Only knew of his rebel past and whispered rumors from my college mates.
Looking at him now, he fit every single word said about him. His dark hair looked just as sexed up as mine, hanging in unruly waves around his face, his body pretty par to my own if not a bit more muscular.
It was obvious why women seemed to flock around him.
He gave off the vibe of a bad emo boy ready to destroy you, even when he wasn’t saying a damn word.
Carrington’s mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, not kind, not mocking. Something even colder was lying dormant there. Like he’d already catalogued me, slid me into some dark drawer in his head, saving the information for a better purpose when it suited him best.
My breath caught. My rhythm broke. And in that slip, I felt something raw and rough pulse through me, spilling out from the unsettling way Carrington’s eyes looked through me like glass.
His cold eyes, the color of fucking hazy corn, narrowed as if he’d seen it happen. My shift. The crack in my charade before I placed my figurative mask back into place.
He pushed off the doorframe, turning back to the other room, and leaving without a word.
But the damage was done.
Because when I closed my eyes, all I could see was him watching me. Seeing me for the darkness I hid behind. It was terrifying, and that fear made me fucking feral.
I was intrigued by his response.
I wasn’t into dudes.
I definitely didn’t want my girlfriend’s brother watching me fuck her mouth. I was always afraid of being seen for what I was…
So why was I coming down her throat, thinking about those haunting eyes looking right through me?
Iwas fucking hard?
That’s interesting.
I never got a boner from watching someone else fuck. Much less my sister. Man or woman, I didn’t care about anatomy, sounds, or anything, minus the actual release of an orgasm.
Not theirs.
Mine.
I couldn’t deny the blood that was pooling between my legs. I was thick behind the leather, and the confusion only made me throb harder.
I felt…alive.
It was like a spark in my blood, like the adrenaline you get from a ride that abuses your body.
The whole point of these games was amusement—watch the prey scatter like mice, record their pathetic fear, wet my blade, and feed my own private archive of screams. People were predictable and downright boring.
Until they weren’t.
I saw it the moment he faltered.
The man plowing into my sister’s throat wasn’t like the rest. He wore politeness like a second skin, that crisp posture, perfected golden surfer hair, and the sunshiny smile.
It was too clean, untouched. But the second he locked my sibling’s hands down. I saw it, the darkness lurking in his easy demeanor. The grip in her hair wound a little too tight.
His face was covered for a purpose in the black rabbit mask. To anyone else, this would have looked like pleasure. That they were in the same mindless gyrating rythym as everyone else would be in this state. But his body betrayed him.
And that interested me.
Not because I wanted my sister. That thought was not appealing at all.
