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Chapter Thirty
ALISTAIR
Maddox doesn’t know it, but Rogan and I watched the entire thing go down with Rory. We watched our middle brother put her on her knees, whip out his dick, and shove it down her throat.
Jealousy enraged me. I couldn’t hear what was going on, but I could see her body’s reaction to his. I saw the way her nipples poked at her white blazer and could almost smell her musk through the walls.
Gripping my stained paper, I inhale her scent, letting it invade my senses before shoving it into my inside pocket. My overwhelming desire and need for this woman plagues me. I have to have her, taste her, know the sounds she makes when I lash her with my tongue.
I know that sexy little kitten is just ready and waiting for me, for any of us. Maddox left her wanting, that much is clear. But me? I’m a giver, and once she feels what I can offer her, she’ll snub Maddox and become my girl.
Not that I mind sharing. I don’t at all actually. She’s not the first and probably won’t be the last girl we’ve tossed between us. But I wasn’t the first to have my dick sucked and that pisses me off.
There’s still a few firsts Rory’s not yet experienced with the Dixen brothers, and now I’m more determined than ever to take one of them for myself.
The sweetest victory. It might seem like I’m doing it for her, but really, it’s for my fucking self.
My red Lambo hugs the contours of the road as I switch gears and press the gas, eager to get back home. In my cup holder is a half filled glass of brandy that I sip along the straightaways. I know drinking and driving isn’t good, and I don’t condone it, but right now, I need to be numb. If I don’t feel some things, then I can feel others. It doesn’t make sense, but nothing makes sense to me anymore.
I finally make my way through the vacant streets to my apartment building and drive into the parking garage. I park, lock up, and head over to the elevators before selecting the top floor.
My floor.
It probably seems weird that three grown ass men share an apartment, but this place was our parents’ for our entire lives. After they passed on, we had it renovated, extinguishing all the memories that came with it. We revamped it and made it work. It’s nice to be together, because we were all we had growing up, so it only seemed right to stay together.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. Before me are two doors, one leading to the gym and the other to our suite. Though a quick workout in the gym does sound nice, thoughts of being with Rory sound even sweeter.
I ignore the call of the gym and head inside. The apartment is set up like any other would be, only on a much grander level. Just beyond the foyer, lit by a crystal chandelier, is our kitchen and living space. The marble floor sparkles as if it were made of tiny diamonds, and the cabinets are a soft gray, the appliances hidden behind faux cabinets.
A massive bar is beyond that, taking up a huge portion of the left wall. With seating for twenty and glass shelves filled with expensive liquor, it’s the perfect location for some of the massive parties we have here. A custom-made pool table is in front of that. Currently, the table lies unused since I’m the only person here.
Straight ahead is our living room, but it’s completely obnoxious. Oversized leather couches face the windows, and just like in Rory’s apartment, a controller lowers the shades and a massive projector screen where we watch the Red Sox and Celtics play ball.
Believe it or not, we almost bought the Celtics once on a bet. Even though we don’t own them, it’s a blast to cheer them on.
On my right are our personal spaces, a wall of doors with our bedrooms, and other private areas. Mine is the first one, and I slip inside after passing the couch and TV, electing to head straight for my shower.
Inside my bathroom, I finally relax a little. The dark granite laced with streaks of gold makes me feel like a man. The fixtures sparkle, and the jacuzzi tub is calling my name, but a shower is quicker.
After pulling open the glass shower door, I turn on the water and let it heat. I take off my suit, my wrinkled shirt, shoes, and pants, but I remove a gold, rectangular case from my pocket in the process. It unhinges, and I open it like a book. One side is a mirror, and the other holds a rolled joint, a pinch tube, and a baggie filled with blow.
I empty a line of snow on the mirrored side, then pull out a rolled Benjamin and snort it up. The high will hit me in a minute, heightening everything. Cursing myself for forgetting my glass of brandy in the car, I step into the shower and let the hot water cascade down my body. The steam seems to intensify my high as I grab for the shampoo and wash my hair. I clean my body next—using a washcloth because loofahs are for pussies—ensuring I lather up my junk just in case it has a visitor later on.
I rinse with the sprayer, turn off the water, and step out, grabbing a heated towel from the glass cabinet on the wall. The high is settling in nicely. The lights are brighter, and the smell of my bodywash is more pronounced. I dry off quickly, put on some gray sweats, slip on my slippers, and pad out of my room. After grabbing my keycard, I walk out to the elevators. Rory is only one floor below me.
As the elevator takes me down, excitement surges through me. I don’t even know what time it is, but it has to be very early in the morning on Friday. It’s still nighttime in Boston, the stars shining brightly in the dark sky as I let myself into her apartment and glance around.
Everything is pristine. A half drank glass of wine sits in the kitchen sink next to a plate with the crusts from two pieces of pizza. On the island is the empty bottle of Riesling. Her coat is hanging on its hook, and all the lights are turned off. I half expect Mischief to come and see me, but the little pup must be fast asleep too.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I tiptoe through the dark hallway to her bedroom door. I can smell her from here, the floral scent of her shampoo hitting me through the door.
I can almost taste her now. Her scent stays with me every day, permeating from that little piece of paper I always tuck into my suit pocket, but I’m ready to try the real thing.
The handle burns in my hand as I lower it, allowing the door to swing noiselessly inward. It’s dark, except for the lit electrical outlets that glow in the dark like nightlights.
I sneak in, my high amplifying all my senses. Slipping off my shoes, I step up next to her bed and gaze down at her. She’s glorious. A dark nightie hugs her curves, displaying more than it hides. I can’t tell if it’s green or blue, but it looks immaculate on her.
Lacy cups swathe her breasts, the outline of her nipples evident. Her arms are splayed over her head, making her appear more vulnerable, more sexy. The bedding is pooled around her waist, hiding what I came here for.
