Lords of Pain

by Angel Lawson

  “If you don’t get the fuck out of my motherfucking room right now, I swear to god, I’ll show you what I really want to do to you!”

  Even as I hear them scrambling behind the closed door, I’m still frozen in my spot from the sound of his voice, low and furious. I finally jolt when the door swings open and they rush out like the devil is on their tail. I jump, reaching for my door, but he’s there in a heartbeat, all big and angry.

  Also completely naked.

  “What the hell are you looking at!” he roars.

  “N-nothing,” I say. “I swear, nothing.” Still, my eyes descend his body. His rippling, tattooed arms. His muscular, heaving chest. His hard washboard abs. He’s like a statue chiseled out of marble by one of the ancient masters. And below it all is his thick cock, hanging heavy between his legs. Even limp, it’s huge and intimidating, difficult to tear my gaze from. “I-I was just—”

  “Just what?” he says, suddenly in front of me. He flings out a hand, clamping it around my upper arm, ignoring my flinch. “Snooping around? Spying? Digging up dirt on me?”

  “What? No! I was just going to my room for a sweater. I was cold and Tristian…h-he said I could.” His eyes dart over my head to my bedroom door like he’s only just remembering it’s there. “I didn’t hear anything,” I hurriedly add.

  I instantly regret it.

  “Which means you heard everything,” he snarls, bruising my arm with his grip. “It’s not my goddamn fault. Those sluts with their fake tits and phony moans. It’s like a fucking low-budget porn show in there. Do you know how annoying it is to never have a single honest fuck?”

  I’m not sure if he’s being rhetorical but he’s still holding onto me, and the anger’s rolling off of him like a warning. I shake my head, offering a meek, “No.”

  “It’s pathetic,” he says through clenched teeth. “They’ve been fucked and manhandled by half the guys in this school. All I want is a good lay before the game. To settle some of this pent-up energy so that I can focus on the field instead of my cock for ninety fucking minutes.” His eyes narrow and pin to mine. “Tell me, why can’t I do that?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper, holding back a wince as he grips my arm harder.

  “Yes, you fucking do!” he shouts. “Else, you wouldn’t have tried to cut me off with that stupid fucking clause of yours. So tell me. I want to hear you say it.”

  I look in his eyes, always so full of hatred for me, and I know what he wants me to say. He wants me to take the blame. He wants me to roll over. He wants to hurt me because he knows I can’t hurt him back.

  Charlene’s words come back to me, and suddenly it’s like a toxic fog has been lifted.

  I strike back. “I said I don’t know, Killian. I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to find a vagina to screw that meets your very special needs. But I can take a guess, if that’s what you want.” All the disgust and anger I’ve been carrying for the last three years rushes out. “Maybe you’re so fucked up in the head, so evil and spiteful, that fucking someone who’s willing just isn’t good enough for you. Maybe your dick is just as broken as your head. Maybe, deep down, you know there’s nothing appealing about you. Nothing special. Nothing worth wanting. So yeah, every time they moan—every time they beg for it—you know it’s fake. It can never be anything else.” His expression goes momentarily slack, eyes flooding with a darkness that I know I’m going to pay for. For a split second, I don’t care. I think it’ll be worth it. “Maybe you only want to fuck people who act just as disgusted by you as they feel. Because at least that’s genuine, you sick fuck.”

  My back meets the wall faster than I can process the collision. “Oh, Story,” he says, mouth curling into a sharp, malicious grin. His gaze darts down, and I don’t know why, but I look too. His cock is no longer droopy and lifeless. It’s sprung to life, growing two sizes in the time it took me to mouth off to him. “I think you might be onto something. Tell me more.”

  Shit.

  “I-I—”

  “No? Cat suddenly got your tongue?” I know better to reply, but he’s not done. He casually says, “Get on the floor.”

  My eyes widen. “What?”

  “Get on the floor,” he says, releasing me and shoving me down on the hallway carpet. I move to my knees, eye to eye with his bobbing cock. I try to wade through the rising panic to find acceptance in this. I knew this would come eventually. I force back the nausea roiling in my gut, but before I can settle it, he moves again, dropping in front of me. “Lay down.”

