Kiss and Tell (Scions of Sin Book 2)

by Taylor Holloway

  I rode him like that for a while, grinding deeply as he penetrated me to the hilt. His hands were on my hips to guide me forward, and his eyes were locked on my bouncing breasts. Soon I wasn’t grinding but riding, using my core muscles to thrust more forcefully. I could feel my climax approaching like an avalanche in the distance.

  I chased toward that pleasure, moving eagerly on Nathan and letting him guide my movement and squeeze my ass. Even though I knew my second climax was closing in, the power of it arriving to clench deeply from within caused me to tip my head backward and arch hard atop Nathan.

  I was spent a moment later, unable to continue this sort of penetration. But Nathan was still unsated. He watched me come appreciatively and asked for nothing when I collapsed down next to him, but I wouldn’t leave him without his own pleasure.

  Crawling downward and giggling at his surprised expression, I licked him eagerly. Sheathing my teeth, I sucked his length like a thing possessed. Conscious thought was relegated back somewhere in my brainstem and I took him deeper than I thought my gag reflex would allow, subsuming that need for comfort with a desire to please him.

  His hands found the back of my head and he pulled me forward, and it wasn’t long before he was panting with the desperation I’d exhibited earlier, moaning gently as I took him. His climax came quick after, a long burst of heat at wetness at the back of my throat and his soft exclamation of my name. I swallowed hard and met his satisfied eyes as I laid next to him, feeling infinitely better.

  My hangover was cured.

  19

  Nathan

  “So, I met a girl while you were off hunting heifers down in South America,” I told my brother when we met for lunch that day.

  “Good god, about fucking time,” he replied, cutting into his nearly raw steak with a relish that made me cringe, “she’s not a Russian spy this time, right?”

  “She’s from Florida, so probably not,” I replied dryly. There was no proof that Ysenia had been a Russian spy either, but I let it slide. Poor woman could be lying dead in a KGB mass grave somewhere. I tried not to think about it.

  “Congrats bro,” David said, raising a forkful of sickeningly red, dripping meat to his mouth, “here’s hoping you don’t end up in the tabloids this time. This is the first time you’ve had more than a one-night stand in how long? I’m proud of you.”

  “Gee thanks,” I said, taking a bite of the niçoise salad David had whipped up like it was no big deal.

  We were eating in his latest trendy restaurant. It was closed on Wednesdays, which was nice, since it meant that I got to have a chef-prepared meal without the usual two-month wait for a reservation. David was obnoxious, conceited, and just as snobby as me, but he cooked like a motherfucker. It was unfortunate that he’d transitioned his career into television. I could tell it was weighing on him to be out of the kitchen.

  “What’s going on with your whole data breach thing?” David asked, looking worried for the first time in god knows when, “Is it safe for you to go forward with the manned launch?”

  Of anyone, David was the closest person to me that was against me being both the CEO and the test pilot for Durant Astronautics. I knew it came from a place of love—we were twins, after all—but it irritated me. Everyone else in the family understood that this was both a smart economic and personal decision. But not David. He thought I was just being an egocentric jerk who needed to fly spacecraft in order to feel virile and manly. He was only half right.

  “The data breach is coming along,” I replied evasively, not really wanting to get into the technical details with David. He wouldn’t understand any of it. David was perfectly intelligent, but he didn’t know shit about computers. It’s not like I asked him about the finer points of cutlery.

  “And the test launch?” David pushed, “Have you considered at least delaying it a few weeks until the investigation is totally done?”

  I shrugged. He wanted me to delay the launch. If it were up to David, I’d delay the test launch forever, or at least until I was too old to pilot it.

  “Ok,” he finally said, shaking his head and sending his stupid beard that I was secretly jealous of shaking from side to side, “if you won’t tell me about the investigation or the launch, tell me about the girl. What’s her name? How’d you meet her?”

  This was a much better topic. I grinned.

