A strong, powerful arm slip around my waist, guiding me toward the elevator.
Keaton.
I don’t even have to look.
I know it’s him because my knees turn to water and my heart is suddenly scrambling up my throat.
I’m supposed to be angry.
Pull away and ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing. Why he thinks he has the right to touch me after the way he’s treated me.
Made me feel.
I’m supposed to do and say those things but I won’t because I don’t want to.
Because we’re standing in front of the elevator, waiting for the newest wave of party-goers to empty out so we can get on.
Because as soon as we’re alone, Keaton is going to kiss me.
Touch me.
And I want him to.
He steps past me onto the empty elevator and pulls me in after him, baring his teeth at the group of college guys who try to step on after us.
“Car’s full,” he says, jabbing his finger against the button for his floor and the doors slide closed on their gaping faces.
As soon as they’re closed he steps into me. Drops his arms to fit his hands under my ass and lifts. My legs part and wrap around him. My arms wind around his neck like I’m tying myself to him so he can’t get away. He’s still wearing his hat and sunglasses and I dip my head under its bill so I can see his face. “Keaton…”
“Shhh.” The fingers gripping my ass slide under my cover-up. Lower to push the crotch of
my bikini bottoms to the side so he can stroke my soaking wet slit. “Sweet Jesus…” He groans against my neck, slicking his fingertips over my swollen clit in hard, delicious circles that have me whimpering and pumping my hips against his hand. “That’s it, sugar,” he breathes in my ear. “Come for me.”
The orgasm slams into me, hot and fast, my empty pussy clenching and releasing so hard it almost hurts.
“Good girl.” He nuzzles my neck, grazing and nipping it with his teeth while he moves my bikini bottoms back into place.
The elevator stops and its doors slide open but he doesn’t put me down. He carries me down the hall and we pass people on their way to the pool. I can hear guys whispering. Girls giggling. I don’t care. All I care about is what’s going to happen when Keaton gets us where we’re going. The thought has me tightening my legs around his waist and he growls, low in his throat in response.
At his door, he digs his keys out of his pocket and jams one into the lock before giving it an impatient twist. The door pops open and he carries me inside before kicking it shut. Turning, he takes less than a handful of steps before dropping me on a smooth, hard surface.
The kitchen counter.
The hat and glasses come off. Get tossed into the sink next to me before he drops his hands to my hips and pulls me closer to the edge of the counter. “I can’t get the taste of you out of my mouth.” His gaze is dark. Hooded. The usually bright, brilliant blue of his eyes flattened out by hunger. “Can’t stop thinking about the way your tight little pussy felt around my fingers.” The hands on my hips find the ties holding my bikini bottoms together and start to tug them loose. “Can’t stop wishing it’d been my cock.” Yanking the towel off my shoulder he drops it on the floor in front of him and sinks to his knees while gripping mine in his hands. “Open your legs for me, sugar.”
I do what he says. I think right now, I’d jump out the window if he asked me to. “I want you to—” I gasp softly when I feel him reach between my legs to pull my bottoms away from the juncture of my thighs.
“Don’t worry—I’m fucking you.” He presses his lips to the inside of my thigh, wedging his shoulders between them. Sliding his tongue up the inside of my leg. “But I need a taste first.” Hand braced on the small of my back he presses me forward to drag his tongue up the center of me, parting the seam of my wet pussy with the tip of it. At the top of my cleft he circles my clit slowly, licking and sucking on it until it’s throbbing and I’m on the edge of coming all over again.
“Keaton…” I thread my fingers through his hair, moving my hips in time with what his mouth and tongue are doing between my legs until the being to shake. “Keaton, please…”
Groaning low in his throat he finally pulls away and stands, my juices glistening on his lips and chin. “I haven’t had sex with anyone but myself in almost a year,” he says, pulling at the hem of my cover up to jerk it over my head. “I get tested every six weeks anyway. It’s club policy.” Cover-up gone, he seems to realize what he just said and goes still.
Club policy.
He still hasn’t told me what he does, only that he puts on shows and people pay to watch him. I don’t need to know more than that.
I don’t want to know more.
Not if he doesn’t want to tell me.
“I trust you.” I wait for him to tell me not to. That I shouldn’t. Instead, he snags the hem of his shirt and lifts it over his head before dropping it on the floor next to mine.
Stepping into the space between my legs again, he reaches up to cup one of my breasts, pushing the thin fabric of my bikini top aside so he can skim his thumb against my nipple. “Briana…” he says my name softly, his gaze pinned to mine. There’s more. I can see it in his eyes. He’s about to say something I don’t want to hear. Whatever it is, I don’t let him say it. I lean into him and press my lips to the ink on the side of his neck. The ink on his shoulder. His chest.
His arms slide around me, pulling me close. “Hold on,” he says, picking me up to carry me into the bedroom.
This time he puts me down gently, stretches me out across the bed. Standing over me, he unbuttons his pants and takes them off while I untie my top.
