Chapter 21
Iwalked through the door after meeting Arena for coffee, greeted by the sound of arguing.
Not just regular arguing—an aggressive male shouting match.
The maid gave me a tense smile as she took my coat and purse, shuffling off to hang them in the entryway closest that was the size of most people’s kitchens. But my mother needed somewhere to keep all her furs and designer coats now that she was the Mrs. Beatrice Aston.
“Fuck this!” came Presley’s voice from further into the house.
A door crashed open, footsteps echoing along the hallway off the entryway. Byron’s office was in that direction.
“Don’t you walk away from me, boy.” Byron’s voice was hard, his words clipped with anger.
Presley came into view, stopping at the corner where the hallway intersected behind the grand double staircase. They clearly didn’t know I was there. Should I make a run for the stairs up to my room and risk being seen? Or stay where I was and hope they didn’t notice me? If Presley was headed for his room, he’d come straight past me.
Indecision kept me rooted to the spot.
And also the tea.
Always the tea.
“I’m not your boy,” Presley snapped back. “And I don’t give a fuck about your threats, or your future aspirations, Dad.”
The way he said the last word made the disdain he had for Byron clear. Had they always been at odds like this or was it a new thing? Unlike Dacre, Byron was the only father Pres had ever known.
Yet out of the three of them, Presley seemed to have the biggest issue with Byron.
“Don’t you fucking speak to me like that,” Byron bellowed, making me jump.
Presley scoffed at him, then turned on his heel, heading for the stairs.
His eyes locked with mine when he spotted me, flaring with a hint of surprise mixed with the anger brewing there. But he didn’t say a word, rounding the banister and taking the stairs two at a time. Byron sighed from the hallway, followed by footsteps and the slamming of his office door.
Well, clearly we aren’t playing happy families today.
Taking the stairs up to my room, I glanced at Presley’s door, two down and across the hall from mine. Music blared from it. Before I could second guess myself, I moved to knock on it.
There was no response, but he probably couldn’t hear me over the music.
Twisting the handle, I cracked the door open, edging in and closing it behind me.
Presley was pacing the room, a glass of what looked like tequila on the table beside him, anger rolling off him in waves.
“Pres,” I called over the music.
He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes darkening at the sight of me in his room. He marched towards me, pinning me against the back of the door and slamming his mouth over mine. His tongue invaded my mouth, the taste of tequila overwhelming. We didn’t utter a word, our mouths fused, his tongue wrestling with mine until my knees were weak.
His hand reached down, popping the button on my jeans and lowering the zipper in one quick movement. Then his hand was in my panties, his fingers brushing over me, making my gasp against his mouth.
“You’re so wet for me, Sass.”
“Yeah, well, that kiss was hot.”
He smirked, but it had a hard edge to it, as though he got off on making my body react to him. Without warning he shoved a finger inside me, making me cry out. Gripping the back of my neck roughly, he held my mouth to his, his fingers pumping in and out of me.
It was angry and savage, things I wouldn’t usually associate with Pres. But it was making me so wet, and I wanted more.
He shoved my jeans to the floor, kicking them away when I stepped out of them. Then gripped the backs of my thighs, he pulled my legs out from under me until I was wrapped around him. He didn’t hesitate or ask for permission, just lined up his cock and shoved inside me. I let out a cry of pleasure at the invasion, loving every second of this with him.
“That’s it, scream for me, Sass. Let your new daddy hear how good your stepbrother is dicking you down right now.”
What the fuck?
This was nothing like Presley. Yet this show of dominance and ownership was so fucking hot I was in danger of coming all over his cock already.
I tilted my hips back and forth, meeting his thrusts and heightening the delicious friction between our bodies.
“Fuck yeah, ride me, Sass.”
The sound of my desperate moans and our bodies moving together was drowned out by the blaring music.
“Are you going to come for me? You going to soak my cock like a good girl?”
His dirty talk pushed me so high, on the next thrust I was toppling over the edge, clinging to his shoulders and screaming his name. He groaned, thrusting harder and chasing his own climax. In a matter of seconds, he was coming, his cock pulsing inside me as he spilled into me.
Talk about a hot and dirty quickie.
A moment later he dropped his head to my shoulder. “Fucking hell, Dempsey.”
“I should fuck you when you’re mad more often,” I said through panted breaths, making him chuckle. He held me while he pulled out, setting me on my feet.
“I need a shower,” I said, reaching for my jeans and sliding them back on.
He smacked me on the ass with one hand, reaching for his drink with the other and downing it.
“There’s no way I’m letting you run out of here. Shower with me. And then get dressed to party, because we’re going out tonight.”
Three hours later, we were in some nightclub not far from campus. It was packed, mostly with Triple C students.
