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What the hell was I thinking?
I reach for the door handle. To my surprise, it’s unlocked. He’s letting me go. That seems…strange. He could have locked me in. He could grab me by the back of my neck and get me to return to my task. He could—
I realize with shocked horror that part of me expected, maybe even wanted him to. I didn’t really think he’d let me have the last word. I thought he’d retaliate, and I was just fine with the thought. If I admit it to myself, I’m a little, well, disappointed he didn’t. Just like I’m disappointed he let me try to suck him off rather than making me take all his cock like last time.
“And here I was starting to feel just how appreciate you were of my going to the effort of volunteering as your personal shopper,” Marius quips, starting the engine without even zipping his cock up.
“That’s all thegratitudeyou’re getting,” I reply, prim even to my own ears, as I get out of the car. “You bought me dresses, not diamonds.”
He smirks. “Next time.”
I shut the door and stare at the car as it backs out of the driveaway, stunned by my own behavior.
What the hell is wrong with me? I should have just told him to shove it and left the moment he made that lewd proposition. But I didn’t. I felt blowing him was right under the circumstances. Mostly because, well, I wanted to. I wanted to feel that cock, hard for me. He’s ridiculously pretty, and he wanted my mouth, and instead of taking it or demanding it, or manipulating me into it, he asked me for it. And I wanted to give it to him, so I did. I didn’t even stop tothinkabout our surroundings. How sick is that?
I can’t believe I took that risk; someone could have taken a picture, posted it online, or tried to blackmail me like every asshole in my life. This time, I couldn’t even blame anyone else: no one forced me to do that in a stupid car on a public road. That was all me.
I keep getting myself in these stupid situations whenever I give in to what my body likes. There’s no wonder this type of mess keeps happening to me when I lose my mind as soon as my lady bits get involved. Sex is trouble, with a capitalT.
My hormones are on time out, and that’s the end of it.
32
MARIUS
Blue balls suck.
I wank so hard it’s a miracle my cock doesn’t fall off, right after coming back from dropping Sarah off, but it barely helps.
I’m hard all evening, no matter what I’m doing. My hard-on stays firmly in place, even while watching Damian trashing one of the freshmen whose name I can’t remember at arm wrestling—and god knows I don’t swing that way. My brothers aren’t discriminating so long as they fuck a warm hole, but I’ve always preferred mine attached to tits.
Desperate to stop thinking, I use up my restless energy for a last-minute swim in the outdoor pool. I don’t tend to use it much—I swim enough in practice, every morning and evening—but I need some sort of exertion.
Part of me can’t help but wonder why I don’t just drive to the Heritage and find a willing warm hole to dive into. It’s Saturday evening, there’s always someone hanging around, if only one of the petals in training. Worst-case scenario, if it’s quiet, I can go for one of the paid “help” the club keeps in rotation, or head upstairs to one of the older generation floors.
The age indications are strict when it comes to older people coming down to lower floors—the club wouldn’t be what it is if sexagenarians were allowed to roam the same floor as the twenty-something pretty members. We wouldn’t have many members that way. But it’s allowed for the younger people to come up if we want to. I rarely do, mainly because I don’t want to see my mother getting rammed by some guy up there. But I could. I’d just have to call home first to make sure she isn’t at the club.
I don’t bother. A nameless, faceless fuck would do little to satisfy me. It’s Sarah I’m craving, and taking some relief from elsewhere in the meantime would lessen the sweetness of the satisfaction when she gives in to what she craves. Me.
I see it in her eyes, I feel it when I touch her. Our chemistry is off the charts. Whatever else is messed up between us, at least the sex is right. She will give in, and soon. She wants to.
She’s fighting herself, because she’s part of a plot to scam us out of our cash and fucking me unsettles her, or because of what I did to her to try to get her to talk last Tuesday. I can’t decide if it’s aandor anor. My cock wants her to be as innocent as she claims, because then we can really get to play with her to our heart’s content.
If she’s guilty, then I can still play—but I’ll have to hand her over and let the board break my toy faster.
My jaw clenches. That thought doesn’t sit well with me at all. I desperately want to keep her.
Maybe I can convince my father to let me make her pay for her actions strapped to my bed, day and night, until the end of time, locked in a golden cage.
My cock stirs, intrigued. That doesn’t sound that bad at all.
I’m coming out of the pool house’s shower when Ava walks in, completely naked.
I know her body well. Just a few weeks ago, she was spread out on my bed, holding her legs far apart, open for me. She’s a shark because she’s the best female tennis player in California.
We have a simple understanding, she and I: we seek each other out when we want fun, nothing more. The last couple of years, that was often. This year, she’s traveled a lot, and she’s focused on her training for Wimbledon, so not so much.
My cock—which has been standing to attention all evening at the memory of Sarah sucking me off so eagerly in my car, while her cunt dripped around my finger—deflates at the sight of the gorgeous, self-assured, bare offering in front of me.
