Page 7 of Privilege

Chapter Six

Cara

The party was tense.

Dinner was worse.

I spent the rest of the afternoon being toted around and introduced to a thousand people who all knew each other, none of whom seemed particularly kind.

Rich was distant. Not at all himself. He didn’t say much after Dane disappeared, let his friends do most of the talking.

I’m usually pretty good in a group, and have never had much trouble making friends.

But Christ Almighty this crowd felt like the advanced level of Mario Kart.

On cocaine. Banana peels and bomb shells flying at me from everywhere.

His mother spent the entirety of supper talking animatedly to Jamie and studiously ignoring me. His step-father’s chair at the head of the table remained empty. Dane never resurfaced.

“Tell me Jamie, how are your studies going?”

“I’m killin’ it, Mrs. van der Beer. The Alpha Pi’s made me pledge which I didn’t love, but they told me it was a formality and all that.”

“You’re a legacy dear,” Mrs. van der Beer said. She took a sip of her wine. “There are always formalities. Can’t look like there are favourites. But…”

Her voice trailed off and Jamie laughed. It was a high-pitched, tinny-sounding laugh that screamed fake and bitch.

I feel sorry for these women. Are they so unhappy that this is all they can do to make themselves feel better?

I picture Sasha in our dorm room, with her fiery red hair and never-ending parade of costumes for her Only Fans theme nights .

Of combing through thrift shops, and spending hours learning how to sew, and of laughing ourselves silly while I emergency glue-gun rogue sequins to her heart-shaped nipple covers.

I think about my science elective in the robotics lab, everyone crowded around a robot boxing match, like Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots but cooler. Professor Young scolding us for wasting our time and school resources building toys, but then spending the rest of the afternoon analyzing why Jeff’s robot lost the fight, the two of them bent over the robot corpse with mini screwdrivers and a box of miscellaneous parts like surgeons doing a heart transplant.

I think of Rich. Who holds my hand when we walk to the coffee shop, and shamelessly orders root beer floats which he pretends he’ll share with me but he doesn’t.

Who comes home from lacrosse practice physically exhausted, but stays up to study and even manages to stay awake long enough for me to paw at him.

I wonder what these women think about when they smile. I get the impression it isn’t root beer and being fucked raw.

“What does your family do, Cara?” Jamie asked me at one point.

“My mom is a teacher. My dad is a truck driver. ”

“Like… he’s a truck driver?” Jamie’s voice was dripping with contempt.

I shrugged. “It was fun when I was a kid. We’d load up the dog—we had a husky named Juno—and listen to audiobooks while he drove all over the country. I got great marks in geography.”

“Richie is allergic to dogs,” Evelyn said. And then they went back to ignoring me.

When we finally ascend the insanely grand staircase to bed, I feel like I’ve been put through a meat grinder. I’m ready to pass out face-first on the expensive duvet despite it still being light outside.

“Cara,” Rich says, as I reach awkwardly behind me, trying to undo the zipper of the stupid dress.

“It’s okay, Rich. I understand.” And I do. I really do. If I’d grown up in this place, with these people, I wouldn't talk about them either.

Rich grips the zipper and I let my arms hang slack. “I’m sorry about Dane,” he says.

I pause, mentally hesitating for a moment. If I was expecting an entirely unnecessary apology, it would have been for his mother, not his brother. There was something innately protective about what Dane did, something big brotherly that Rich clearly doesn’t see. But I see it .

I see a lot.

I think about the two of them chest to chest, nose to nose. For a moment—just for one second—it looked more like a lovers quarrel than a brotherly rivalry.

Rich draws down the zipper of my dress, fingertips blazing a fiery trail along my spine. He pushes the dress apart and eases it down my body, where it slips to the floor in a heap.

Hands on my hips, lips on my neck, he says “You’re thinking about my brother.”

“I’m thinking about both of you,” I breathe.

He pauses and I stiffen. Oh fuck, I didn’t mean it like that—I didn’t mean—

His right palm settles between my breasts, and he pulls me backwards into his front by my sternum. “Is that so,” he murmurs in my ear. He presses his hips forward, easing his cock against my ass.

“Rich, I didn’t mean—”

He shoves me forward across the room, his hand on my chest the only thing keeping me from tipping over.

I expect him to steer me to the bed but he doesn’t. Instead he lines us up with the giant antique mirror in the corner, his face hot, and dark, and looming over my shoulder. He unhooks my strapless bra and tosses it aside, his chest heaving against my back.

“Rich…”

“Look at yourself,” he says.