  “Zoey Atkinson, and I met her at Angelica Hunt’s if you can believe it,” I replied happily.

  “You’re dating one of Angelica’s friends? Gross dude,” my brother replied, “I bet she’s hot, but you gotta’ watch out. She might have the clap.”

  “She’s not one of Angelica’s friends,” I answered, grinning, “she’s a journalist. She was interviewing Angelica when I went to cover for you at the board meeting.”

  “Why would anyone interview Angelica?” David asked, rolling his eyes, “Her nude selfies aren’t exactly breaking news. Nice tits though.”

  “Yeah,” I admitted, “Angelica’s the worst. Poor Zoey has to interview her for a contract she has with some gossip site. I guess it’s not easy to be a reporter these days.”

  “So, she’s less of a real journalist and more of a, um, tabloid writer?” David said carefully, raising an eyebrow at me, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You haven’t had the best historical relationship with the press. You even have a framed article sitting right next to your computer at home to remind you not to fuck up.”

  “Look,” I replied angrily, “don’t start. I like her. She’s a working journalist and she takes what she can get. She’s actually the one that wrote the article you’re talking about. I’m not going to judge her because she isn’t working for the Washington Post or New York Times right now. She’s young and just starting out.”

  “How young?” David asked, his eyes widening, “And she’s the one that wrote your shame-article.”

  “Please don’t call it a shame-article, and I think, like, twenty-three or twenty-four. She’s not underage or anything,” I said, frowning at my brother that he’d think I’d date someone too young.

  “Hmm. Yeah, ok,” David said, yielding the point and choosing not to dig further, “that’s fine. Just be careful you don’t say anything that she’s gonna be too tempted to publish. Don’t send her any dick pics either; your junk is already all over the internet.”

  “Don’t remind me,” I groaned, “I still get fan mail from some creepy people about that. It’s the stuff of nightmares.”

  That was probably the most disturbing thing about becoming instantly famous for having sex in space. There were a small number of people out there that were incredibly turned on by the video that got released. An even smaller number of those were happy to admit that space-sex was very much their fetish, and I’d become something of a celebrity in their circle. I regularly received letters, pictures, orgy invitations, and the occasional, horrifyingly unwanted tribute video.

  “That’s the price you pay for dick stardom,” David managed through his giggle, “shoulda’ kept it in your spacesuit.”

  “We don’t wear spacesuits inside the ISS,” I replied snidely, “we just wear regular pants.”

  “Yeah but ‘shoulda’ kept it in your regular pants’ doesn’t sound nearly as snappy,” David said, “you gotta’ give me some artistic license here.”

  I took another bite of the freakishly good tuna atop my salad. I knew I shouldn’t be eating it as tuna was dangerously overfished, but it was too delicious. David was an artist, and his medium was edible (despite the fact that he was more of celebrity chef than a real chef these days).

  “Yeah but you aren’t an artist anymore,” I sneered sarcastically, “you’re just a glorified talk show host.”

  “And you’re just a kid with too many toys,” David snapped and then softened, “seriously, will you just think about not flying that thing? It’s fundamentally just a tin can strapped to a large bomb. If you really like this girl, you don’t want to blow yourself up, right?”


  “I’m not going to blow myself up,” I snapped right back, ready to get off this subject entirely, “can we just move on? Tell me about your trip to Argentina, or your new talk show, or something.”

  “Oh!” David exclaimed, and put a hand to his forehead in realization, “I totally forgot. Hold on.”

  He got up from the table and ran off to the back of the restaurant. He returned a moment later with two mugs of green, grainy, slimy drinks with metal straws sticking out of them. They had a bit of smell.

  “It’s yerba mate,” he said, setting the drink in front of me, “it’s made from the leaves of the holly tree in the rainforest. It’s said to have great rejuvenating effects, increasing focus, energy, and nutrition. I know you don’t like tea, but I know your palate and you’re gonna like this.”

