38. Vani
38
VANI
T hings have changed between me and the Vipers.
I’m no longer doing an abrupt turn when I see them in the hallways, and instead of glaring at me in class, or ignoring me, they’re shooting me secret smiles and passing me notes that contains suggestive messages.
We’re definitely not announcing to anyone that there’s something going on between us, but I notice how one of them is always trying to touch me when I’m nearby. Sometimes it’s just something as slight as a brush of a hand as we pass by in one of the hallways or lecture theatres, but other times, when we’re more secluded, they push me up against the lockers and kiss me until I forget how to breathe.
I’m still telling myself the only reason I’m hanging around with them is to get information on my sister, but I know I’m lying to myself. I’m plagued with guilt, but Reagan’s existence seems to have taken a back seat in my priorities. Now, all I can think about is how it feels to be worshipped by three men at once, and, while I’ve only slept with Lex, I’m already thinking about how it will feel to be with Zane, too.
My erotic fixation doesn’t leave Saint out of things. Even though he’s the one I’m less sure of, I can’t help but picture myself sandwiched between the two identical men. Two identical cocks rubbing up against me—one in my hand, the other in my pussy, or, in other fantasies, one in my mouth and the other taking me from behind. I’ve even entertained the possibility of taking both of them inside me at once. I’ve never done anal, but it suddenly feels like it might be in the cards. Or what if I could fit them both inside my pussy? If I manage to take Zane, then surely I’ll be able to take both of the twins. How will they feel about it, with them being brothers? Is it something they’ve tried before? Or would it weird them out?
“Earth to Ivani,” a male voice says from the front of the English class I’m currently in.
I sit bolt upright and face my instructor, who’s standing at the front of the class with his eyebrows raised. He’s clearly asked me a question, and I have absolutely no idea what he’s said. In fact, I have no idea what I’m even supposed to be learning. I’m way too distracted. For someone who is supposed to be good in school, I’m going to end up failing if I keep this up.
I can’t even take a guess at what I’m supposed to say. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t sleep well last night. Kind of zoned out there.”
His features pucker in disapproval. “Too much time partying and not enough time in bed.”
“Sorry, sir.”
I don’t fill him in on the fact that it’s been the time I’ve spent in bed that’s been the problem. I sense everyone in class staring at me, all twisted around in their seats, and my cheeks burn. I slide down slightly, my shoulders hunched, trying to make myself smaller.
I’ll go for a walk after class, get out into nature, and try to clear my head. I am way too distracted. I don’t want to start failing my classes and for it to be reported back to my dad. He knows how smart I am, and he’ll realize right away that something else is going on.
I force myself to focus for the rest of the class, and, as soon as the bell rings, I take myself into the fresh air. I inhale deep lungsful of it and set out, away from the college and toward the woods. I haven’t admitted it to myself yet, but I’m aiming for the same spot where I first met Saint. It was pretty there, and secluded. It’ll give me some time to myself.
I should probably get out on my bike, but I haven’t ridden since I arrived. I’m not entirely sure why. I thought I’d be straight out on it, to ride the mountain roads and get away from Verona Falls. Maybe a part of me feels like my bike belongs to my old life. Besides, I don’t want to draw any more attention to myself, and I’m sure straddling my Harley and roaring out of here will get everyone talking.
I step into the clearing and draw to a halt.
I’m not alone.
One of the twins is already here. He is sitting on a small, foldout stool, with his back to me, and in front of him is an easel. I wonder why he hasn’t heard me approaching—it’s not as though I made any effort to be quiet—but then I see he has white buds in his ears. He must be listening to music.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be sneaking up on him, but I can’t help myself—I’m curious. He has a paintbrush in one hand and pots of paint at his feet. I quickly scan his clothing, trying to assess which twin I’m looking at. As he lifts his hand to paint a few strokes, I spot the rose gold Polaris watch on his wrist. Flashy. Yes, this is Saint.
I draw a breath and hesitate. Should I turn around and go back the way I came? Saint is still the one I’m most unsure of. What will he make of me being alone with him out here?
But despite my internal reservations, my feet have a different idea. I find myself edging closer, my neck strained, trying to see what he’s painting. I assume it will be the beautiful view—the trees and grass and flowers, which stretch ahead of him, swaying gently in the breeze—but his body is blocking the easel. I always knew Saint was the more flamboyant of the twins, but I’d never taken him for the artistic type. Other than clothes, I realize I’ve never given much thought as to what he likes or how he spends his time.
Have I been as bad as the men? Only interested in them for one thing?
I actually have!
The revelation hits me like a punch in the gut. Oh, my God. Over the past couple of weeks, I have turned into a complete slut for these men.
I resolve to pay more attention to more than just their dicks. Although, if we’re all enjoying ourselves, I shouldn’t feel too bad. I smile at myself, because we are definitely all enjoying whatever this thing is we’ve got going on.
Moving closer still, I peer over Saint’s shoulder. Maybe this could be one of the ways I can start? By showing interest in his art?