I open my mouth to protest, to say something like we should talk about this , but his expression says don’t you fucking dare. I close my mouth, and turn my attention to the mirror.

He dwarfs me from behind, his large hand splayed across my chest. My nipples tighten at the sight of us, at his eyes locked on my core, fingers inching away from my hip bone and towards the edge of my plain cotton panties.

He caresses the underside of my breast. My head lolls backwards into his pecs as he pinches and rolls my nipples slowly, firmly, exactly the way I like.

“Look at you. Look at what everyone sees when they look at you.” His voice is gravelly and low.

My chest heaves. I feel knocked off-balance; this is so unlike Rich. I’ve never seen him like this. Hard. Demanding.

“Look at what he sees when he looks at you.”

My lower belly clenches deliciously despite my nerves .

“He’s picturing what’s between your legs, Cara. Thinking about what you look like. What you feel like.”

I close my eyes and focus on the pleasure of his fingers on my nipple and my thigh.

“Eyes open,” he bites out, pinching my ass.

I yelp and open my eyes again as he squeezes my wrist and guides my hand to my underwear. “What do you feel like, Cara? Tell me.”

I run my fingers between my legs, over my damp panties. “I’m wet,” I breathe.

He nudges my legs apart with his foot. “Show me.”

Heartbeat erratic and breathing embarrassingly loud, I pull my panties aside exposing my trim blonde pubic hair and dip two fingers inside my pussy. I sag into him a little at the contact, before I pull them back out. They’re glistening, and I hold them up over my shoulder so he can see.

He drops his mouth to my fingers and licks them clean, eyes on mine in the mirror. This is his version of punishment, somehow. Although I’m not exactly sure for what.

You know exactly for what .

“This pussy is mine ,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet. He directs me to take over the nipple pinching. “He can look all he wants but you’re mine. Do you understand?”

I nod, mouth slack, my core molten at such an open claim. He starts to rub me through the soaking wet fabric.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I gasp.

“Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours, Rich.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

“Say it again.”

“ I want you, Rich.”

He shoves my underwear down to my thighs and palms my slit. I cry out, desperate for more friction, but he’s still taking his time, still watching me.

“He wonders what your pussy looks like, Cara.”

“Let him,” I groan.

He spreads me open with his thumb and middle finger, splits me wide and stares right at my dripping cunt.

“Look at how beautiful you are. ”

This is a new level of drenched. Everything in my body is clenching.

Slowly, too slowly, he slips his first finger inside of me while he holds me open.

We watch him sink in and out, excruciatingly slow, before he pulls away and examines his fingers, rubs them together.

They’re covered in me, strings of cum connecting them, and he is staring at it like he won the goddamn lottery.

Control slipping, he uses his free hand to shove his pants down. His dick springs free and he tips me slightly forward. I catch myself on the heavy gilded frame of the mirror.

He presses the head of his cock to my pussy. I’m starting to sweat with anticipation, my back damp as I squirm.

“Dane doesn’t get this,” he says. His cock twitches as he says his brother’s name.

My pussy clenches and I groan, dropping my head, chin tucked into my chest as I hold on to the frame of the mirror even tighter.

“You’re all for me,” he breathes as he slides into me an inch.

“Fuck,” I choke out .

He pushes into me another inch, groaning in my ear as I spasm around him, slick as fuck and starting to drip down my thighs.

“That's my girl... So fucking wet... Is this for me? Or is this for him?”

But I can’t answer. I’m panting, face hot, sweating in earnest now.

He slides the rest of the way in, fills me up and stretches me open, his abdomen pressed to my ass.

He grunts and falls forward, drops his face into my neck and finally starts to fuck me for real.

My legs shake as I struggle to hold myself up.

We aren’t going to last long. Both of us hover on the edge despite the fact that he’s taking his time. He’s fucking me slow, and deep. But we’ve been on a knife’s edge all day, too tense, and we need this—we both need this.

I can tell by his moans he’s right there with me. I know the sounds he makes before he comes. I start grinding backwards onto him, urge him to speed up, because I want to come with him. I want to show him I'm all his. I lift my head to see him in the glass, to connect better, and freeze.

Dane is lounging against the bedroom door frame, his arms crossed, his eyes glued to my ass where Rich has slipped between my legs and is stretching me open around his cock.

“I’m gonna come, Cara,” Rich mumbles. “Fuck, I’m gonna come…”

Just as he starts to spill inside of me, Dane tears his eyes away from his brother’s cock and looks me right in the eye in the mirror.

SHIT, no, I—

I fucking explode.