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“Fuuuuccck,” I yell out as my balls tighten up, and I shoot ropes of my come deep in his ass.
“Come. Now.” I give two sharp tugs and then feel his seed spray out, coating the both of us.
“My fucking ass hurts.”
I can’t help but chuckle, causing my cock to jiggle in him before I slowly start to pull out.
His hole is red and raw, but unfortunately, there’s no blood on my dick. Such a shame. Missed opportunity here. I watch as his cute little gape flutters, and I can see my come moving towards his entrance. It’s going to start leaking out, so I raise my hand and crack it down hard on his cheek, causing him to jump and tighten up.
“Keep it all in. Clench real good, baby boy. Now get the fuck up and finish the job. You got your little dead body audience, and you owe me fucking lunch.”
“Can’t go anywhere with you still humping my fucking back, bro,” he quips back with that smart mouth of his that’s always getting him in trouble.
I move off him and stand up and wait for him to get himself up and together. He slowly rises, pulling his bottoms up and over, covering both his ass and dick from me. Turning slowly, he faces me, and his bright blue eyes look at me before he grins.
“I do love riling you up. You played right into my hand, brother dearest.” I strike out, grabbing his throat, and tug him until we are a breath apart.
I breathe him in before capturing his lips with my own and forcing my tongue into his mouth, battling for control in this one kiss.
Pulling back, I watch as saliva connects us. “Get on your fucking knees and clean yourself off my dick, whore.”
I expect him to fight me on this, not because of what I told him to do, but because he fights me on everything. He surprises me when he sinks to his knees and looks up at me through those long lashes framing his pretty eyes.
“Yes, Sir.” Fuck. I feel myself grow hard and realize he’s won this round.
Three, Four, let’s settle the score.
CHAPTER2
KHI
Dragging the industrial-sized trash bags toward the dumpster the city rented for cleanup, I watch as Dom puts all our gear away into the LaRue Brothers Cleanup company van with such precision. A place for everything and everything has a place. The weather has turned from simply cool and dry to heavy raindrops that pelt into me, echoing the constant chaotic feelings inside my mind. It still blows my mind that we have a business, something I never thought I’d have for the sheer fact that anything tying me down makes me twitchy.
Everything but Dominic. He’s my anchor, and I tether myself to him so he can never leave me and if he tried, I’d trap both of us somewhere until we both perished. I remember it like it was yesterday when I latched onto my big brother like a lifeline that could never corrode.
Raindrops tapped insistently on the windows, their rhythm an eerie echo of the chaos within our old house. Each droplet seemed to mirror the harshness of my parents' arguments, a never-ending reminder of the disorder that had become our everyday life. I curled up in a corner, knees drawn up to my chest, seeking refuge from the rough storm both outside and within.
This scene wasn't new. It had etched itself into my memory like a recurring nightmare. The shouts, the shattering of glass, the palpable tension in the air—all of it a tragic symphony that played out regularly, leaving permanent marks on my young heart. My parents' love had warped into something dark and twisted, something that cast long shadows on my perception of what love should be.
Amidst the turmoil, only two beacons of comfort existed—a dusty old book on forensics that I had stumbled upon in the attic and my older brother Dominic. The pages of the tome held images of meticulously arranged crime scenes displaying a world where death was transformed into art and chaos into order. This newfound fascination became my sanctuary, a means to escape the disorder of my parents' anger and find peace in the cold, methodical beauty of crime scenes.
I traced my short little six-year-old fingers across the images in front of my eyes, becoming entranced by the delicate details. The placement of each object and the splatter of blood all told a story, a grim fairytale. It felt like my own little secret haven, but I was desperate to share it with Dominic. It’s like the nefarious little book had its hooks in me because I could not tear myself away to go find him. Everything else seemed distant and unimportant, and I was happy to lose myself in the world of crime scenes.
I’m self-aware enough as an adult to understand that my childhood shaped me into the person I am now. I’m delusional on my best days and downright psychotic on my worst. It wasn't just about morbid curiosity; it was about control. The only thing I had power over was this while everything else was spiraling around me.
I took my time finding patterns in chaos, about making sense of a world that had lost its way.
Whatever artistic abilities I had at such a young age were funneled into recreating crime scenes using dolls and miniature settings, pouring my heart and soul into each new setup. It was as if I was channeling my own pain and confusion into these small designs.
I remember the first one I made. I was so proud of it, and all I wanted to do was show it to Dominic. Damn near desperate to get him to see me, the real me. More than just his annoying yet lovable kid brother.
“Dom. Dom. Dom,” I yell, sliding among the ripped-up carpet of the hallway until I crash into his room. He’s sitting at his desk, and his eyes lift from whatever he’s looking at, and the dark blue pools lock onto me.
“Khi, don’t you remember the rule?” One bushy, dark brow lifts up at me, and I have the decency to look down at my feet, dragging the toe peeking out of the hole in my sock across the ground.
“I should respect people's privacy and knock first,” I mumble contritely.
“But Dommy, I have to show you what I made. Look at it.” I shove the recreated scene at him, and he holds it up, turning it this way and that way.
