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Olivia turns to me. "Is that how everyone sees me? Just some broke scholarship student who shouldn’t be at Saintswood?"
"It’s not how the people that matter see you."
I need to fuck the hurt out of Olivia.
Trace wounded her.
It’s wrong.
Colt, Rook, and I know she’s more special than every other bitch here.
I rip Olivia’s dress off and heave her naked body up into my massive arms. People stare, but I couldn’t care less. I ram my face into her pussy, swirling my tongue around her folds as her fingers find purchase in my thick, wavy black hair.
My tongue seeks out her clit and when it finds it, it pounces.
I swirl my tongue around, drawing out Olivia’s climax.
She screams at the top of her lungs, her body bouncing in my arms. Her petite tits shake back and forth when she throws her head back, unravelling.
Olivia creams my face. Squirts of cum spurt into my lips, nose, and eyes, and I growl as I seek to suck it all down, to imbibe it into my core, but there’s so much of it. Everyone on the quad is staring, but I flip them off and suck up every droplet of Olivia’s release from her trembling cunt.
"I’m taking you shopping at the finest stores on Fifth Avenue this weekend. The scarves you’re wearing aren’t enough to impress these hater bitches."
If Olivia has fewer than one hundred new designer bags in her walk-in closet, I’ll have failed as her protector.
FOURTEEN
COLT
"Olivia can’t walk around in middle class brands like some peasant!"
I’m coming off the practice field with Rook when Brock charges at me with vengeance in his eyes. I’m taken aback because he knows better than to speak to me like that. Especially with how brutal practice was.
Coach rode our asses without ceasing. Nothing we did was right. I made every pass without a flaw, but he still found a way to rip me a new one. That’s his time in the Navy talking. Sometimes, I wish Coach would throw a little sugar in with his spice, but you get what you get.
Coach is a real fucking man. He’s not like the leaders of some of the Ivy League teams who are bound by a shit ton of bureaucratic red tape. The students at those inferior schools will film the coaches if they lose their minds.
We’d never do that to Coach. His unwillingness to compromise his nature makes us who we are. We get chewed up, beat up, and kicked in the fucking nuts, but it helps us rise above the rest. If everyone is a little pussy ass bitch who can’t even handle a former Navy SEAL punching them square in the eye, how are they going to beat their rivals? They can’t. That’s what the Sinners are where they are and why other teams will never make it out of the bush leagues.
I’d hate to be a player on one of those teams. Last year, a video went viral of some whining third string running back complaining that his coach called him a pussy. He said that it was insensitive to women and that his girlfriend was pissed off when he relayed the remark to her. Everyone wondered why the fuck he told his girlfriend that his coach said that, because it made him sound like such a pussy. The player threatened to sue the school. The coach had to write a letter of apology to the student and vow never to call him a little pussy ass bitch again.
That’s what’s wrong with the world today. There are too many pussies out there and not the hot kind. Men who can’t even get it up. Their girlfriends want nothing to do with them because they’re pathetic and weak. A real man should be able to take his coach calling him whatever the fuck he needs to call him to spur him into motion. That’s a coach’s job. All this pussy shit is for suckers who’ll never go pro.
I pause.
My eyes lock on Brock.
Brock is dripping in sweat. It pours off his forehead, chiseled brow, and iron jaw in droves. It seeps onto his bulging biceps, the tattoos that decorate them glistening under the sheen.
I turn to Rook next. He’s also covered in sweat, manly and fierce. He’s not the type to let Brock speak to him this way. He’ll beat Brock’s ass and head back to prison before he accepts an ounce of disrespect.
"It’s been a while since I’ve murdered a man for raising his voice at me. I’m looking forward to killing you tonight." I keep my tone level.
Brock doesn’t back down. "OurQueenis dressed like she’s a fucking bum off the streets."
"Olivia looks perfect the way she is." Rook glares at Brock.
"Esmerelda’s gay son took her shopping after she moved into the penthouse. He picked out her outfits." I spit this out like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
