Pulling her up to stand by her hair, her hand slick with her wetness pressed up against my chest to steady herself, she hisses at the change of position, but still clenches her thighs as pleasure appears to track down through her centre. My hat tips back, and she squints up at my face. Lust-drunk grey eyes flecked with a deep violet speculative as her brows furrow and her harassed lips part to expel the question playing on her mind.
“Your eyes,” she sighs questioningly. Those are the only two words she gets out before I spin her to face the wall, plaster her back to my front, and slide my fingers down to her centre, rubbing her clit and pinching it between my fingers to tease the reanimation of her orgasm that I could see fighting to break free as she knelt for me. If she’s coming tonight, it will be at my hands. My cock is out and raring to go, but even I know taking her like that without Caleb would shatter him irreparably. I can say she’s mine to fuck with him, I can lose my mind as she swallows down my cock like it was made for her, I can even tease her to the brink and deny her the pleasure, but the truth has always been that she isours, and we would never make herchoose between us. When I do finally take her, I’ll have my brother right beside us to enjoy her too. I toy with her nipples through the fabric of her dress, eliciting a sharp exhale from her shaking lips, before moving my hand up to decorate her neck with my thick tattooed fingers that mould like putty to her delicate throat. The pulsing thrum of her lifeline against my palm as I play with her has her body rocking in time to the movements of my fingers. I use the heel of my hand gripping her cunt to work pressure against her swollen clit, my fingers—first one and then two breaching her slick folds and entering her as I glide the tips against the soft spot inside her that will have her drenching my boots in no time.
“You ready?” I ask my brother who is calmer now. He settles in his chair, nodding with a twisted grin as I turn her head to face the screen, her eyes closed tight as I power forward. Ebs wiggles with desperation as she tries to nod her head in response to my question, signalling that just like my brother, she is ready for whatever is about to come next.
“Please. Please,” she manages to get the words out, begging me to finish what I started, and I refuse to disappoint her. My heart threatens to lurch out of my chest as an offering for my undying devotion in this moment. Seeing her so broken with pleasure, fractured with every touch of mine that adorns her body, so responsive to me without knowing who I truly am. It was never hate I had felt for our Dove, anger and resentment maybe—but never hate.
“Fuck, cowboy, shit… Fuuuccckk!” she screams, clearly uncaring of who might be on the other side of the door. Her body rippling as the pleasure builds inside her as I hold her steady against me by her throat to keep her standing. Her body wants to fold, to cave to the pressure it doesn’t know what to do with, but I hold her straight, her extremities trembling as her nails bite into the tattooed skin of my forearms. I want her to mark me, so I tighten my grip, and she follows suit, stinging bloody crescents left amongst the black ink artwork.
I’m almost sad she didn’t say our names again; Caleb would have loved that. But as her core clenches around my fingers, my rock-hard cock pressing against her arse leaking pre-come, I dip my head and groan against her ear. Salivating at every whimper and cry that leaves her mouth.
“Come for us.” My final order sounds ominous as her orgasm rips through her, and she screams, her arousal splashing against my boots like I had hoped for as she cries, tears rolling down her cheeks and over my knuckles of the hand still secured around her neck.
“How beautifully you cry for us,” I say soothingly into her sweat-drenched hair. Her eyes rolling back in her head as I take her full weight. The flicker of an aftershock ripples through her body at the praise. She’s currently riding the remnants of her explosive orgasm, so she doesn’t ask why I’ve used the wordusrather thanme.A part of me hopes that her mention of our names earlier signals the possibility that what I’ve just done to her sparked the thought of us both anyway, as she came apart with her release. That maybe over the years, it’s been our faces filling her head in those quiet moments she spent alone torturing her body with dreams of what could have been—if she hadn’t thrown us to the wolves and cast us aside.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EBONY
Irun out of there before we can exchange pleasantries; that wasn’t what tonight was about. I could end it however I pleased, and blissfully sated without the awkward back and forth while he pretends he wants to get to know the girl he’s just made orgasm, feels like a perfect end to my night.