But then I see what’s on his canvas. I suck in a shocked breath and stumble back again. The hair, the curves, the brown eyes.
Holy crap.
It’s me! It’s undeniably me. And I’m completely naked.
Conflicting emotions jostle within me for supremacy. I should be angry with him for painting me in the nude without my permission, but I’m also stunned at how absolutely gorgeous his work is. I mean, that can’t possibly be what I look like. He painted me like I should be hung in an art gallery somewhere. Yes, I’m naked, but not in a pornographic way. I’m reclined on a couch, but I’m not looking directly out of the portrait, and instead am gazing dreamily into the distance. I’m surrounded by flowers, and my long, dark curls fall over my shoulders and breasts in waves. My skin is peachy, and I suddenly realize he hasn’t painted any of my tattoos. My skin is as clear as the day I was born.
His work is absolutely breathtaking.
I know I can’t just turn around and walk away. I’m no art critic, but this is serious talent. I want to talk to him about this. His work should be selling for huge sums and admired by millions. What’s he doing, wasting his way in a mafia college? He should be in a leading art school with his talent.
“Saint?”
With his ear buds still in, he doesn’t hear me. He’s so focused on his work. My heart patters, and I’m nervous about disturbing him.
I move closer, hoping to get into his eyeline. “Saint?” I try again.
Still nothing.
I reach out and tap his shoulder.
He’s on his feet in an instant, spinning around, dropping his brush and knocking over the water pot he’s been using to clean his brushes that was sitting at his feet. A split second later, his hand is around my throat, and he’s pushing me backward.
“It’s me!” I squeak, yanking at his wrist. “Saint, it’s just me.”
He drops his hold on my throat. “ Nom de Dieu , Venom! Don’t go sneaking up on people like that.”
“Sorry.” I can still feel the imprint of his fingers on my skin. “I didn’t mean to. I called your name a couple of times, but you didn’t hear me. You were too engrossed in your work.” I gesture at the picture, and he blinks back at it, as though he’s already forgotten what he was doing.
“ Bah oui .” He rubs the nape of his neck sheepishly. “You discovered my secret.”
“Not intentionally. I came out for some fresh air and stumbled across you.” I give an awkward smile. “You didn’t like my tattoos?”
“Sorry?” His dark eyebrows pull together.
I gesture back at his work. “You didn’t paint them.”
His tongue flicks over his lower lip and he glances back at the picture. “I couldn’t remember them all. I could picture some of them, like the skull, here.” He takes my hand to pull my arm out straight, and then uses his finger to trace the outline of the tattooed skull. “And the roses here.” He does the same with the flowers, and my skin reacts to his touch, goosebumps rising across it. I find my breath shortening, and my nipples tighten beneath my dress. “And of course I remembered the snake, but since I wanted to paint your tits, that particular piece of ink is on the wrong side of your body.”
A flash of mischief lights up his blue eyes.
“Oh, I see.” My throat has run dry at his words and the hunger in his gaze as he admires me.
“I didn’t want to just make them up, so I decided to leave them out altogether.”
“You’re really talented, you know. I had no idea…”
He shrugs and glances at the ground. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Saint look bashful before, or even be modest. I discover I like this side to him.
“You’re probably mad I didn’t ask before I painted you.”
I think about it for a minute. “Well, if you were a terrible painter, and made me look like an ugly troglodyte, then yeah, maybe I’d have been mad. But honestly, how can I possibly be angry when you’ve created something so beautiful?”
Crazily, I find myself choked up. I clear my throat, trying to dislodge the lump that’s suddenly crowding it.
“I didn’t create something beautiful,” he replies. “I simply recreated something—someone—who is already beautiful.”
He lifts his gaze to mine and holds it. I feel like I can’t breathe, can’t speak, can’t even blink. The rest of the world has shrunk away, and it’s just the two of us, in this bubble. Have I misread Saint? Sure, he has a dirty mouth, and he loves to degrade me, but right now it feels like he’s putting me on such a high pedestal, I’m scared I’ll fall.
“Saint—” I say his name on an exhale.
He steps into me, takes my chin between his fingers, and kisses me. My body reacts of its own accord, closing the rest of the space between us, so I can press myself against him. I remember how I made him face the wall while I was fucking his twin brother, and shame coils darkly within me. Does he have a right to call me those names? Am I exactly what he says?
I groan and stand on my tiptoes as my arms lace around his neck, wanting more, needing more. He grabs my ass and yanks me against him. Our kisses have become hungry, biting and uncoordinated.
I’m only wearing a little summer dress, and he makes short work of ridding me of my panties. Then his fingers are inside me, and I gasp and groan as he touches me in all the right ways.
He stops kissing me and lifts my chin again, holding my gaze. “Vani, are you going to be my little slut?”
I don’t break eye contact. This time, instead of being offended, my core tightens at his words, and I find myself nodding. “Yes.”
