Page 26 of Suck It Up


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I get why he’s fishing; I’m known for my patience. Usually, my friends can say and do a lot before I bother to make them pay for their impertinence. Then, I make them cry, hitting just where it hurts, and they leave me alone for a year or two, reminded of their place in our hierarchy.

They can snap at my ankles as much as they want, so long as we all remember who wears the Alpha signet.

None of Roman’s words should register. He’s teasing me, and he’s not malicious. But he should be careful. I’m not myself.

I joined Rom and Rhys in Italy, then we went to the south of France, Spain, Greece, before heading to England, to catch up with Chase and Erica.

I usually love our summer vacations together, and this year was supposed to be epic, now we’re all legally able to drink in Europe. Our parents didn’t even need to pretend to supervise us. I should be having the time of my life, but I’ve been short-tempered, irritable, and frustrated, like a fucking kid.

I figured I just needed a good fuck to screw my head on straight, so I tried that, and when it failed, I tried again. And again. Even my favorite pair of lips in the whole world—Jade Montgomery’s—didn’t so much as take the edge off.

We’ve been in Brighton for three days. Normally, I would have screwed a dozen cunts and drank twice as many shots by now, but I’ve been a monk—at least as close to one as I’ve ever been. None of the local fare interests me, and I’m done forcing myself to fuck just to prove to myself I’m fine. There’s nothing more depressing than lining up a series of bad sex for days on end, feeling unsatisfied no matter how many times I come. So I gave up a couple of weeks back.

Every single morning, I wake up with a rod of steel and the only thing that gives me relief is my own hand, when I close my eyes and think of Morgan Brown squatting on my face, sucking my friends’ cocks, and finally wrapping her lips around mine.

I’m a spoiled dick—I’m not dumb enough to not see what’s going on with me. She’s the first woman I wanted and didn’t get, so she lives in my head, rent free. I should have fucked her when I had the chance. She wanted me to. She begged me for it.

Please, Camden.

Damn my conscience.

At the start of the summer, I figured I’d get over it. Overher. Eventually, I’d stop thinking about her with a cock in each hand and a third in her mouth. Or crawling to me with her ass up in the air and wrapping her delicious lips around the head of mine. Or with my cum all over her face.

Fucking hell, I’m getting hard again. Unfortunately, Kim notices.

“Is that for me?” She wiggles her ass off the chair and sits on my lap.

My cock goes comatose.

I’d love to say the reaction’s entirely due to the fact that it’s my cousin trying to arouse me, but the temperamental member has just not shown much enthusiasm for anyone all summer unless I was half drunk. Even then, my semi barely stayed up.

I need to do something about it. I love fucking. It’s my very favorite thing in the entire world. Damn Morgan Brown for messing with my dick.

“Get off me, Kimberly. We’re not fucking Targaryens,” I sneer, not for the first time.

In truth, she and I are separated by enough relations that no one would bat an eyelash if I wanted her—hence why we look so different. In fact, I think our parents would be so delighted they’d push for us to tie the knot, to keep our fortunes in the family. Royal families marry much closer relative without anyone caring. Still, the word cousins has firmly stood between my cock and her cunt for three years. Even if it hadn’t, I’m just not interested in anyone right now. To my deepest chagrin.

Kim lowers her slender frame onto my chest. “Come on, darling. Tell us about the girl who eclipses everyone else.”

I chuckle. My cousin’s so fucking vain, with good reason. As well as tawny skin, dark eyes, and long lashes, she boasts a trust fund as impressive as mine. I thought her prettier before she had her lips and tits redone, but objectively, she’s a prize. She’s not used to being overlooked.

I guess I’m her challenge, just like Morgan Brown is mine.

“I have to go.” I push her aside none too gently and get to my feet, walking away from the private beach to return to the Heritage resort.

It’s early enough in the day, no one’s fucking on the ground-floor common rooms yet. I cross the property, not knowing where my feet are leading me at first, but then I’m back to my room, packing mechanically.

I’ve had enough of this shit. Eight weeks have done nothing but frustrate and irritate me. I need to go home.

As I didn’t prepare my travel far enough ahead to ask for the jet from my father or Uncle Dimitri, I fly commercial, which never puts me in the best of moods. The first plane takes me to JFK, and after a two-hour layover, the next lands at LAX, almost eighteen hours later.

I arrange adequate transport to Thorn Falls from there, but I’m exhausted by the time I walk into the dark, deserted house that has never felt like home to me. Not when it was painted pink, and certainly not now.

I’m peckish, but the fridge is empty, to my annoyance. My father must have given the staff time off while we were both away. No matter. It’s six in the evening, so I make my way into town, taking the Aston Martin I seldom drive in Thorn Falls.

I speed right past Main Street and through the entire west side, until I reach Bellerive Park.

I’ve never been here before, and it’s not as bad as I imagined. Sure, the entire place could fit three times on the grounds of my house, but I’m self-aware enough to realize my house is ridiculous.

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