  I took a drink of the strange concoction through the metal straw to find that it tasted very unique. It was actually pretty good. It tasted only slightly like tea, and more like wood, weak coffee, and tobacco. David was going to make a tea drinker out of me after all. I really wanted Zoey to try it.

  “Do you have any more of this stuff?” I asked, “I think Zoey would really like it. She drinks tea.”

  “Yeah,” David said, “I’ll give you a bunch of it. Let me know when I get to meet this Zoey. You sound like you’re falling in love with her.”

  Maybe I was.

  20

  Zoey

  “That’s perfect Angelica,” I told her, laying on my belly on the ground of the tennis court and taking pictures of her serves, “let’s do three more of these and then try getting a few backhands as well. After that, we’ll do the stills.”

  Angelica flipped her hair back and tossed the ball into the air to hit another, flawless serve across the court. Her outfit was skimpy, preppy, and perfect for the shoot, and she’d tied her hair back into two braided pigtails that hung all the way down to her narrow waist. The only thing that detracted from the wholesomely preppy look was her pierced navel. She had a huge, sparkly flower piercing in and we’d have to shop it out even though those were probably real diamonds. It was just too tacky.

  “Ms. Hunt,” Tara called out across the court as I was snapping the final serve, “it’s time for you to take your holistic supplements and hydrate.”

  Angelica smiled at me. “I’ll be right back,” she crowed, “I just need to take my vitamins and get my water in! You stay right there.”

  Angelica pranced off to grab the pills and coconut water that Tara was holding for her on the edge of the tennis court. Tara looked a little bit less glum than usual. Maybe it was because Angelica was in such a tremendously good mood. I would bet that when Angelica had a bad day, Tara had an absolutely abysmal one.

  As for me, I was more than happy to lay on the ground and wait while Angelica took whatever herbal mumbo-jumbo that was in vogue with the jet set these days. Actually, those pills were probably mood stabilizers and beta-blockers. Not that I cared. If truth be told, I was only half-present at the photoshoot. I was a bit sore from my hangover and this morning’s sex-capades with Nathan. It would be a long time before I’d ever get that drunk again.

  I couldn’t believe how much better I was feeling this afternoon, despite the lingering light headache from the hangover. Making up with Nathan was a decision I couldn’t bring myself to regret. If anything, I felt giddy. He’d made me feel so good this morning. Although I felt like I should have punished him by staying mad at him a little bit longer, having Nathan in my bed had banished any anger I probably should have been feeling. Now if that Cecelia woman ever got in my way I was going to kick her hobbit-sized butt into next week, but I wasn’t mad at Nathan anymore.

  While I was laying on the ground like a slug, I heard Angelica’s tennis coach and current man-candy, Marcus, talking on the phone in the next tennis court over. He probably couldn’t see me from where he was, since I was prone on the ground and there was a big net between us. I hadn’t realized he could talk. His voice was much lower than I expected based off his youthful face.

  “Hold on just a moment,” he was saying in a somewhat-accented voice, “let me just make sure I’ve got privacy…”

  Then he started speaking quickly in what seemed to be Russian or some other Eastern European language and I couldn’t understand anything else. It definitely wasn’t Spanish like his accent. I was able to pick out the words Durant and Nathan Breyer being used over and over, but that was all. I wondered who he was talking about Nathan with. The conversation sounded important.

  I hadn’t realized that Marcus was Russian if that’s what he was. He’d barely said a word around me during this afternoon’s entire photoshoot. I’d thought he’d be more involved in posing Angelica, but he just stood around uselessly and watched with Tara. Maybe good form didn’t make for good photos when it came to tennis? I had no idea. I’d been more of a volleyball type of girl in high school. My school wanted me to play basketball because of my height, but I lacked the coordination to run that much.

  “Ok Zoey!” Angelica said, coming back from her brief pill-break, “Do you think we should do a few more serves just to be sure you got a good shot? I’m not sure I felt the last few.”

