Page 9 of Privilege

Two Years Ago

Dane

It’s dark, but I’ve spent enough summers creeping around in the wee hours that I know every creak, every loose floorboard. I don’t know why I’m sneaking; dad and Evelyn are still in Europe and even if they weren’t they wouldn’t give a shit. But old habits die hard.

She asked me to stay, the lady from graduation. Asked me to come home with her, said her son was going to a party with friends and we’d have privacy.

I left her in the bathroom, shredded panties on the floor, my final salute to the school that nearly broke me .

The guys asked me to join them too, the last hurrah and all that.

I couldn’t really say no. But the truth is I want to spend as much time with Rich as I can.

I’m headed to Ibiza for a few months, and then meeting up with some friends in Prague…

I can’t imagine going that long without seeing him.

We haven’t spent more than a few days apart since he and Evelyn moved in.

The weekends where he left for water polo tournaments were always hard for me.

I’d worry over him, worry about who was pressuring him to do what.

But what other choice do I have?

I have no interest in real estate development and dad has no interest in me so that worked out stellar.

All the other First Siblings I know have spent their entire lives living under the crippling weight of their parents’ expectations.

But my dear old Pa barely remembers to have someone pay my credit card bill.

Poor Rich has always taken the brunt of their attention at the very forceful hand of his mother, and I’ve always been left to fend for myself.

I snort, thinking about the black AMEX in my wallet and the Audi in the driveway, the poolhouse littered with drunk teenagers and the fact that I’ve taken the servant stairs to get to the second floor. Yeah Dane, you’ve got it so fucking rough.

It looks like they had a good time without me, the blasphemers.

Poolside ashtrays are littered with blunts and the remnants of blow.

There are beer bottles everywhere, half naked girls strewn around the lawn like sprinklers.

But I know Rich. He’ll have spent the night making sure everybody got a piece of him, that nobody was alone regardless of whether he knows or even likes them.

And Jamie will have expended the entirety of her energy trying to get him to blow them off and get him naked. Show them who he cares about most.

I fucking hate that bitch. She’s had Rich wrapped around her finger since they were kids.

She plays him like a goddamn fiddle and it drives me mental; she knows he’ll never love her.

She knows she can’t have him like that. She figured it out fast and adapted, a perfectly bred socialite willing to do anything it takes to land the name she wants.

With love out of the question, dependency became the objective.

She acts as a buffer for his mom, charms her way into the conversation and keeps the heat off Rich when he’s clamming up from the pressure.

She endears herself to his friends, teachers, coaches, anyone and everyone in his life, so that any time he has a problem she can handle it for him.

Rich doesn’t have the stones for conflict, but she lives for it, so she takes it all on the chin for him and in exchange he fucks her brains out on request.

It’s transactional. Heartless. And I want so much better for him.

I planned to go to sleep. Slip into my room and talk to him in the morning. But I’m anxious, antsy to talk to him, worried about what Jamie will do once I’m gone and she has free rein to trample all over him.

Fuck it, I think, and head for his room instead. Maybe I should ask him to come to Ibiza for the summer, too.

I knock softly but the door isn’t shut properly and swings open a few inches. My body stills as I hear the quiet, unmistakable breathy sound of a girl being fucked. Aw shit, he’s with Jamie. But then I hear another voice, a male one, and it is definitely not Rich.

Is that… porn?

My eyes adjust in the dark and I start to get a clear view of the bed.

The glow from his phone lights him up, his body blue from the screen in the din.

Walk away, Dane. Walk away right fucking now.

But my feet won’t move and my eyes travel downwards against my will.

His boxers are shoved down around his knees and he is fisting his cock, slowly sliding his hand up and down, spending extra time on the head of his dick.

He shifts a little, widens his legs, and I can see his balls tightening up like he’s been at this for a while. But he doesn’t speed up, just keeps stroking himself long and slow, like he doesn’t want it to end.

Is this how he fucks? Does he take his time like this?

I try to ignore the fact that my dick is hard as a fucking rock in my shorts. Try to listen to the voice screaming in the back of my head that I can’t be watching this and that I definitely can’t be turned on by this.

He’s your brother, Dane! What the fuck is wrong with you!

But I don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t do anything but watch as he edges himself, his back arching into his strokes, a groan falling from his lips while it sounds like the girl in the video is starting to come.

“Fuck,” he whispers. He closes his eyes and tips back his head, sinks deeper into the pillow, and finally speeds up.

He pushes upwards into his hand, thrusting his hips without shame. The sound of the lube on his cock and the friction with his palm is almost as loud as his breathing as he lets his fist fly, jerking himself off hard and quick, humping like a fucking animal.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he mutters. And then he makes the hottest sound I’ve ever heard while cum explodes out of the tip of his dick and squirts all over his belly.

It coats his palm while he groans, still stroking like a madman until he finally goes slack, chest heaving, and tosses his phone to the side like he’s run a marathon.

I expect him to grab a towel, or get up and go to the ensuite to clean himself up.

Instead, he looks at his cum-soaked palm, and then reaches down between his legs and spreads it all over his balls.

He groans loudly as he fondles them, hips arching up off the mattress as he rubs his cum all over himself.

I can’t help it. I don’t know how it happens. But I find my hand in my pants and barely stroke three times before I’m coming all over my palm, too.

I watch as he pulls and tugs on his balls. The sounds he makes, like someone torn between pleasure and pain, are short-circuiting my brain. I spread my legs and mimic the motion, rubbing my cum all over my own balls. I fight not to sag against the wall .

He finally drops his hand, his semi resting against his toned lower body, and I wonder if anyone has ever licked his cum off his stomach.

I blink, horrified, and stumble backwards, yank my hand out of my pants and stare down at my slick palm. Oh my fucking God. Oh God. What the fuck…

I leave for Ibiza at dawn without telling him I came home.