I pull out and drop to the seat next to them, muscles burning in the best of ways. Fuck, but it’s been a long time since I indulged in a nice, hard fuck. Bonelessly, I take off my shirt, fully intending to clean Story up with it.
But Killian is already pushing the come back up her thighs.
He gathers it up, burying it back into her pussy with two fat fingers, and then brings them back to his mouth to lick them clean. My dick gives a feeble, satisfied twitch at the sight. She hums as he does it, curling into his lap, but reaches out to flop a hand on my chest, giving it a badly coordinated stroke.
My head lolls over, finally satiated, and I realize Killian’s staring at me. “What?”
“That whole sex referee thing was a joke, but you’re actually pretty good at it.”
“Well,” I reason, watching him casually finger-fuck our come back into his sister. “I know a thing or two about watching people fuck.”
Rath and Killer don’t really get my thing for watching and being watched, but that’s the only time humanity makes sense to me. I’m not talking about fake, over-acted porn, either. I’m talking about two people moving together, so open with it they barely notice anything else. It’s why a glance in the mirror, mid-fuck, makes my balls draw up.
Profoundly, I mutter, “I fuck, therefore I am.”
Story snorts.
Knowing my exhaustion probably shines through in my smirk, I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss her knuckles. “Just promise me that the next time you decide to go pistols at dawn over a pencil, you’ll just fuck it out instead.”
Killian lifts his fist, and I bump it with my own. These two will probably never stop fighting—they are siblings, after all—but at least now I know the best way to get them to shut the fuck up is a good, old-fashioned dicking down.
10
Story
The pain begins sometimes during the night; a dull, pulsating throb, deep in my lower belly rousing me more than once. It’s joined by a sharp ache in my lower back and followed by what feels like my uterus trying to strangle itself. By the time the sun comes up, shining harsh and too bright through my curtains, I’m a tired and tragic specimen of a woman.
When Tristian knocks, I’m still in a fetal position.
“Ms. Crane says if you don’t get downstairs for breakfast, she’s going to come serve it on your floor with a side of—” Tristian stops in the doorway, blue eyes blinking at my form beneath the blankets. He lifts a hand to gesture at my general state. “You’re not dressed. Are we doing the whole rebellion thing again? Because I thought we’d moved past that.” When I don’t answer, peering miserably up at him, his eyes narrow. “Oh, Christ. You’re sick, aren’t you? I knew you shouldn’t have eaten the meat in that lasagna last night.”
“It’s not food poisoning.” I bring my knees to my chest and hug them. “And the only thing rebelling is my uterus. You can tell Ms. Crane it hurts worse than she could. She’d appreciate the gravity of that.”
“Wait, you mean…” His forehead scrunches as he pulls out his phone, frowning down at the screen after a few taps. “No, you can’t be on your period. It’s not for three more days.”
“Tristian.” I stare at him, already knowing the answer, but needing to ask. “You track my cycle?”
He gives me this long-suffering look, like this is the stupidest question ever asked. “Of course I track your cycle. It’s an excellent indicator of how efficiently your body is working. You know, you women have it good. If one of our bodily functions got out of whack because we were too stressed, or didn’t eat enough, or had some kind of imbalance, we’d have a much easier time monitoring our health.”
“Yeah,” I grind out, teeth clenching against the next wave of pain. “I feel really lucky right now.”
To his credit, he does grimace. “I just mean this isn’t a good sign. You’re usually so regular. Are you too stressed? Is it Killian? Or school? Or maybe your diet is fubar. Your body is trying to tell you something.”
“I think it’s telling me I’m not pregnant,” I argue, feeling suddenly annoyed. “I got the birth control implant, okay? Spotting and cramps are common at the beginning.” Or so said the gynecologist at the student center. The Lords had me on the pill, but part of the new terms of my contract is that I get to choose what I put into my body—and that isn’t limited to food and dicks. “But after a while, my period could disappear altogether.” This, plus the fact I don’t need to take a daily pill, had been big draws.