Presley had pawed at me the whole ride here, kissing my neck, his hand sliding higher and higher up my thigh until I’d swat him away. Then he’d start all over again.
Sinclair had told him to “fucking cool it” more than once, but Pres had just pouted about how once we got there, he wouldn’t be allowed to manhandle me anymore. Dacre had glanced at Presley’s hand on my thigh once, then stared out the window.
Pres had downed another tequila in the car, but his brothers stayed quiet about it, so I did too.
“Try to behave yourself tonight,” Sinclair said once we were inside the club, moving past me like I was a major inconvenience he was forced to tolerate.
Presley winked at me, a sly smile on his face, and Dacre slapped a hand on his shoulder, indicating he should follow Sinclair. Before Dacre went after them, he leaned down to whisper in my ear. “Make sure you behave yourself tonight too, Bambi.”
He pulled back, quirking a brow at me, and I shrugged. “Can’t make any promises.”
His responding smirk made my knees weaken, and he shook his head, following after the others.
Arena appeared at my side, staring after them. “What’s up with the trio of thirst traps today?”
“You mean Moody, Grumpy, and Horny?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “They’re always like that.” I grabbed her hand, towing her towards the bar and ordering us both a double vodka soda.
“Wait, which one is which?” she asked, clearly mulling it over. “Sinclair could be Moody or Grumpy. Dacre could be all three. Which means Presley has to be Horny.”
I huffed a laugh. Not after what we’d done together earlier.
Although, just the thought of him taking me roughly against the back of his bedroom door had heat pooling between my legs and I was desperate for another round, so maybe it was true.
“Do we have to talk about my stepbrothers?” I reached for the drink the bartender placed in front of me. “I thought we were here to have a good time?”
“Oh, a good time is what you’re after? Well, in that case, let’s go, bitch!”
Grabbing her drink, we made our way to the dance floor.
The next two hours passed in a blur of drinks and dancing. A couple of girls from one of our classes joined us, all of us dancing our asses off, shouting out lyrics until we were hoarse.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I yelled in Arena’s direction.
She nodded, shaking her hips to the beat and waving me off. Slipping through the crowd I made it to the bathroom and the thankfully short line.
I was making my way back to the dance floor, when a hand closed around my wrist, yanking me around the corner to a darkened hallway that led to an emergency exit.
“What the hell—” I started, when a hot, familiar mouth that tasted of tequila landed on mine. “Presley, we can’t...” I pushed at his chest, worry flooding through me at the thought of getting caught.
Byron was going to announce any day now, which meant reporters and photographers would be everywhere. Anyone with a camera phone could make a huge amount of money off a video of me and Presley wrapped around each other.
“I can’t help how much I want you, Sass.” He held my face in his hands. “And I don’t give a fuck who sees.”
His fingers tangled in my hair, his tongue delving into my mouth like it had never left. I tried to protest, but lost the fight with myself as much as him.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sinclair’s hard voice cut through the moment.
Pres pulled back, expression dropping. “Well, if isn’t the fun police.” His eyes were glassier than I realized, his words slow and lazy.
“How many times do we have to fucking do this, Pres?” Sinclair demanded.
Dacre rounded the corner, took one look at me pinned against the wall, Pres up in my personal space and swore under his breath.
“Bro, come on.” Dacre levelled Presley with a look that was a mix of disappointment and annoyance. I guess it probably got exhausting constantly taking care of your brother every time he got wasted. Which, for Presley, was far too often.
“Do you think I don’t want to take her up against a wall right now?” Dacre asked Pres, his gaze running over me in a way that made it pretty clear what he wanted to do to me.
I bit down on my smile.
Presley tilted his head. “I didn’t think about that.”
“Maybe if you stopped drinking every damn day you’d realize what a stupid idea it is to kiss our damn stepsister in a fucking bar,” Sinclair said.
Presley laughed, stumbling a little, and Dacre and I both reached out to steady him.
“Maybe if you had a girlfriend who actually fucked you, you might not be such a cockblocking asshole all the time.”
My gaze shot to Sinclair, whose eyes flared with anger.
What did that mean? Veda wouldn’t sleep with Sinclair? Why the hell not? He was sex in a damn suit every waking moment.
“Fuck you, Pres.” Sinclair’s expression was harder than I’d ever seen it.
Dacre slung Presley’s arm around his shoulders to help him walk, at the same time Pres threw his head back and laughed at his older brother’s ire. It caused him to stumble again, catching Dacre off guard and nearly taking him down too.
“We’re going,” Dacre said, glancing at both me and Sinclair.
I nodded once, pulling my phone from my bag to text Arena that I was leaving.
I hated seeing Presley like this and hated that it was always Dacre and Sinclair who had to take care of it.
I didn’t know how to fix it or even help, really. All I could do was be there.
