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Like everything else in his life, my boyfriend was just fucking bumbling through it, pulling his pleasure out of my body with little regard for my own.
Sometimes, in search of his own release, he did something right. Something that wasjust enoughto send a bolt of pleasure through me.
But it was never intentional and only lasted a few seconds at most.
It was pitiful, really. A big bad Legacy like him, known for his looks and sexual prowess, was actually shit in bed.
These spontaneous quickies were the worst—how the fuck did this idiot come from aKillerfamily and not even know to pull a girl’s hair a little while bending her over his father’s stupidly expensive pool chairs?
“Fuck, Vic, you’re so tight—” he hissed as he thrust into me over and over again.
I’d laid my head on my arms, moaning like there were cameras on.
Really, I should’ve won an Oscar for the depth of the performances I’d given over the last couple weeks.
I’d been degraded, put into positions I’d never willingly allow.
All ofthisjust for the opportunity to try and meethim.
Dylan’s hands on my hips were perfunctory at best, missing the bite that I needed from a partner. His hips kicked a few more times, a stucco of unsatisfying thrusts that brought him over the edge with a groan in my ear.
He pulled out of me, leaning forward for a kiss at my back. “C’mere, babe.”
“One sec,” I said quickly, pulling my swim cover over my bare ass. Dylan threw my bottoms somewhere, and I wasn’t keen to go digging before I cleaned myself up.
I planted a kiss on Dylan’s stubbly cheek, darting inside for the main floor bathroom.
I’d long since gotten used to the extravagance of the house, but that didn’t make it any less breathtaking. It was just another reminder of the status difference between my family and the Wolffs.
We were both the children of winners. People who’d risked their lives in the arena for the off chance that they’d get ahead.
But the Wolffs excelled where my parents failed.
The most important rule after you left the fucking games was tolive, after all.
The thing is, the Wolffs never let go of their fascination with Devil’s Playground. While my parents tried their best to live normal lives after the games, Hiram did the opposite, all but kissing the ass of The Company until he could sink his claws into them to try and crawl up the ranks.
At least it seemed to be working for them.
Couldn’t say much about what that meant for Dylan, but at least he had the money to show for his triumph the year before.
If you could call third-placewinning.
The bathroom door opened as my hand touched the handle, revealing a handsome figure in a cloud of sandalwood-scented steam.
The thrum of arousal that was left unanswered by Dylan roared back to life as I took in Kohl’s sculpted chest, the reddened slashes of their mastectomy scars framing their pecs.
Kohl.Dylan’s brother and my dirty little secret.
Kohl was never a part of the plan. If anything, their presence only complicated things. Turning what was once a straightforward black-and-white goal into something splattered with a million shades of gray.
Surprise crossed their features, their eyes trailing from my wet hair to the way that my bikini top pushed my tits halfway to my chin, barely concealed by a thin cover-up. Their breathing hitched as they hit my waist and hips, and I looked down, my face heating.
My cover-up was entirely see-through, giving Kohl a perfect view of my abused cunt and the slickness on my thighs.
A devilish part of me wanted to tell them about the unanswered arousal that was vibrating beneath my skin, just to see what they'd say.To see what they’d do.
In another life, I’d push Kohl back into that bathroom, force them to their knees, and ride that beautiful fucking face until I was shaking.