  “I thought the shots looked absolutely beautiful as always,” I told Angelica, smiling like my face would break in two, “but let’s do a couple more just in case. I really liked your full extension on the last one where you really showed off your long lines. Your arms are amazing. Do you think you could do that again?”

  “Oh, you mean like this?” Angelica asked, reaching her hand up high above her head and pushing her cleavage out with an arched back. She flashed her pearly white smile and flipped her braids back.

  “Yes, exactly,” I replied with fake, forced enthusiasm, “and if you can make your skirt flip up just a little teeny-tiny bit to show off your legs?”

  “Oh, for sure!” Angelica replied with a nod. She was in absolute heaven. Having someone telling her how sexy and beautiful she was while taking pictures that would be shared with millions of people? It was like Christmas in July.

  21

  Nathan

  “Ok, this is the moment of truth,” Victor said, attacking the keys on his keyboard with a torrent of clicks and commands that were totally indecipherable to mere mortals like me.

  Victor, Cecelia, Paul, and I were gathered anxiously around Victor’s computer down in his basement lair. I hadn’t been down here in a while and was mildly surprised that it was less dungeon-like than the reputation of Victor and his reputedly Dungeons and Dragons playing staff would suggest. It looked just like the rest of the building, actually, just with less natural light.

  “Alright,” Victor said, peering into the code like he was Neo staring through the matrix, “there’s good news and bad news. What do you want to hear first?”

  “The bad news,” Cecelia and I answered simultaneously. If we had to scrap the launch in two days, I wanted to know immediately. Cecelia was just a natural pessimist. I couldn’t remember feeling more nervous.

  Even waiting on the launch platform at NASA before a mission had felt less consequential than finding out just how badly we’d been fucked over by thieves on Monday.

  “You asked for it,” Victor said, “It looks like whoever accessed our systems copied all the commands for Friday’s launch. One hundred percent of the launch code was taken.”

  That was very bad news. The programming of Friday’s launch was currently being finalized based on the final results of the test on Monday, however, most of the data had been in our systems for months. This code was the pinnacle of our achievements at Durant Astronautics, the blueprints of successful spaceflight.

  “Copied or modified?” I asked. Victor smashed in another series of commands to his keyboard.

  “Copied,” he confirmed, “they didn’t modify anything, but someone definitely got their filthy mitts all up on our data. I feel like I’ve been raped.”

  Cecelia and I exchanged a worried look, and not just because of Vi
ctor’s verbiage. The fact that someone had our most sensitive data was disturbing, although we knew there was a good chance of that already. If the thief didn’t also have our test modules (and they didn’t since they weighed hundreds of tons and were much harder to steal than some code), that data was much less useful.

  “What’s the good news?” Paul asked at my elbow. He’d come down here to visit the vending machines and stayed at my request. The more Paul knew about everything, the better. In a company full of near-autistic geniuses and brilliant eccentrics, someone who could effectively manage details while still possessing excellent social skills was worth their weight in gold.

  “The good news,” Victor announced, “is that none of the test results were compromised. I’m not sure if the thieves meant to grab different data and ended up with this, but it’s pretty much the best-case scenario. If we were going to get hacked, it’s better that they get something they can’t really use.”

  “Could the thieves come back for more data?” Paul asked, and Victor shook his head.

  “Not now that we’ve gotten rid of the VPN they installed and tightened our security protocols. They can’t get in the same way if they do return,” Cecelia answered for Victor, “obviously we’re going to do everything we can to prevent a repeat of Monday.”

  I was beyond relieved. Even though someone had stolen from me, it didn’t seem like they would be able to do much with what they got. Unless they had a craft exactly like mine (which of course they didn’t), they couldn’t use their purloined data. None of the plans or specifications for module had been accessed, so at best they only had the software, not the hardware necessary for spaceflight. I’d never been much for praying, but Victor definitely deserved a bonus for figuring this all out, and I’d be willing to give a shout-out to the powers that be, too.