Making my way back through the crowd, I push my hair away from my face, my heart still thumping wildly in my chest. The dull ache of his fingers at my centre throbs as the last fractured remnants of my orgasm tickle at the edge of every sense, my nose filled with his oddly familiar fresh citrus and leather scent. My thighs are slick with my arousal; the taste of his whiskey-laced breath stained on my abused lips. Every inch of my body tingles with life, and it takes everything in me not to turn around and run back to the closet in the hopes that my cowboy is still there and willing for a second round.
My heart dropped as his fingers grazed my scars, aripple of weird fascination at what he might think taking a different turn than I was expecting. For the briefest moment, I had wondered what it might feel like to have his lips adoring the broken parts of me. His touch was firm yet soft at the same time, nimble fingers digging into my flesh as my body rocked back against his strong, broad, heaving chest. That flash of his caress against the trauma-bonded skin a white hot spike to my slick centre as he was undeterred.
Chewing on my finger and working my way back through the party, I am oblivious to those around me. I still can’t quite believe what I’ve just done with a complete stranger.
A part of me believes I should be embarrassed; I have never come that hard in my life, and as the beat of the music feels as though it’s carrying me away on a cloud, I can’t seem to muster the energy to pass the judgement on myself. That will be hungover Ebony’s problem. For now, I’ll enjoy the carefree weightlessness that comes with squirting all over a cowboy’s boots as he finger fucks me to within an inch of my life.
Glassy-eyed and suitably sore between my legs, I accept the red solo cup from Mateo in a daze as he passes me in his jersey. I crane my neck to see Megan, but they are gone as quick as they arrived. My legs are in no fit state to chase after them, so instead, I slump down and bury myself back into the sofa cushions. Wedged between two guys animatedly discussing the pros and cons of Pokémon, including the dangers it poses to the youth of today at a theoretical level.
Fucking psych majors.
Even that doesn’t kill my buzz though as I knock back the top-shelf rum and coke like it’s water.
The minutes pass, and I expect to be coming back down to earth, but the room begins to spin around me, my head light and fuzzy, my eyesight blurry at the edges. My stomach roils, and I gag on nothing.
‘You had a nine-inch pierced anaconda in your mouth not so long ago, but you can’t inhale air properly without heaving?’
The voice in my head sounds distant, the words muffled as though I have my head submerged underwater. The unease shifting in my chest amplifies. I don’t realise I’m running outside towards the back of the house until the fresh pool water air hits me full pelt in the face. If you ever wondered what was the worst piece of garden furniture to use as support whilst intoxicated, I’ll tell you—a fucking porch swing. I land unceremoniously in the rose bush below, the thorns scratching at my legs. I see the mottled blood blackened in the moonlight as it seeps from the cuts in my pale skin, but I don’t feel it.
I squint, trying to focus as I see a pair of black boots fill my vision. For a second, I’m about to ask why the owner of the boots is horizontal, when I realise it’s me who is lying on my side in the dirt, the patio doors now pulled shut and containing the music and the cheers of the people still inside.
I see the football jersey he’s wearing as I move to sit, my legs still refusing to comply, to let me stand like I’m ordering them silently to do.
I want to sleep; I need to sleep.
But first, I’ll ask Mateo to help me inside. I’m sure thePokémon brothers could send me into the deepest rest of my life if I ask them to share their theories in detail.
His hands grip me under my arms as he manoeuvres me like a rag doll that weighs nothing. But it isn’t Mateo I see in front of me. I am in the garden alone with the one person I vowed to never be caught alone with.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EBONY
Mateo hadn’t handed me that drink; Bobby had.
“It. Damn. No. Fuck,” I slur, struggling to make sense of the warnings blaring in my fuzzy head. I fall back against the side of the house as he holds me upright, the string of words making no sense as he chuckles darkly at my expense. His punishing grip tightening around my arms.
