Chapter 3
3
A FEW DAYS LATER
“ O h,” I moaned. “Is that what you want? Wanna watch me come on my fingers?” I circled my clit with two fingers, black panties tugged to the side of my bare mound as I faced the camera.
Three fingers from my other hand dipped in and out of my sopping hole, squelching loudly in the empty room. My legs were carelessly thrown over the arms of the chair, giving my audience an uninterrupted view. A shiver worked its way up my spine as my core heated and my juices slid down my hand. Tossing my head back, I hissed at the pleasure.
A ping sounded as my followers typed in their requests. I let out a sultry giggle as I read them, grabbing a vibrator on standby on my desk. “Got your gift right here, honey. Thanks for sending it to me.”
My silver hair slid over my bare shoulders as I adjusted my position, completely removing my lacy thong and stuffing it between my red lips, as a viewer requested. I moaned lasciviously around the cloth between my teeth, voice high- pitched. It was my acting voice, my fake moan, but the customers loved it. I tended to be quiet during sex, so all this noise? Purely for my viewers.
Turning the vibrator on the lowest setting, I set it just above my clit, rotating it in small circles. I breathed into the new feeling of pleasure, my keen muffled from my thong. Pulling my wet fingers from my cunt, I plucked at my nipples before grabbing at my breasts, taking handfuls and digging my nails into the skin hard enough to bruise. One-handed, I clicked the vibrator onto a higher setting, spreading my legs wider and making faster circles as the buzzing ate away at my nerves.
My first orgasm was building quickly, and I pointed my toes, tensing my thighs and calves, holding my breath as I felt it approach. Then, I backed the vibrator off. Body shaking with the loss of near-ecstasy, I laughed at the rapid-fire of pings, indicating more messages. I read them over quickly as I used my fingers to softly stroke myself down from the edge, hips twitching.
“Mmm,” I groaned, arching my back, offering my chest up for a better view as I dipped the vibrator into my clenching, aching pussy. It was curved, with a bulbous end, perfect for hitting that angled spot right. Switching it back on, I started thrusting it in and out, striving for that spot. I hitched my leg up under my elbow as the fingers of that hand strummed my clit quickly. Hips moving, I gyrated in the chair, arching against my hands.
There was nothing better than this, nothing more beautiful than bringing pleasure to yourself, and nothing got me hotter than knowing I was doing it in front of an audience who got off on my pleasure. I always loved being the center of attention, but this took it to a whole new level.
In my fucked up little adopted family, Chamberlain got all the attention—not that he wanted it—but here, now, everyone had their eyes on me. Everyone wanted me .
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whined, voice hushed by the thong in my mouth. Because the cloth was drying, my mouth was producing more spit, and it was starting to drool out the edges of my mouth, and I let it. My head thrashed back and forth as the tip of the vibrator struck my g-spot repeatedly, my legs beginning to wobble as a tremor built.
A steady bray of “huh, huh, huh” breaths belted out of me as my orgasm grew nearer and glitter lined the edges of my vision. As my eyes snapped closed, my whole body went taut. I yanked the vibrator out just in time for a gush of liquid to squirt from me, hips jerking, thighs quaking, pussy making an absolute mess of my chair as I yelled out my joy.
I collapsed back into my chair, hand automatically reaching up to brush my hair back before remembering I was wearing the mask I always did during my online performances. I settled for leaning my head on my hand, tugging the thong loose from my mouth with the other as I smiled. I was sure my lipstick was smeared around my mouth from the drool, and I loved it. Sex shouldn’t be clean; it should be messy, sticky, absolutely filthy.
The smile I gave my viewers spoke of my love of grime and filth; it was pure cat-got-the-canary satisfaction. I bid them farewell, telling them I’d see them next week before shutting off my camera. I left the chat up so I could tell the remaining viewers bye before I shut down my laptop, but MorgueDoll was done for the day. I was back to being Priestly King as I slipped the black, nylon half-mask off my face with a happy sigh.
Body sated, I collapsed onto my bed, running my hands over my tingling skin, through the wetness staining my thighs. That reminded me—I needed to clean up the mess my sopping, squirting cunt had made.
As I used a towel and cleaning spray to wipe up my desk and chair, I heard shouting, growling voices, and what sounded like a stampede of elephants coming down the hallway. I rolled my eyes, knowing Chamberlain and his cronies were here. Even as I snarked about them in my mind, a smile played at the edge of my lips.
I’d grown up with Chamberlain and his two best friends—Camber Ashford and Atley Dodge—and most of my childhood was filled with their teasing…but also their protection. Those three never let another kid so much as tug on a strand of my hair without getting a wallop. Being surrounded by three lion-fierce protectors had made dating difficult during my adolescence, at least until they’d left for college three years ago. Now, with them in their senior year at West Windsor University, I’d had my share of dating without their interference.
To my great chagrin, though, my body still lit up anytime I saw Chamberlain and his friends.
