Lorne’s cock twitches in my mouth, and he cums in long waves. Fuck. Apparently, he hasn’t busted a nut in a while too. I close my lips firmly around him, letting him pump everything he’s got into my mouth.
He gasps as soon as I let go of his face, his breathing shallow. “Fuck. Cumming is way better when you think you’re about to die.”
I move off his dick and turn to him with a cum filled mouth. Slapping his face, I bring my lips to his and kiss him, allowing the cum to pass from my mouth to his. “Might as well eat your cum, asshole. You need to fuckin’ whack off more. That was like a fucking fire hose.”
Lorne shoves me off him, resting on his elbows, all of us standing there with limp dicks. “Shower and get dressed. We’re going to that party tonight.”
Dec moves off Lorne, scrambling to get his pants on. He always hurries to get dressed, as if he didn’t just fuck us. He thinks he can deny it ever happened if he gets his clothes back on quickly. It’s annoying as fuck. One minute he’s with us, getting into fucked up shit and having a good time; the next, he’s back to his goddamn preacher-boy nonsense.
The words burst out. “You’re a fucking killer. You think your God is fine with that, but not fucking?”
Declan won’t look at me. His fucking eyes focused on the ground. “I repent for it all.”
I rummage through my pants, pull out a joint, and walk up to him, my semi-erect dick still hanging out. This motherfucker. I grab his cock, my grip tightening as he tries to worm away. He flinches and turns away as if he didn’t just come in Lorne’s ass. I bring my mouth close to his. “Good enough to fuck but not kiss, huh? That’s okay, Dec. I’m used to people using me. My father did it, so why the fuck not you?”
My hand drops from his dick. I stare at him, waiting for him to say something. After a minute, I storm out of the room with my cock still hanging out, leaving my pants on his bedroom floor.
Chapter 7
Noelle
I hate parties. I especially hate frat parties full of entitled rich boys who think the world should bend over and cater to their every demand. I never come to these things but my best friend, Briar, dragged me out. Briar’s a different breed than me. If she’s oil, I’m water. Our friendship shouldn’t make sense. We shouldn’t work, but we’ve been inseparable our whole lives.
She’s good with people, and she’s comfortable around them. The only time I speak to someone is when I recognize kinship. Most people make my palms sweaty and my head spin. It’s hard to decipher if they genuinely like me or want something from me. Part and parcel of being my father’s child. That’s why I spend most of my time outside in the woods or sitting on a couch reading a book. It’s safe—no mind games or quick words trying to get one step ahead.
Briar sighs as she grabs my hands. “Can you stop fidgeting with your dress? You look beautiful.”
I smile at her, even though I think her statement is ridiculous. She put me in this short little black dress not made for a girl with a size forty-two G breasts. A classic, she called it. My boobs are about to burst out and flash everyone. And it’s so short that I can’t bend over without showing everyone the goods. Briar’s definition of classic and mine are not the same.
I scan the room. “I feel like everyone’s staring at me, picturing me naked. I don’t want anyone to see me naked.”
In the corner, shrouded by darkness, I see a group of guys ogling me. They look like their eyeballs may pop out of their heads. “Look at those guys over there. They’re checking me out like a pack of wolves salivating over a cut of Kobe beef.”
Briar giggles. “I think wolves would be more into rabbits. How would they know what Kobe beef is?
I swat her arm, joining in with her laughter. “Oh, you know what I mean.”
“If they’re looking at you like you’re Kobe, that means you’re doing something right. There isn’t much better than Kobe beef.”
I grab her hand, pulling her away from the prying wolf eyes. “I don’t want to be looked at like anything. I don't wanna be Kobe beef, tenderloin, or ribeye. I definitely don’t want to be a fucking rabbit. Why couldn’t I wear my jeans and a blue sweater?”
Briar rips her hand out of my grasp. “Because you need to have a little fun, and your normal clothes don’t scream fun. They scream, ‘I'm a virgin who’s going to die with a million cats.”