“Say it,” he commands.
“I’m going to be your little slut.”
“My favorite whore,” he says, his breathing ragged. “My dirty little putain .”
“I’m your whore,” I tell him.
“Say it in French. Putain.”
I use the word in his language, repeating it to him. “ Putain.” It feels naughty and forbidden on my tongue, and only serves to make me hotter.
His fingers push deeper. “Good girl.”
I let out a whimper.
He reaches down to the front of his jeans, flicks open the belt buckle, button, and zipper, and tugs them down his hips enough to free himself.
“Touch me,” he orders. “Run your hand all over my cock. Feel how hard it is. How much I want you.”
I do, taking him in my grip and sliding my hand up and down his length. It’s strange how he feels exactly like Lex, but he also doesn’t. His scent is different than Lex, and so is the way he speaks and the way he dresses. I’m getting to the stage where I can’t believe I ever struggled to tell them apart.
“Do you feel that ache between your legs?” he asks.
I nod against his mouth. “Yes, yes.”
“That’s because you didn’t let me inside you last time. You chose my brother instead. And now you’re grinding against me and humping me like a bitch in heat.”
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, though I’m not really.
“Should I let you ride my cock this time? But only if you beg.”
“Please, let me ride your cock.” I must be losing my damned mind. I actually think I am.
He smiles with pleasure. “Maybe my cock is too good for the likes of your cunt.”
“No, no, please,” I whimper. “I want it.”
“Is it bigger than my brother’s? Harder?”
“It’s so hard,” I groan as he thumbs my clit.
“I’m going to tear your pussy in two. No being gentle, got it? I’ll fuck you the way I want to fuck you.”
He lifts me off my feet and lays me down in the soft grass, with him positioned above me. His knees shove my thighs apart, and he reaches between us to grip the base of his cock and hold himself steady.
“So wet,” he growls. “You’re gushing for me, aren’t you, Venom? Your pussy is so greedy for me.”
The head of his cock nudges against my slit, and then he sinks his hips forward. There’s less resistance than I’d experienced with his brother, and it doesn’t hurt. In fact, it feels fucking incredible.
He exhales a long breath of pleasure. “Fuck, your pussy was made for me.”
He’s propped with his elbows either side of my head, and he lifts one hand and hooks his thumb inside my mouth. “Suck it. Imagine it’s my brother’s cock.”
I cry and whimper as he thrusts inside me and I suck on his thumb. He pushes it to the back of my throat until I gag, and he gives a primal growl. “Your pussy clamps so tight around me when you do that.”
Tears pool from the corners of my eyes and he bends his head to lick them. His movements inside me grow faster. Suddenly, he pulls out of me, flips me onto all fours, and then penetrates me from behind.
“I want to watch this fat ass jiggle as I slam into your pussy.”
He reaches around my body to rub my clit. I know I’m not going to last much longer.
“Saint. Oh, God, Saint.” His name spills from my lips.
“That’s right. Pray to me, little girl.”
My tits bounce with every thrust, barely contained within a too-flimsy bra and the sundress.
“Your pussy is greedy for my cum, Venom. My dirty little whore. Say it. Say what you are.”
“A whore,” I cry, even as I’m reaching my peak. “I’m your dirty whore.”
I tip over the edge and shatter around him. I don’t even care if anyone hears. He leans over me and grabs the back of my head, shoving my face into the grass. My ass is in the air, with Saint ramming into me from behind. He gives a feral growl and jerks inside me, holding himself deep. His fingers claw my hips and dig into my ass as he pushes himself deeper with every spurt of cum he spills inside me. I’ve lost all sense of who I am and what I’m doing here. All I exist as in this moment is Saint’s little cum toy, just like he wants me to be.
We collapse in the grass together, both breathing hard. He smooths down my skirt, making sure I’m covered up. I’m going to need my panties to clean up the mess.
“This is where we need Lex,” he says. “He’s the one who’s good at all the aftercare stuff.”
“It’s okay.” I curl up against him. “I can take care of myself.”
He props himself up on one elbow. “Can I paint you, Venom? Tattoos and all?”
“What, now?”
He laughs. “No, I don’t think I have the energy now, but sometime soon. I’d love for you to sit for me.”
I find myself smiling. “I’d like that, too.”
The watch on his arm slides down. He has a tattoo hidden under there. It says HOT DEEDS. I recognize it as fitting with the one Zane has.
I take hold of his wrist and run my thumb over the ink. “Zane has one of these.”
“Lex has one also. His says ‘hot thoughts.’”
I remember seeing the complete version at the mansion,” I say. “You each have one of the lines tattooed on you. What does it mean?”
His gaze darkens. “It’s a quote from Shakespeare. It’s about love,” he says. “It’s about how love can make you do crazy things.”
“Have you ever been in love?” I ask.
He holds my gaze again and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Not yet. What about you?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
Could I be heading toward it, though? Could these crazy, beautiful, damaged, conflicted men be, too?