I always tried to fight it—he was my adopted brother, damn it—but so much of my childhood revolved around him. My happiest memories were filled with him. Those three swooped into my life like dark, avenging angels, scaring back the darkness and teaching me life’s most important lessons.
Getting older meant growing apart, but they always freed up a few days of summer break for me. Chamberlain hardly spared me a glance most holidays, preferring to pretend I didn’t exist so he didn’t incur his father’s wrath, but Camber and Atley still treated me like the little sister they never had, and I ate up their attention. I had started to worry they wouldn’t have time to visit me this summer until I heard them thundering up the stairs.
I contemplated washing the stench of sex from me until I realized I wanted them to smell it. I wanted them to see me as something other than the broken little kid they used to protect. I was 18 now, and I’d be joining them at West Windsor this August, sooner than that if they were at the mysterious party later this evening.
I toyed with the idea of mentioning it to them before erasing the thought from my mind.
After wiping the smeared lipstick off my mouth, I dressed in a pair of grey joggers that Chamberlain had outgrown years ago and slipped a cropped sweatshirt over my bare chest. It showed off my tight stomach and pierced belly button as I rolled up the band of the joggers about eight hundred times. They were still overly long, but they were unbelievably comfortable with wear and age. My tombstone-colored toenails peeked out from the bottom as I wiggled them, my toe rings glinting. I yanked the twin braids out of my hair, throwing my shoulder-length silver strands up into a messy bun. Grabbing my deodorant, I swiped a few times under my arms before capping it—I wanted to smell like sex, not stink.
Swiping my phone off the dresser, I checked my messages as I exited my room. My best friend, Sawyer, had replied to the text I’d sent her earlier, asking what time she’d be over to start getting ready for the Summer-ween party tonight. I messaged her back as I knocked on Chamberlain’s door. I heard the grumble of his voice before I opened it wide, smirking as all three heads swiveled in my direction.
God, I loved having their undivided attention.
Atley was the closest to the door, lounging in Chamberlain’s desk chair. He was a hulking beast of a man; muscular, yes, but mostly, just the sheer size of him was overwhelming. Atley soared well over six feet tall, closer to seven than anything else. His body dwarfed the chair he sat in, legs spread wide, eating up the space in front of him.
I bit my lip as I took him in.
Close-cropped black hair with tight curls framed thick, arched brows. Shaved sides showed off his heavily pierced ears. His pierced nose was slightly crooked, something that had changed since I’d last seen him. Hazel eyes were bright against the brown of his skin, and a constellation of freckles sat over his cheeks, barely visible against his dark summer tan. He smiled at me, his teeth bright white.
Atley was hiding from himself, both in the smoke of his weed and the fog of his pills. With substances, Atley could drown out the intrusive thoughts invading his mind, never giving him peace. His parents refused to allow him to attend therapy, because the Dodge children were Perfect, with a capital P. So, it fell on Atley to fix himself, and amid finding his cure, he was slowly dying in the ruin of his mind.
Hand snaking out, Atley grasped the front of my sweatshirt, dragging me down into his lap. I laughed as he did it, soaking up the attention as my back rested against the curve of his arm, both of my legs draped over his so I sat against him sideways. His nose nuzzled my neck, and I heard him sniff as it traced from my shoulder up to my ear.
“Little saint, you don’t smell so innocent today,” his deep voice grumbled. “You smell more like a sinner. What have you been up to?” A dark smile laced his words. He nipped my ear, and I laughed, slapping his chest with my hand.
“Stop teasing her, Dodge,” came Camber’s voice from my right. “Don’t act like you weren’t dipping your dick into the samplings at the hotel this morning.” I turned my head to take Camber in. His voice was monotone, surprisingly deeper than Atley’s. Even though Camber lacked his height, he made up for it with genius.
Camber was the brilliant one of the group.
Yeah, he went along with the shenanigans of the other two, but he always had an air of superiority about him, like he thought the actions were juvenile. On paper, Camber was the good one. He had a smile for strangers and offered a helping hand to those in need, but under that carefully crafted smile was the shadowed edge of darkness. You could see it peeking out from time to time if you paid attention.
That darkness was staring at me now as he looked down his nose at me, cave-dark eyes gleaming behind his glasses. His dirty blond hair was juxtaposed with the rest of him—it was artfully messy, tufts sticking up here and there. His outfit was neatly pressed, right down to the slacks he wore. Camber was always impeccably dressed. In all the years I’d known him, I’d rarely seen him in jeans and only in sleep pants once, when a girl at a party had spilled red wine on his pants and I’d offered to wash them for him.
Atley harrumphed behind me. “Maybe you’d lose that stick up your ass if you’d ‘dip your dick’ a little more, asshole.”
