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"Tell that to Trace." Brock’s voice is deadly.
Flames of ire stir blood cells composed of pure anger in my pulsating veins.
"Say that again." I pivot toward Brock.
Brock tells us that Trace called Olivia names after he ate a cherry pit out of her pussy on the quad.
I roar.
A beastly bellow.
The air surrounding us shakes as the glass on the spotlights over the practice field threatens to burst.
I grab my two best friends and march into the locker room. "Trace just found herself a date with the reaper."
Brock rips off his uniform. His immense toned chest radiates with sweat, every inch of it masculine and ripped. He strips to his briefs, then rips those off too, his abs flexing with rage.
Rook gets naked next. We watch as his mammoth cock swings between his legs, longer than most players’ erections even when soft. His entire torso shimmers with tattoos, each attesting to a different stage in his life.
I never avert my eyes when Rook gets naked.
That’s a little bitch thing to do.
A real man looks dicks that are bigger than his square in the eye to let them know he’s not afraid.
I’m not as big as Rook but I can fucking use my cock better than his.
Rook’s face twists into a frown. "I’ll wrap my dick around her throat and strangle her."
"You can’t strangle Olivia." I push out a growl. "We haven’t taken her virginity yet."
"I meant Trace. I’ll choke the life out of that bitch for speaking toourwhore in that way."
"Olivia is the best cum-sucking virgin whore I’ve ever had." Brock balls his fists. "No fake titty bitch like Trace will disrespect her."
Brock screams as he punches a row of lockers. The metal bends, cratering in on itself. He removes his fist which is dripping in blood. "Trace can suck a corrugated dildo."
"I’ll force feed it to her myself." Rook pushes out a growl as he loops his cock around a pole, then tightens it. "Choke, bitch. Pay for insulting our slut."
I think about my last time with Olivia. It’s been a few weeks. I took her so rough that Esmerelda told me she lost the ability to sit for a week. The thought makes me hard as hell. Inferior men would back off at this point. They’d fear they’d inflicted too much damage that Olivia couldn’t recover from. Not me. I haven’t hurt her enough.
Olivia is the type of blossoming girl who needs to be doused in my cum to understand that she has a devilish side. Her entire life has been working to get into a great college. That’s what I heard from my sources. She didn’t have many friends in high school and she and Rina mostly read in their dorm room together. I assumed they got rip-roaring drunk and fingered each other’s pussies as they threw pillows at one another. Not the case. Girls don't actually do that when they’re roommates. That’s what weak men who’ve never been with a bitch assume bitches do. Girls are humans just like everyone else. They read books. They study. They do art.
Rage snaps, crackles, and pops inside me. Trace has something else coming to her. She’s so goddamn certain that she can get away with anything because her father is the Dean of Students. Last I checked, he has a few skeletons in his closet. I don't know the specifics but a birdie told me that he’s into prostitutes. Kinky ones. Ones that piss on him as he rubs it on his cock. Again, I have no clue if this is true, but that’s what the word on the street is. I.e. according to the private investigator I hired last year after someone tried to report me for some bullshit consensual sex I had and the Dean threatened to kick me out of Saintswood.
I close my eyes. Visions of taking Olivia to the finest shops on Fifth Avenue fill my mind. I can’t comprehend why we haven’t taken her shopping yet. We trusted Esmerelda’s gay son not to let us down. He has great style, but it won’t do if hating bitches are still giving our whore shit. She needs to be dripping in designer and couture.
"It’s a travesty that Olivia isn’t donning one-hundred-thousand dollar outfits every single day." My voice drops a notch.
"Million-dollar outfits." Rook issues me a sadistic nod.
"Hundred-million-dollar outfits." Brock doesn’t mince words. "Trace’s words were revolting. Olivia needs to look so fabulous she puts Trace into the grave."
I pull out my phone to text my father.
Me:I need my credit limit extended.
Father:Only if it’s for your whore. No more of your bullshit investigations that go nowhere.