“I’m not going in there,” Presley insisted, swaying backwards on his feet.
Dacre swayed with him, gripping him by the waist and holding on to Presley’s arm that was slung over his shoulder.
“For fuck’s sake, Pres, it’s your own damn bedroom,” Dacre grunted, trying to keep them both upright. Presley had half a foot of height on him, altering his center of gravity, but Dacre had the muscle.
Pres shook his head. “Nope, nope, nope. I’m not sleeping in there.”
“Then where the hell do you plan on sleeping?” Sinclair asked from where his shoulder was propped against the wall next to the door, his arms crossed over his chest.
Presley’s glassy gaze slid my way and he grinned, twirling his finger in the direction of my room. God, he really was off his face with the goofy way he was acting.
I quirked a brow. “You think you’re sleeping in my room?”
“Come on, Sass, don’t you want to snuggle?” He pouted, sticking out his bottom lip in a way that was beyond comical. He may look like a big, tall, imposing sports boy, but he was a damn puppy at heart. Or at least when he was wasted.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I said, crossing my arms to match Sinclair. “You walk to my room unassisted and I’ll let you sleep in there.”
Presley’s face lit up at the challenge and he shoved Dacre off. Holding his arms out wide like he was walking a tightrope in the circus, he put one foot in front of the other, stepping the diagonal line from his room to mine.
“This isn’t a curbside sobriety test, you can walk normally,” Dacre said.
Pres ignored him, slowly and steadily making his way right to my door. He knocked on it, grinning at me over his shoulder like the happiest drunk in the world. “Let me in, Little Red. It’s the big bad wolf.”
Sinclair pushed off the wall. “If by big and bad, you mean drunk and ready to drool all over you.” He glanced my way. “Good luck with that.” Then he strolled down to his door, slamming it shut behind him.
God, he was a fucking delight twenty-four seven.
I opened my door and Presley strode inside, immediately stripping down to his boxers and flopping back on my bed, limbs splayed and making snow angels on top of the covers. Dacre followed him into my room, probably to make sure Pres didn’t swallow his own tongue.
Jesus. Why had I agreed to this?
I grabbed my sleep shorts and shirt and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be right out.”
Changing fast, I washed my makeup off and brushed my teeth. When I emerged from the bathroom, the room was dark, Presley snoring from the bed.
“He passed out about seven seconds after you went in,” Dacre said, tossing pillows on the floor beside my bed. He opened the bench seat at the foot, taking out the spare comforter.
“You’re sleeping in here?” I asked, watching him. “On the floor?”
He nodded. “Pres has a habit of waking up halfway through the night and deciding to go streaking through the house or think it’s a good idea to grill steaks at four am when he’s still wasted. I can keep an eye on him if I’m here.”
I hesitated. I was nervous enough about sharing my space with Presley, I didn’t know how I’d cope with two of them and becoming a Dempsey sandwich, but I couldn’t let Dacre sleep on the floor.
“Why don’t you sleep up here?” I climbed onto the bed and scooted under the covers. The second I did, Presley reached for me in his sleep, wrapping his arms around me and tucking me against his chest.
Dacre gave me a rueful smile and shook his head. “I’m good right here.”
I stared back at him, trying to convey everything I felt. “Yeah, but I’m not.”
He halted, our gazes locked. Then he reached for the collar of his shirt at the base of his neck, tugging it over his head in one swift movement. I was instantly mesmerized by the sight of his impeccable body. The same one that had been beneath me while I rode him hard in his art studio. The memory alone made my core ache.
Dacre’s gaze never left mine as he flicked the button on his jeans, unzipping them and kicking them off, leaving him in nothing but a pair of tight black boxers. The outline of his semi-hard cock was visible and I swallowed.
I moved over as much as I could with a drunk Presley wrapped around me like a freaking pretzel. Dacre climbed in, lying on his side facing me.
“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked quietly.
I nodded. “I’m having a better time now though.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I bet you are, Bambi.”
My eyes narrowed. “Why do you call me that? I don’t get it.”
He reached out to brush my hair back from my face, dragging the backs of his fingers along my cheek. “It was the sight of you walking down that aisle at your mother’s wedding. You were trying to put on a brave face, but I saw you. You were like a damn baby deer walking into a world full of lions ready to rip you apart, and I saw the moment you realized it, too.”
He was right. I had been trying my best to appear confident, like I didn’t care that there were the eyes of hundreds of strangers on me as I was thrust into a new world and new life I’d never asked for.
But Dacre had seen through it all.
“Maybe I don’t hate that nickname as much as I thought,” I said, my eyes drooping as fatigue threatened to take over.
The sheets rustled as Dacre shifted closer, pressing his lips to my forehead in a soft kiss. “Sweet dreams, Bambi. You deserve them.”