Naked, he stands in front of me and lets me look. Perfectly cut biceps. Heavily muscled chest. Rigid abs. Narrow hips. Thick, powerful thighs. The taut line of muscle that runs between them.
The biggest cock I’ve ever seen in my life.
The look on my face must say exactly what I’m thinking because he laughs. “There’s still time to change your mind, sugar.”
I’m not changing my mind.
Opening my legs, I reach down and run my finger up the seam of my pussy and he growls, the sound of it spreading through his chest. “Come here, Keaton.”
Lowering himself onto the bed, he stretches out on top of me, the blunt head of his cock pushing against my slick entrance. “Wrap your legs around me.” Gripping my hip, he tilts my pelvis so he can slide into me slowly, giving me time to adjust to the size of him, stretching and pushing against me until we’re hip to hip.
And then he starts to move.
Slow, shallow thrusts.
His hips pumping and moving against mine.
Careful.
He’s being careful.
But I don’t want careful
“Keaton…” I moan his name, my hands sliding down his shoulders, urging him to give me what I need. “More.” I pull my knees away from his sides, opening myself up to him. “Please, Keaton… more.”
“Christ.” He says is against my neck, groaning softly when I lift my hips off the bed to meet each of his thrusts. “You sure?”
It’s the only thing I am sure of .
“Yes.”
He pulls himself up to kneel between my legs, hands gripped around my hips to lift them off the bed so he can give me what I want.
More.
He fucks me the way I want him to. Hard and fast. Bottoming out on every stroke. Stretching and filling me until I’m shaking and moaning uncontrollably, reaching for release.
“Rub your clit for me,” he says, pushing the words through his teeth. When I reach down and slick my fingers over it like he says, he groans. “Just like that, sugar.” He leans forward to brace a hand against the headboard above me, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck—I’m gonna come.”
His cock starts to jerk and spasm inside me and the feel of him coming inside me, sets off a chain reaction. Triggers my orgasm, my pussy clenching and grabbing onto the hard length of his cock.
It seems to last forever. Both of us shaking and straining as wave after wave of pleasure wash over us, until he finally collapses on top of me, the warm, heavy weight of him pressing me into the bed.
Still buried inside me, he rolls over and takes me with him. Positions us until he’s on his back and I’m laying on his chest. When I try to move, he splays a hand across my back. Another against my ass, holding me to him. “Don’t.” He murmurs it against my temple and I lift my head to look down at him, my mouth inches from his. “Stay.” He lifts his head just enough to brush his lips against mine. “I want you to stay.”
And like an idiot, I thought he meant forever.
Twenty-seven
Keaton
2018
I make up my mind to get drunk.
I don’t do it nearly enough and O was nice enough to make a pitcher of dirty martinis and even though Briana said she was going to drink her weight in them, there’s barely any missing.
Be a shame to let ‘em go to waste.
Even if they are lukewarm.
I catch movement in the corner of my eye and look up to see Kyle standing in the open doorway of my office. The door Briana just walked through. No way the two of them didn’t cross paths.
“Want one?” I say, re-directing my attention to the drink I’m pouring. When he doesn’t answer me, I reach for another glass and pour him one anyway.
“Are we going to talk about it?” He sounds angry.
Like maybe h
e doesn’t just want to talk about it.
Like maybe he wants to fight.
“What’s there to talk about?” I lift my glass and drain it. Warm, its contents tastes like salty rubbing alcohol but I power through.
“I don’t know…” He approaches me and takes the glass I’m holding out to him. “Maybe the fact that I stole your girl, asked her to marry me and then cheated on her.”
His assessment of the situation tightens the hinge on my jaw. “Trust me, little brother—” Despite the fact that for the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m actually contemplating punching him in his fucking mouth, I smile at him. “you didn’t steal anything.”
He takes a drink, grimaces at the taste and sets his glass down on the bar. “Okay—so maybe we should talk about the fact that you been punishing yourself for the past twelve years because you think you killed mom and dad.”
“I’m warning you…” I growl it, the words digging into my chest, hot and rough like claws. “Watch your mouth.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, Keats.” He shakes his head, refusing to listen. “I’m a goddamned adult. You can’t keep telling me what to do.”
“You’re an adult?” I squeeze the stem of the cocktail glass in my hand so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t snap it two. “When have you ever been an adult? Who pays your rent? Who pays your credit card bills? Your car payment?” My chest goes tight. My heart pounds against my ribcage like a jackhammer. “Who’s paying for your goddamned wedding?”
It’s like I took a swing at him. Knocked him on his ass. He stands there and stares at me, his mouth hanging open but I’m not finished.
Not by a long shot.
“I gave you everything—anything you wanted. Anything.” I make myself say it because if I don’t I’ll regret it. I’ll hate him and I’ll hate myself for the rest of my life. “You wanted Briana and I stepped aside. I walked away from her. For you. I did that for you.”
“No.” He finds his voice. Shakes his head at me. “You didn’t do that for me. You did that to assuage the mountain of guilt you’ve been carting around since Mom and Dad died.” He sighs, looks down at his hands. “You need stop living your life for me. You need to stop living it for them too.”