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“Dare, of course, brother.” He smirks.
“I dare you to tattoo yourself.”
I laugh, I can’t help it. Bray leaps up and disappears, and a minute later, he’s back with an actual tattoo machine. We all watch and drink as he tattoos a smiley face on his toe. “Asher, truth or dare,” he asks as he cleans up.
“Truth,” Asher replies, and I smile. He’s such a cutie.
“Erm, how many wanks have you had over our new stepsister?” he questions with a laugh. I expect Asher to blush or look away and lie, but he doesn’t. He accepts the challenge, looking me dead in the eye with a straight face.
“At least twice a day since I first saw her.”
My eyes widen, and I almost choke on my drink. Holy shit. When the Crew brothers play, they seriously play.
We go around and around, and the dares get increasingly worse. Bray has to upload a video of him to a porn site, shaking his ass butt naked. Cyrus has to pierce his cock, and Asher has to paint my ass. The drinks flow, and I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much. They even seem to be relaxing around me, letting stories slip and giving me insight into their relationship and past.
My head is buzzing, my stomach is warm, and I feel weightless and good when Cyrus brings out the joints—only the soft shit, thank fuck. I’m too drunk to be tripping. But after we’ve smoked, it’s my turn again.
“Dare,” I accept.
“Kiss me,” Bray orders, and then grins at me.
The others stare, high and drunk as hell. They know I’m going to do it. I never back down. I’m going to cross this line and break this desire between us all. It will have repercussions, but right now I can’t remember why I should care. With that cocky smirk, his wavy hair pulled back into a bun that shows off his sharp cheekbones and thick jaw, and his bare chest, he’s had my knickers wet all night.
That, and Cyrus’s dark, demanding voice and touches, and Asher’s cocky answers and recklessness... because once he stopped saying truth, it became obvious why he didn’t pick dare. He’s more fearless than me, and a whole lot wilder than Bray. Shit, they are doing something to me, and I realised as soon as he said it that’s exactly what I want to do.
Kiss him, fuck him.
All of them. I’m in trouble, but I get my drunk, sloppy ass up anyway and strut over to him, dropping onto his knee. “Sure about this, stepbro?” I slur teasingly, and then I lick his lip before biting it. He groans and grabs my hips. “You won’t be able to resist after.”
“Kiss me,” he demands. “Unless you want to for—”
I shut him up, crashing my lips onto his in a hard, sloppy, fast kiss. He grunts and grips me harder, dragging me closer as he kisses me back. He kisses like he acts—cocky, refined, and teasingly—and I pull back slightly and tug at his lip again until he moans and gets to his feet. He slides his hands down my body to my ass and squeezes.
I’m losing myself in him when I’m suddenly ripped away and held like a naughty kid by Cyrus, who glares at a slack-jawed and fuzzy-eyed Bray. “What the fuck are you thinking?” he demands.
I can’t help it, I blame the booze. I press myself against Cyrus and lick and bite his ear. He turns and glares at me. “Stop,” he orders.
“Here’s the thing, stepbrother, I don’t have to listen to you. And we both know you want to.”
My heart slams when he turns to face me. The hand that was on my waist drags up my body, making me gasp as my clit throbs, thinking he’s finally giving into that electricity between us. His dark eyes hold mine as he grabs my throat and backs me across the room. I almost fall, breathing hard at the violent hold, yet my pussy gushes as he slams me back into the wall. Cyrus restrains me there, with his arm above me as he leans into me and brushes my ear with his lips.
“You’re not all that, Blair. Right now, you’re a fucking mess, with your lipstick smeared from kissing your stepbrother, beer on your shirt, and your ass hanging out. You’re a fucking mess, why would I want you?”
That’s when I get angry and grab his hard cock, making his breath stutter. “It’s not what I think, but what I know.” I know it’s the wrong move, but the booze makes me stupid, reckless.
He pulls back, glaring at me as he slams me harder into the wall. “You’re so used to getting your own way, thinking everyone wants you. You’re nothing more than a banging body and a pretty face, that’s it. You’re just easy.” With that, he lets go and turns away.
Sucking in desperate breaths and ignoring the pain that blooms in my chest from each word delivered in his harsh tone, I stumble forward. Fuck him, fuck all of them. Everyone wants me, and I don’t need him to make me feel like shit. I know my own worth. I’m not easy just because I like sex. If I were a man, it wouldn’t be an issue, but because I have a pussy, how many bodies I have apparently matters, as if my pussy has a body count.
If a woman has sex, it makes your pussy used, slack. If men do it, they are hailed as heroes. Fuck that double standard. I’ll fuck who I want, drink what I want. If I want to be a fucking mess, then I will be, I’ve earned that. This judgemental prick doesn’t get to take his issues out on me.
“And you’re not?” I call to his retreating back as Bray stares, open-mouthed, at the change in atmosphere. I went from having the best kiss of my life to feeling so angry I feel like I might explode. “What about that blonde that hangs on your arm? Or the stories of you fucking every girl in the city? If I’m easy, what does that make you, stepbrother?”
He stops, his back hunching, and I step forward. My anger burns some of the haze from the drugs and alcohol away.
“You didn’t mind it when I was dancing on you, or when I nearly kissed you. You stare at my ass and tits, imagining what my cunt feels like as you fuck those women. If I’m such a mess, why do you keep coming back to me? I think we both know it’s not me with the issue, it’s you, and one day, it’s going to ruin you—probably get your drug selling ass killed. You might own this city, Crew,” I sneer, “but you don’t own me. I’ll sleep with the whole fucking football team in the living room if I want to. My body, my fucking choice. You don’t get to judge me for my choices when yours are the same.” I grab another open bottle of vodka and storm past them.
“Blai—” Asher starts, but Bray stops him.
“Let her cool down.”
I rush upstairs, holding back tears of anger. I want to scream and fight someone. How dare he? I was having such a good night, and now I feel about one inch tall, like a piece of shit on his shoe. Just because he has money, he thinks he gets to look down on everyone else. I’m going to make that king fall from his pedestal built on money, blood, and drugs.
I’ll make them all fall.
