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I gulped down my nerves, smiled smugly up at both of them, swiped the bottle of whiskey they had so generously left on the floor and brought it up to my lips. I swallowed a gulp of the liquid, flashing them both one of my famous smiles. “Want to get out of here?”
The taller one leaned down to my ear. “What’s wrong with here? Hmm?” His voice was deep and about as hypnotizing as his eyes. Everything south wanted him. The other one behind me had his hand on my stomach, pulling me into his body. “I mean… only if you’re game.”
His voice was sexy and smooth, too, like the shot of whiskey I just downed. I had no doubt they’d leave a fire in my belly just the same.
My eyes flew around the room, frantic, on all of the teenagers that were at this party. I knew only some of them, but they all knew who I was. The fact they weren’t staring at me was only because they liked their limbs connected to their bodies.
I’d never seen these two boys before, and I definitely would have recognized them if I had passed them before. They were different, though. They made the whole room seem darker and more sinister.
The music had changed to heavy metal, The Ocean, I think, and before I could second-guess myself, I stood on my tippy toes, hooked my hand around the back of the shorter one’s neck, and pressed my lips to his.
He didn’t kiss me back, but he didn’t push me away either. Everyone kissed me back. Every single fucking one. I kissed girls who kissed me back. That’s just who I was and the kind of effect I had on people. Except this guy, apparently. I stepped backward. When I turned to the angry and taller one, he simply shook his head, but before I could say anything, his hand was on my throat, pulling me close enough to hear the next words that came out of his mouth. “Don’t even fucking think about it. The only place you’ll be planting those fucking lips is on my cock.”
So he didn’t just look mean, he was mean. Perfect.
The guy behind me brought his hand around to the front, slipping beneath the waistband of my skirt. Good thing I wasn’t wearing panties. The lighting was dim, but the strobes flashed fast enough to give anyone a seizure. He found my slick entrance instantly after rubbing against my clit. I pressed myself against his cock and moaned at the way he swelled against the crack of my ass. The tall one in front of me slowly dropped back onto the sofa. I watched as his knees spread wide, his eyes on mine, never moving. “Headup” by Deftones shook the walls, the lights flashing on and off to the beat. He smirked up at me and it was the first time I thought I really may have fucked up, but then his hands were on his belt buckle, unzipping his zipper, and then finally he inched his pants down just enough for him to duck inside and pull—I gasped.
Holy. Fuck.
The guy behind me, who now had me turned completely around to face the one on the sofa, brought his lips to my ear. “Bend over.” I did, bringing my hand to the thighs of the guy on the sofa. His muscles clenched beneath my grasp, as if saying how dare I even touch him. Maybe he didn’t like being touched. He had that whole tortured bad boy thing going on.
The guy behind me ran his palm over my ass cheek, slapped it, and then shoved me down until my lips touched the piercing on the tip of the sofa guy’s cock. My lips parted like the Red fucking Sea as the one behind me drove into my slick pussy. I relaxed into them. Yes. This was what I wanted. Fuck everyone else in this room. This was what I wanted.
Brantley
Pulling into Nate’s driveway, I can sense Saint’s unease beside me. It rolls off her like a spray of Chanel. I’ve gone back and forth on what to do and what to say when it comes to her. I’ve seen firsthand how secrets can destroy people, and contrary to my reputation—snickers—she’s the one person that I never want to destroy.
I can’t explain why that is. All I can say is that there was a reason why she came into my life, and none of the reasons are what she thinks. Five-fucking-minutes.
We both climb out of the car and the front door to Nate’s swings open, with Tillie standing at the threshold.
“Little Terror, not today,” I growl in her direction. I can sniff out her mischief from a mile away.
Tillie waves me off, her full attention on Saint. Figures. It’s her last living sister. Tillie is a woman’s woman before she is anything else. “Nate is in Buckingham. Saint and I can chat.”