  I lock up, gaping at him. “Killian…please…”

  His hand shoots forward to take a handful of my hair. “You know that begging makes it hotter, Sweet Cherry. So beg all you want. Do you see what happens to my cock every fucking time you open your mouth? It gets bigger. Harder. The blood is pumping straight through me.” He grips it and runs his hand up and down the shaft. “I’m harder right now than I’ve been in years. It must be the fucking sound of your voice. It’s like a goddamn trigger.”

  I bite the inside of my mouth, forcing myself to be quiet as I stare down at it, at his hand running up and down the pink, taut skin of his erection. It’s swollen and crazy big. Terrifyingly so. I think of the girl telling him to stick it in her ass. God.

  “Lay down,” he says again, voice deceptively even.

  “No.” A blow job is one thing. I’ve survived that before, and while I know at some point one of the guys will take my virginity, it can’t be like this. I won’t let him. “This is not happening.”

  His laugh is a brittle, rough thing. “Want to bet?”

  He doesn’t wait for my compliance, using the hand in my hair to shove me back. I grab his wrist, kicking out with my leg, but he uses every part of his body to force me into submission. It’s like I’m the ball wobbling down the football field and he’s determined to catch me.

  It’s hardly a struggle.

  He gets me flat on the ground in no time, one hand planted into my shoulder as the other swats mine away. The muscles in his chest hardly shift as he climbs on top of me, using his forearms, his knees, his legs to pin me there like a bug, completely unconcerned by my flailing limbs.

  His eyes are alight like this, and even though they’re still full of anger, they’re also full of something else. Impatience? Excitement? He rips the straps of my dress away like they’re nothing, taking both my wrists in one big hand as he yanks it down my body, swiftly exposing me. His cock glides against my stomach, accidentally or intentionally, I don’t know. It’s smooth and hot and the tip leaves a sticky residue on my belly.

  Breathing heavily, he looks down at my chest, greedily staring at my breasts. “Perfect,” he mutters, rubbing his thumbs over my peaked nipples. “Fucking perfect.”

  Trying to stop my own chest from heaving, I let out a string of panicked appeals. “Killian, you can’t do this. You can’t fuck me, you can’t, you can’t, you’re my stepbrother, you don’t…you don’t want me. You hate me.”

  The look in his eyes stops my voice cold. He shifts to pin my legs down with his feet, while his knees press into my arms. “I’m not going to fuck you, Sweet Cherry,” he says, his tone implying that he’s held off on adding a ‘not yet’ to his statement. “At least, not your pussy.”

  He leans over and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me, my lips quivering at the thought, but he ducks his head and licks the valley between my breasts instead. He sits back up, his thick cock bobbing over my wet chest. His hands knead my breasts, squeezing and pushing them together before pulling them apart. I clamp my mouth shut, afraid that he’s going to force it between my lips, but he lines it up with my tits and pushes it between them instead.

  “Yeah, that’s fucking good,” he groans, slowly pulling in and out. The points of his knees, the weight of his body holding me down, hurts. There’s nothing I can do. Nowhere I can go. I’m trapped, staring at Killian as his jaw clenches tight and his eyes shut, falling into a rhythm. His thumbs keep pressing down on my
nipples, my very sensitive nipples. It awakens me, sending gradual jolts of unwelcome pleasure though my body. Every time he thrusts, his ass brushes back and forth across my lower belly, teasingly just above my pelvis. Warm, traitorous heat builds between my legs as I watch, powerless. He has no fucking idea what he’s doing to me.

  Or at least that’s what I think, until he slows down, pushing the tip of his cock closer and closer to my face. He opens his eyes, and growls, “Kiss it.”

  I turn my head away. “No.” The heat in my belly builds with every thrust, every tug and toy of my nipples.

  “You will, Sweet Cherry,” he says, breath and movements slowing. He’s in control here. Always in control. “Kiss it.”

  I spit, “Fuck you.” But saying things like that is now confusing. Am I saying it to make him stop? Or am I saying it to encourage him more? A fog has lowered over my brain, one that combines with the rhythmic push and pull of Killian’s cock as it slowly moves closer and closer to my mouth. Push, pull, push, pull. The most confusing thing about it is that, despite the way he’s pinning me here—despite the hurt—it doesn’t even feel aggressive. It feels like my body is suddenly on fire, like I have to put all my willpower into not raising my hips in tandem with his.

