Kieran’s eyes sparkled as his mouth worked over me. He didn’t gag, didn’t resist, just let me face-fuck him until I was breathless and groaning in earnest.
“Swallow,” I demanded, tightening my fist in his hair as I let myself go.
He sucked hard, his cheeks hollowing, my cock jerking, cum flooding his mouth.
“Goddammit,” I groaned, pulling back and tucking my cock away.
I stumbled over to the sideboard, grabbed my drink, and headed to the windows, trying to catch my breath.
“I fucking hate you for that.”
Kieran’s voice came from right behind me when he said, “No, you don’t.”
No, I didn’t. I’d fought this attraction between us for so long now, it had become second nature.
“This is just the beginning,” Kieran whispered, his lips brushing the back of my neck. “Just. The. Beginning.”
I took a deep breath, shored my resolve, and turned to face him. “But tonight … it’s the end. Get out.”
He didn’t seem surprised by my callousness, nor was he offended if the smirk on his fucking mouth was anything to go by.
Betrayal
“We have to distrust each other. It is our only defense against betrayal.”
~Tennessee Williams
1
Three years later
Wednesday, November 4, 2020
Emily Campbell
With each passing day, I inch closerand closer to death.
Those were my thoughts as I meandered from the south wing, down the large winding staircase, to the formal dining room where I was expected for breakfast.
Closer…
Step.
Closer…
Step.
Closer and closer to…
Notdeathin the literal sense, unless, of course, you considered natural aging, then sure. But that was the case for all of us, was it not? Every breath we took brought us closer to…
Okay, so it was a bit morose, I would agree.
The deathIwas referring to was for dramatic effect. That was just what I did because I, Emily Elaine Grace Campbell, was what the over-the-top news media referred to as Texas royalty, and I had nothing better to do than look pretty and anticipate the end of days. After all, I’d long ago stopped counting the number of sconces on the plaster-coated walls or calculating the combined age of the vintage cars my father kept in the twelve-bay garage. Now I simply marched toward my impending doom, tempering my morbid thoughts.
Texas royalty. Despite the fact it was silly, I kinda liked it. And I guess to some degree, it was true. Based on the zeroes on my father’s bank statements, we were among the wealthiest families in Texas, which afforded us a title, if nothing else.
If you were wondering what created our not-so-humble aristocracy, well, it’s probably not what you think. First of all, the Campbells didn’t amass their fortune from black gold or longhorn cattle like so many others in the land of bluebonnets andFriday Night Lights. However, we had garnered our fair share of respect—or the illusion thereof—that came with having more money than sense, but I wasn’t sure that type of respect was worth boasting about.
