You’re in control.
I grit my teeth as I bang harder on my drums, one of my sticks accidentally clipping the rim. It splinters and breaks, half of it flying across the room. I chuck the other half at the wall with a roar, seething as I sit behind my drum set and scrub my hands over my face, the shadows descending on me.
Warmth trickles down my eyelid and I wipe it away, lowering my hand to find a smear of bright red blood on my palm.Damnit.I showered after the fight, but the cut on my eyebrow won’t stop bleeding. It probably needs a stitch or two, though I doubt I’ll bother. It’s not like I’ll bleed out from a tiny little cut.
Pushing up from my stool with a grunt, I step around my drum set and head over to the king-sized bed, flopping down onto it.
I suppose I could always call Chelsea to work off some aggression, but even a good fuck doesn’t sound appealing to me right now. Nothing does. Because wondering what the hellFord’s currently up to with Ava in the next room is slowly driving me insane.
He knows better to bring anyone into our space. That has always been a hard and fast rule, yet he had the audacity to bringher, of all people, up here tonight. The guy may think he’s slick, but his motives with Ava are pathetically transparent. He likes playing with her a little too much. He’s clearly angling to make her our Doll, as if she’ll just slip into the role and I won’t notice.
Not fucking happening.
I blow out a breath of frustration, reaching over to swipe my phone off the nightstand and finding a text notification from Ford waiting for me on the screen. Clicking to open it, I see that the message itself is short and sweet:
Ford:you’re welcome.
There’s a video file attached, and even though I know damn well what it likely is, I open it up anyways, settling back against my pillows to watch it play.
Ava’s spread out atop the pool table in the boathouse loft, Ford’s hands gripping her wrists and Wes’ head buried between her thighs. Her full lips pout, falling open in bliss as Wes feasts on her, and even though I should just close out of the damn video and send a reply to Ford telling him to go fuck himself, my eyes remain glued to my phone screen, watching my stepsister with rapt attention.
I take in everything about the way her body reacts as Wes eats her out. The way her muscles flex and tense, the way her tits point skyward as she arches her back. And before I can even think about it, my other hand slides into my boxers, wrapping around my cock and tugging.
Her climax crests, her chest heaving as she rides the wave of pleasure. Then Wes pulls back and I step into the frame, asking the little slut if she wants some cock.
There’s something about the look in her eyes that I didn’t notice at the time, but now I see it clear as day. There’s fear in them, to be sure, but there’s also a flicker of desire. Shewantsit, even though she knows she shouldn’t, and the juxtaposition of the warring emotions behind those eyes is strangely intoxicating.
I can’t look away.
Pulling my achingly hard dick out of my boxers, I pump it harder in my fist as I watch Ava get to her knees to take Wes’ cock down her throat. She sputters and chokes at first, then her cheeks hollow out as she starts to get a feel for what to do. Ford starts playing with her clit, and that’s when she really lets go and gets into it, sucking Wes off like the whore she was bred to be.
Just like her fucking mother.
I feel my orgasm building like a storm, my hand stroking faster as my breaths get shorter.
I focus in on her eyes again. On the way they squeeze closed as she falls apart on Ford’s fingers; the look of resignation in them when Wes forces her mouth closed and she swallows.
I want to break her. Ruin her. Fuckingdestroyher.
I bite down on my lip to stifle a groan as I blow my load all over my hand, fucking hating myself for it.
CHAPTER 22
AVA
After the mindfuckof fight night, the entire next week is blissfully uneventful. I manage to get caught up in all my classes, and though one of the Kings is present in each, none of them try to pull anything. The fact that they’renotmessing with me somehow makes me even more anxious, but by the time Friday rolls around, it almost seems as if they’re starting to get bored with whatever game they’re trying to play.
Almost.
I’m not foolish enough to let my guard down for a second while knowing what these boys are capable of. Instead, I’m slowly taking everything in, learning more about each of them and collecting ammunition in hopes that I’ll be able to find some way to use it to fight back.
Of course, the most obvious way to put a stop to all of this would be to get Raf’s father involved, but neither Gideon nor my mother have called me back, and I’m beginning to worry that they’re in some sort of trouble. I’ve tried calling every day, but their voicemails are full and not accepting new messages.
It seems I’m truly on my own here. Most of the other students have been avoiding me like the plague, so with the exception of Bryce, I’m not making any strides in the friendsdepartment. Even Richelle has been cold– though that may have less to do with the Kings and more to do with her glittering personality. I still haven’t quite figured her out.
I’ve picked up a lot about the Kings from the other students’ reactions to them as they walk through campus each day. Everyone grants Ford a wide berth, eyeing him warily and skittering away like mice. Wes is constantly surrounded by his adoring fans, flashing easy smiles and eating up their attention. People are drawn to Raf, maybe because of his indifference, but few dare to venture close; not even me. While I don’t have the luxury of keeping my distance from Ford or Wes, Raf rarely even looks my way.
I’m not sure why that bugs me so much.