  So much willpower that it’s impossible to fight the impulse to taste him.

  He pushes forward again, his eyebrows pinching together. When he’s close enough, I flick out my tongue and lick the salty tip.

  “Fuuuuck, Christ,” he shudders, a tremor running through his body. He does it again and this time I open my mouth, taking him inside. He’s slippery and salty, blistering hot. His breath grows ragged along with my own. I squeeze my legs together, seeking friction between my thighs, but the dark truth is that I don’t even need it. I feel like the winding ball of tension building in my belly is fit to explode just from the way he’s playing with my tits, from tasting him in my mouth, from feeling the weight of his body bearing down on me. “Tell me how much you hate me,” he says, nose flaring wide as he pistons his hips. “Tell me how much you fucking hate my guts, you dirty little white-trash whore.”

  “I hate you,” I cry, feeling the spiral in my belly tightening. “You’re evil, and mean, and you let your friends hurt me. You’re the reason I ran away. You ruined my fucking life. I hate you so fucking much, Killian Payne!”

  He opens his eyes and they hold mine for a long beat before he thrusts forward one last time, grabbing his cock in his hand. His body seizes, bold and beautiful, and warm come shoots out from the tip, coating my chest and neck.

  He falls forward, hands landing next to my head, face inches from mine. I’m still trapped under his weight, semen pooled on my chest. He looks down at me, forehead sweaty, cheeks red. He’s disturbingly calm now, all that dark hatred and bright loathing seemingly erased from his stony features.

  My own breathing is ragged, still coiled tight from being denied an orgasm I didn’t even want, caught in a whirlwind of emotions. What I’d experienced wasn’t exactly pleasure, but it wasn’t entirely pain, either. It was that place caught in the middle, the one Charlene must have been talking about. It’s dangerous. Sinister.

  Killian blinks, like he’s slowly coming back to reality. He sits up, which forces his body to press down on mine. I cry out in pain. Without even looking, I know I’m going to have bruises from the way he pinned me down. He doesn’t seem to give a damn.

  He exhales, releasing my arms and legs, and then climbs back to his feet. Fully aware that I can move now, I don’t. I stay exactly where he’s left me, sprawled out, breathless, aching, used.

  “That,” he says quietly, “was your fault. You forced me to do that to you. Just like you always force guys to hurt you. You came up here and got in my business, and then you knowingly provoked me into this. That’s what you do, Story. That’s what you always fucking do.” His eyes travel over me, lips curling in disgust. “You think I’m the one who’s broken? Look at you. You can get away, but you won’t. Whenever you try, you just come right back. So what the fuck does that make you?” He shakes his head like I’m pathetic. Like he’s not the one who just defiled me. He bends and grabs a handful of the dress he’d pooled around my waist, yanking it over his spunk on my chest. “Clean yourself up and go to bed. You’re a fucking embarrassment.”

  He steps over me and walks back into this room, slamming the door behind him. I’m left on the floor, half naked, covered in semen, while the sounds of the party travel up the stairs. A sob rises in my throat as I finally sit up. I don’t even try to stand, my arms and legs weak and wobbly from being pinned for so long. I crawl out of the hall and into my room, closing and locking everyone and everything out.

  15

  Tristian

  After Story goes in to get her sweater, I head back to the den, keeping an eye out for the pledges, Tucker and Beckwith. It was difficult, going easy on them in front of Story, but I did. Because I know she’s jumpy as fuck. But they’ve got some serious payback coming their way for laying hands on our Lady, and once Killer and Rath find out, it’s going to be even worse for them.

  “Jesus,” I overhear a girl say. She’s on the other side of a decorative plant, sitting on the edge of the fireplace. “What the hell do you think is his problem?”

  “I don’t know,” replies the other, “but my vagina isn’t dry like sandpaper, that’s bullshit.”

  “It is. He’s the one that can’t get it up. He needs to stop blaming that shit on us and go see a fucking doctor.”