Not even deigning to roll his eyes, Camber’s steady, intense gaze never left mine. It was like a game of chicken—who would look away first lost. His head tilted back, eyes narrowing, and it took everything in me not to wilt under his forceful stare, even as my body heated. I shifted in Atley’s lap, and his huge hand palmed my hip, taking up my whole side as his fingers spanned from hip to rib. A sly grin ate away at the smile previously resting on my face, and I felt the cunning curve of it as it slid into place. I enjoyed the power of this grin; it was one I wore when I was MorgueDoll, fully in control of my audience as they panted for me.
And Camber still didn’t flinch.
If anything, the hardness of his features settled deeper, knife sharp as he waited for me to stand down from our staring contest. His head titled to the side, animal-like, and his mouth parted, that full bottom lip in a pout. He stroked it with a finger, and that damned finger was what did me in. I glanced at it for a split second, and it cost me.
His face never changed—no smile, no outward display of pleasure at my loss—but deep satisfaction showed in the fathomless depths of his eyes as I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest.
Pulled from the sway of Camber’s stare, Atley’s voice filtered back in, and I realized he was having a conversation with Chamberlain, the last member of this motley crew. Canting my head just so, I peeked at my brother from the corner of my eyes.
Chamberlain was the epitome of the perfect St. Claire heir.
His face was charming, beautiful, with a classic Roman nose and patrician features enviable to those who went under the knife to perfect their facial structures. Tousled brown hair, deep navy eyes, sun-kissed skin, and an accent that came with wealth and good breeding—everything that made up Chamberlain suggested gallantry and control.
Underneath that perfect shell lay the true Chamberlain, though, the one living beneath the ideal that came with being a St. Claire. When he glided into a suit, he was charming and slippery, able to coerce the stodgiest of businessmen into deals as he persuaded their wives to open his zipper under the table. This form of Chamberlain’s was a porcelain doll, and, like all dolls, he was carved by the hands that crafted him—and his creators were cruel. He played his role of dutiful son perfectly, even if the job destroyed him.
Out of the suit, he was passionate, unsettled; dark tattoos lined almost every inch of him, as he craved to have the armor of his skin match the nightmares in his mind. This version glowered at the world with an aching desperation, his eyes radiating such fevered intensity that he reminded me of a starving animal. Feral. Unpredictable. Deadly.
Chamberlain was staring back at me even as his conversation with Atley continued. I sucked in a breath, biting my lip as my body stiffened. Atley’s hand clenched tighter against my waist, seemingly without notice, but Chamberlain’s eyes flickered to the thick, tanned fingers touching the bare skin above his old joggers before flicking back to hold my gaze.
I wondered what he remembered, wondered if he ever thought of it, of me. Ever missed it, like I did.
I squirmed in Atley’s lap, unsettled.
Atley’s head dipped down, and I smelled the sun on his skin as he whispered in my ear, “Be still, little girl. I’m not as pure as those two when it comes to you.” I knew he meant Camber and Chamberlain, who always kept me at arm’s length while Atley tugged me close. “Wriggle much more, and you’ll find yourself writhing on my dick.” He nipped my neck with the last of his words, and I gasped, shoving at his chest, though not hard enough to move him. Atley just gave a dark chuckle.
“How was your summer, sister?” Chamberlain’s voice was smoke and bourbon, dark. Honeyed. So thick, I could almost taste the vowels he spoke in the air. I was desperate for any part of him, even just five measly words.
Turning to face him, I braced myself before meeting his endlessly green eyes again. I could just see the curl of black ink sneaking around his collarbone peeking through the collar of his shirt. “Decent. Mom wanted to go to Paris again, so we went for a few weeks. Dad stayed behind, as usual. Work stuff. Other than that, I was with Sawyer most of the time.”
“Ooh, yeah, that hot little friend of yours. I miss seeing her around. Gotta say, I love watching her go more than anything, though,” Atley said, and even Camber huffed out a small chuckle.
“Pig,” I groused, but I was smiling. Sawyer had a great ass, and everyone knew it.
“You know it, baby,” the pig in question agreed, taking the insult in stride. I had no doubt he’d been called worse, because these three? They had a reputation for staying a night and never visiting again.
I think every girl in school hoped they’d have the magic snatch to reel them in for keeps, but it never worked. It didn’t stop them from trying and subsequently getting their hearts broken, though, even knowing the boys’ reputation.
I think that was part of the reason I was addicted to being in their presence. It was almost like a high. I got to spend time with them, got to see them in ways no one else did because of my connection to Chamberlain. I’d seen them at the lowest points in life, been there to help console them when family members passed or when bad shit inevitability went down with their parents. As much as they had taught me to be happy, they had also taught me the importance of connection. And the four of us? We had a tight connection.
Even if it felt like it had frayed some during their long absence.
Laying my head against Atley’s chest, I listened to the heavy, steady thumping of his heart under my ear and soaked up the warmth of his skin. Before I knew it, I was drifting off to sleep in the early afternoon sun, comforted by the presence of my boys and Atley’s hand stroking my hair.