“Oh, come on! Asshole,” I shout at the television from the couch, PlayStation remote in my hand with the urge to sling it at the screen from my loss. Instead of picking my dead ass up and playing another round, I fall back against the back of the couch, bored as hell. Constantly surrounded by people and the one time I get a house alone—something I’m used to—I’m losing my mind. I’m confined to a rig around guys twenty-four-seven at work for two weeks at a time. I usually prefer to be alone for the most part when I’m off, at least during the day. Normally, I’d be in a tree stand hunting at least once a day during November.
I don’t know what the hell they’re doing to me. Or why I continue to agree to come here where everyone is coupled up and going at it all the time instead of going home where I want to be. It’s a mystery to me. I like having my own space, no itinerary or coordinating plans with roommates, and sitting on my back porch at night with drinking buddies while we talk shit well into the night.
Maybe you come because you’re only twenty-four and act like you’re sixty at home . . .
My phone vibrates on the glass coffee table in front of me, lit up with a text notification on the screen. I toss the controller aside and pick it up.
Trinity: Are you back in from work? Was going to see if you wanted to come over tonight . . .
I laugh out as I reply. Once a whore always a whore.
Me: No can do, slut. Not in Mississippi at the moment. You’ll have to find someone else to service you while your husband is off making you money.
The text typing bubbles start up immediately.
Trinity: Lol. You’re an asshole.
Funny thing is, she thinks I’m joking.
Me: Doesn’t stop you from bouncing on my dick.
A knock sounds at the door at the same time her message comes through.
Trinity: Not my fault you have a big dick and know how to use it. Don’t make me sound bad. I told you we have an open relationship at the moment until we know if we want to split up for good or not. When he’s home he does his own thing—girls included. He’s fine with it as long as I do it when he’s gone, which works perfectly because he’s on the opposite shift as you. Come on, it’s been over two weeks. You were fine with someone else until you found out we’re married.
Me: You usually hit me up when I’m drunk. Secondhand pussy is as good as any when I’m intoxicated.
Trinity: OMG! I’m not double-teaming. We aren’t having sex with each other until we figure things out, hence the open relationship. I’ll make it worth your while. I have some new neon pink lingerie that complements my blonde hair and makes my rack look great.
Another knock sounds, reminding me everyone is gone. I stand and head in that direction as I respond.
Me: Hope you stocked up on batteries for your toy. In Miami. Will text you when I get back.
I grab the door and open it, still looking at the screen as the message comes through.
Trinity: You suck.
Me: Sucking is your job.
“You must be one of my sister’s little live-in projects. Name? I’ll try not to forget it.” I glance up at the sound of a female voice dripping in sarcasm, my eyes hitting a pair of blues that are very similar to Presley’s in color and shape, but then they descend, confirming that’s pretty much the only similarity. This one looks like she could be the older one. She’s hotter too. Brown hair the same color as mine at the top, but halfway down starts turning blonde, until the bottom half from her chest to below a large rack is almost white. Nose ring in a small nose. Plump lips coated in lipstick to make them look fuller. Tan skin. Tiny little body. Low cut shirt. Based on the amount of cleavage, definitely a pushup bra. Skin-tight jeans. Heels. Christ. She looks like one of those girls you see in a lingerie magazine. How old did they say she was again? My eyes return to hers. “Are you deaf or just slow, country boy?”
My cock jerks. Oh. She’s one of those—Grade A bitch. I straighten, sliding my phone into my jeans pocket despite it vibrating, suddenly much more interested. “Last I checked my hearing and brain worked just fine. Who are you? No one here will be needing your services. They’re all married.”
She walks forward and steps over the threshold, squaring toe to toe with me. She’s on the taller side, like her sister, but still shorter than me. She smirks, drawing my attention to her lips. “Oh yeah? What about you, country? You married?”
“Not interested,” I tell her, wishing like hell she didn’t smell so good.
Her smile grows. “Not interested, huh? That must be a flashlight in your pocket then.”
I look down at the bulge sitting nice and fat to the left of my zipper. Goddammit. When I look back up, we’re so close our lips brush. She hasn’t moved back an inch. If anything, she stepped closer, as if anything with a pussy could intimidate me. “Don’t flatter yourself. Someone else did all the work before you got here.”
She turns her head just enough to bring her lips to my ear, and then her hand is placed against my torso. I don’t move a single muscle. “You can’t lie to a liar. No one here could handle me anyway. Be a gem and bring in my luggage, will ya. Thanks.”
And then she walks around me, her heels clanking against the floor as she puts a growing distance between us. Suddenly I’m staring at a large designer rolling suitcase and a matching carry-on. I shake my head as I walk outside and grab both, carrying them inside for the little bitch that can’t do it herself. I put them down inside the door and shut it. They’re heavier than they look. Fucking girls—they overpack for everything.
I fish my phone out of my pocket and search for the right contact, before holding it to my ear, letting it ring. “Hello.”
“Hell’s calling. Satan is missing one of his angels.”
“Shit! I was supposed to get her from the airport,” Presley says. “My mother is going to crawl up my ass. I forget everything lately. I’ll be there in thirty minutes. What has she done?”
The right side of my mouth pulls up. “Nothing, aside from giving me a strong urge to shut her up by shoving a dick in her mouth. I bet the brat isn’t so cocky choking on a cock.”
She sighs. “Please ignore whatever she said. She has issues. I’ll deal with her as soon as I get there. I’m sorry.”
“How old did you say she was?”
“Paxtyn just turned seventeen in September. She’s a junior in high school. Thrives on drama and is the vainest person I know. She’s the baby of the family—which makes her a bitch—and uses it against everyone. She’s been hell on heels since she turned thirteen. My parents don’t really know what to do with her. She’s a troublemaker; acts out a lot. I’ll try to keep her on a leash. She wanted to come out for my birthday. I couldn’t really tell her no. She’s my sister, and she has a few good moments. This is her first time to visit since I moved here.”
Paxtyn. My eyes lock on her out by the pool. What the hell has happened to the gene pool? Seventeen-year-olds did not used to look like that. They were still awkward and figuring shit out, like how to look hot. Problem is, her issues interest me, and I lack a certain moral compass the rest of the dicks in the house possess. “Where do you want her shit?”
“Uh, would you be okay with me putting an air mattress in the main space of the basement? If not, I can figure something else out.”
Keep your hands to your fucking self. “It’s your house. I’m just a guest.”
“No, that’s your space at night. If she doesn’t behave I’ll move her.” She removes her heels by the jacuzzi. I move a little to see better, just in time to watch her unbutton her jeans and work them down her legs, stepping out of them. Whatever that shit is she calls panties doesn’t even cover half her ass. God, what an ass that is. Her shirt follows, revealing a matching bra equally as slutty, making me hard again. Cock tease. Is that a belly ring? “Landon, are you there?”
“Sure thing. I’ll move it down there,” I say into the phone, still watching her adjust shit that doesn’t need to be adjusted, hanging up my phone and returning it to my pocket when she steps in the jacuzzi.
I force my eyes away, quickly grabbing her luggage and carrying it toward the basement. It’s time to start drinking. The more I consume the easier I’ll pass out. I should probably jerk off in the shower before bed too. That way I won’t be tempted to leave my own fucking bed. It’s a fail proof plan. I’ve done it plenty of times before.
AUTHOR NOTE: Please read books 6-8 prior to this title.
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