  Curiosity gets the best of me and I peer around the plant. It’s the two girls that went upstairs with Killian earlier.

  “You know something’s wrong when he wouldn’t stick it up my ass. All guys want that. Every. Single. One of them.”

  She’s right about that, but this isn’t the kind of gossip that needs to be going around about any of the Lords. Once a rumor gets going, it doesn’t stop, and we have more than just the usual South Side business to keep secret. The parameters of our contract are private. Killian having some kind of problem is a sure signal that something is up, which will only make people sniff around harder. If any one of the other frats founds out that Story’s virginity is part of our game, they’d do their best to fuck it up. The last thing we need is anyone suspicious. I stroll over and try to get a handle on what’s happening.

  Up close, I can tell these girls aren’t exactly Killian’s type. They’re perfectly packaged, with bottle blonde hair, and big, most likely fake tits. Their waists are unnaturally narrow, legs thin with an inch-wide thigh-gap. The only flaw is the red around their noses, the tiny tell of a coke habit that is mandatory if you’re a Kappa.

  “Ladies,” I say, giving them my best panty-dropping grin.

  Beverly looks up, and when she recognizes me, she straightens, pushing her shoulders back. “Oh, Tristian. Hi!”

  “Hey, cutie.” I glance over at Cami, who smiles back, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. They’re as red as her nose. “What’s got you two so upset on a night like tonight?”

  “It’s nothing,” Beverly says, adjusting her top and making her tits bounce around in the process.

  I squat before them, making eye contact. “I thought I saw you two go upstairs with Killian earlier.”

  “We did,” Cami says, sniffing. “He just—”

  “He acted like an asshole,” Beverly blurts, then looks repentant. No one wants to cross the Lords. “It’s my fault. I just…I wasn’t what he wanted.”

  I reach out and rub my thumb against the corner of her puffy lips. “Killian’s been stressed lately. The NFL’s been watching him. We’ve been getting settled into the house. This rivalry between us and the Counts is heating up, and we’ve been breaking in our new Lady. There’s a lot on the line with the game. You know how he gets.”

  How he ‘gets’ is an understatement. Killian’s mean streak is legendary. Everyone knows it.

  “We didn’t mean to upset him. We tried to make him happy.” Beverly wipes a tear off her face. �
��I even offered him anal.”

  “I know, sugar, and that’s just a testament to the amount of pressure he’s under. I don’t know anyone here who wouldn’t jump on the chance to pound that fine ass.”

  “Right?” she says appreciatively.

  That seems to mollify her, because ultimately, she’s not upset that he was a jerk to her. She’s upset that he rejected her. I stroke her hair. “How about this? You two forget any of this happened and the hot tub out back is open to you, any time.”

  They share a look, smiles spreading across both their faces. Cami says, “Yeah, that sounds great.”

  When they walk off, I feel confident that they won’t go sharing all over social media that Killian’s got a limp dick. Jesus. Fucking embarrassing. I suggest they go find a skinny margarita over at the bar and then I search the room for either of my brothers. Rath is still wallowing in his moody, emo bullshit by commandeering the music, but I do see Killian has emerged, shoulders at ease and a big shit-eating grin on his face.

  That’s not the look of a guy who just struck out limp-dicked with two of the sweetest pieces at his own damn party.

  In fact, he looks completely satisfied.

  A thought—no, a worry—niggles at the back of my mind. Furtively, I scan the room for Story. It hasn’t escaped my attention that she never made it back down with her sweater. I look back over at Killian, eyes narrowing when our gazes meet.

  He winks, jerking his shoulder in a rueful shrug.

  Fucking hell.

  No one sees my tension as I cross the room and climb up the stairs to the second floor. My poker face is my best attribute. It’s what makes professors and parents love me. It’s what gets girls to undress for me, and it’s what allows me to move easily, pretending like everything is fine, even though I know it isn’t.

  Hopefully it’s what helps me clean up whatever mess Killian’s left up there.

  We call him Killer for a reason. He’s a mean, vindictive shit. He’s also petty and almost as vain as me. If he really couldn’t get it up with those girls—if something broke his ritual—there would have been hell to pay. And if Story crossed his path at that very moment, we may be out of a Lady.