My username is Dragonfly.
Nothing’s planned or perfect.
I always wear an iridescent black and silver mask in the videos to hide my identity. I post my cock if I feel like it, or pictures of me with toys deep in my ass. Videos of me edging myself into oblivion over the course of an hour, then letting go and coming so hard it shoots up onto my chest.
On that account, I post completely on impulse. And I meticulously keep both fanbases separate. My Dragonfly profile feels more likemethan the public one where I show my face. In my actual life, I’ve gotten used to feelingunwanted, with each private prep school eventually kicking me out, my father abandoning me, and my mother most likely wishing I’d never been born.
I got in constant fights while playing hockey, and off the ice sometimes too.
“Troubled” was the kindest word most authorities used to describe me.
So I’ve channeled my strengths into a place where they’reverywanted. I’ll give fans my cock any day. It’s real life that’s the bitch.
“You made it!”
The voice comes from in front of me as I’m replying with heart emojis to some of my Insta followers.
I lock my phone and slide it away.
When I look up, a tall, dirty-blond jock is heading my way.
“Weston?” I ask.
He gives me a hesitant smile, nodding as he holds out his hand.
Fuck.
He’s actually getting emotional about this.
“I can’t believe I’m meeting my brother for the first time,” he says.
As he shakes my hand, something seems to overtake him and he comes in for a full hug instead.
I’m caught off guard. My whole body tenses.
But Weston is clearly processing his feelings, even though I feel almost nothing about meeting new family for the first time in my life.
“Half-brother,” I correct him as he pulls away.
And you’re the lucky one who actually got to have a father, growing up.
Guess that’s just how the poisoned cookie crumbled.
Weston waves a hand through the air. “Half-brother is still half my blood. Doesn’t matter. We’re family. Come in, let me introduce you to Hunter.”
I suck in a deep breath of air, nodding.
I need to play nice.
Need tonotcause trouble for once in a new place. Lie low, and not get fucking kicked out.
I follow him deeper into Onyx House, past the main room and toward the back, where some guys are hanging out playing some sort of drinking game with a big bottle of absinthe in the center of the table.
A few of the guys look up at me, clearly recognizing that I’m new.
I'm never a fan of going to parties where I don’t know asingle soul, but there’s a unique bitterness about it when two of those people are your half-brothers and they still feel more like strangers than anyone else.
“Hunter,” Weston says, finding his other brother.
