Rath gets out of the truck, adjusting his jeans, trying to get his hard on under control. Luckily, it’s late and a holiday, so there’s no one around to see that all three of us are bulging in the crotch.
“Put me down!” she shouts, making a dog bark down the block. “I can walk!”
Another plus to no one being around. I don’t even want to think what this looks like.
“Jesus, she’s fired up,” Rath says, looking a little rattled as his eyes scan the street.
“A little help,” Killian says, struggling to get in the door. Story is still fighting against him, kicking and squirming in his arms. She’s not going anywhere, Killian’s strong as an ox, but the new lock system I had installed scans off our phones, and it can be a little fussy. Not missing a beat, I whip out my phone and put in the code. There’s a moment of unified distraction, because Killian gets fed up with the thrashing and decides to take care of it the only way he knows how.
He reaches up and crams his fingers below the crotch of her shorts.
Story freezes, her breaths loud in the silence of the porch, and Rath and I both watch as Killer’s fingers shift beneath the fabric. “Oh,” she moans, squirming.
Rath asks, “Is she…？” and Killer’s jaw goes tight.
“She’s fucking soaked,” he says, kicking at the door. “Come on, get this thing open.”
As soon as the door unlatches, Rath swings it wide, allowing Killer to carry her over the threshold. She grunts and whines, but it’s a lot less ambitious now that big brother’s probably got two fingers buried into her cunt.
I think we’d all prefer her in a bed, but the stairs might as well be the third stretch of a triathlon for how unattainable climbing them seems. Killian leads us to the den instead, dumping her without ceremony onto the couch. She bounces with a small, pained sound, but her fists are clenched into his shirt, so she drags him down with her.
“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” she says, eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed.
He glares back, pinning her down. “Well, you never fucking listen.”
“You never fucking ask nicely!” She thrashes out, but he catches her wrist, and I can see the flash of excitement in her eyes when he forces her into submission.
“You don’t want me to be nice!” he growls, seeing it, too.
“Yeah, they’re definitely horny,” I sigh, grabbing two more bottles of champagne out of the refrigerator behind the bar. Rath is sitting on the chair closest to the couch watching the two of them. “This is foreplay for these two.”
I look over just in time to see Story’s hand get loose and rear back. Killian stops the hit, snatching her wrist right out of the air. He lowers his face until it’s an inch above hers. “Why are you always such a cunt? Can’t you ever act like a normal girl?”
“Normal?” She squirms beneath him, her cheeks getting redder. “The last thing you want is normal, big brother. If you did, you wouldn’t be here on top of me. You’d be with that girl you have tattooed on your arm.”
A tense pause falls over the room.
Rath and I share a look, and he’s obviously as surprised as I am that she still doesn’t know. I’m half committed to telling her myself. It might be a violation of our bro code, but letting her think he’s got some random slut inked into his skin has to be a violation of something else.
Killer makes the decision for me. He grabs her beneath her tense jaw, fingertips digging into her cheeks, and snarls, “I am with the girl tattooed on my arm.” The shifting muscles underneath his shirt are the only warning she gets. He crashes his mouth into hers, so fast that I can’t even tell whether she understands the confession.
She fights back, but it’s weak, her hips rising off the couch to meet his. Killian makes a rough sound and presses back, surging into the cradle of her thighs. They grind against one another for a long stretch of time, and neither Rath nor I stop them. They’re good to watch like this, always pushing and shoving, pulling and grasping.
Without tearing my eyes away, I nudge Rath’s foot with my own. “What was the prize?”
Rath tips his head to the side, observing them through dark lashes. “Anal.”
I sputter on my mouthful of champagne. “Seriously?”
Secretly, I found the prospect of working up to that daunting and annoying. She obviously likes it when we play with her ass, but girls are always so irritatingly coy about shit like that. I should have known she’d be different.