“I could keep going, but it is getting dark,” Declan spoke, glancing at the sky. Beyond the tall trees and their branches, the red and orange sky had turned to a dark blue and purple; soon the world would be coated in black. “We should head back—”
I had no idea why Declan thought we should head back with both him and Will sporting erections that were so visible, anyone with eyes would notice. No, I knew I’d let this be one-sided before, but right here? Right now? I was about to return the favor, bestow the blessing of the orgasm onto him.
“No,” I said, whispering as I pulled up my clothes. I was slow to sit up and meet Declan’s curious eyes.
“No?” Declan echoed. Will, meanwhile, merely watched us, having not moved a muscle this entire time.
“That’s right. I said no.” Crawling closer to him on the log, I set a hand on his knee, slowly moving it up, stopping only when I cupped the bulge in his pants. “I think there’s something else we should take care of before going back, don’t you?”
Declan let out a sound that I couldn’t describe. Like he wanted it, like he knew what I meant, but he didn’t want to seem overeager in case he was wrong. He didn’t want to hedge in the wrong direction.
“Stand up,” I ordered, and I watched as Declan slowly stood, getting off the log. He stood closer to Will, his brother now less than eight feet from us. That was more than okay for me. It just meant he’d have a better view.
I said nothing else as I sunk to my knees before Declan, fumbling to undo his pants, tug them down, and pull out his hard cock. My eyes met his the moment I grabbed the base of his shaft, and I watched him throw his head back and groan.
“Let’s give your brother a good show,” I murmured, my lips grazing against his tip with every word.
Declan nodded, and I parted my lips and took him in. Slowly, at first. Having a cock in your mouth was something you had to get used to. If you wanted to deep throat, you damn well better have your gagging reflex under control. I wasn’t too conceited to think I was as good at giving head as Declan was, but I liked to think I was decent at it. I could take every inch in so it was like they were fucking my mouth.
I bobbed along his length. It wasn’t too long after I started going at him that I felt his fingers weave through my hair. Declan held onto me gently. He was never rough, not like Travis. Declan was a gentle lover, and he always made sure I felt as good as he did. Not all men were like that.
Varying my speed, using my tongue every so often to swirl around the tip, I couldn’t help but peek through half-open lids at Will. Will’s multi-colored eyes were on us, on me and my bobbing figure, his hands still in his pockets. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was hard for him, keeping his hands in check, not reaching for himself, not stroking his erect dick like I knew he wanted to. A man couldn’t have a hard-on like that and not want to touch himself.
I closed my eyes and focused on Declan again. Everything was made ten times hotter knowing we were being watched. Call me a freak, whatever. I didn’t care.
Declan let out a strangled noise, and I knew it meant he was about to come. I didn’t pull my mouth off his cock, I simply let him empty into me, shooting his seed down my throat. I took everything he gave me, let him jerk his hips and push himself deeper into me as if he was burying himself in my vagina and not my mouth. The fingers in my hair loosened, and it was only after he slowly pulled himself out that I was able to swallow the rest of the salty, warm liquid in my mouth.
His cheeks were flushed as I got up, wiping the edges of my mouth as I gave him a grin. Would he ever not get embarrassed? He was just too damn cute, even as he hurried to put himself away.
While Declan was busy zipping up his jeans, I turned to Will, taking two steps towards him. I held my hands behind my back, glancing down at his crotch and the bulge of his cock before asking, “How was it? Watching, I mean.” Another step closer to him. My core burned with a need to know what Will felt like, but I knew now wasn’t the time for that. We were out in the woods. Call me old-fashioned, but I didn’t want our first time to be in the woods.
“I think you can see how it was,” Will replied, tilting his head down to me. We were still a few feet apart, but I closed the distance between us, tossing a glimpse over my shoulder at Declan.
“Should I help your brother, or let him suffer?” I asked Declan.
Declan’s dark gaze locked with mine, and even though the world around us inched toward the darkness, I could see his cheeks were still adorably flushed. “Help him.” Two simple words, two words that meant a lot more than their face value.
“Looks like your lucky night,” I told Will, giving him a smile. Again, I sunk to my knees, this time before Will. Two blow jobs in the span of ten minutes. Could my jaw handle that? I was about to find out.
Will kept his hands in his pockets as I helped him out of his jeans, but now that I was closer, I could see that they were balled into fists. Stopping himself from grabbing me? He didn’t seem too hesitant earlier in his room, but maybe he didn’t want to seem overzealous with Declan here, watching. Before, when Declan had arrived, it’d been an accident; we hadn’t known he was there or how long he’d watched us make-out.
Though he kept his hands in his pockets, he was not stone silent as I took him into my mouth. His wide chest let out a low grown, and it was a sound I felt in my core. A sound I craved to hear more of. My head moved back and forth as I sucked him off. By the time I was done here, I’d crave something else—namely sex—but I was firm in my no woods decision.
Will must’ve been intensely turned on by watching Declan go at me, and then me on my knees before his brother, because it didn’t take long at all for him to erupt. When his orgasm came, his knees locked straight and he groaned out a loud, earth-shattering sound that only made my heart beat faster. His load shot right on my tongue, so I tasted him much more than I tasted Declan.
Maybe I was just horny, but it wasn’t a bad taste.
Not that I would eat a full meal made of his cum, but you knew what I meant. Or maybe you didn’t. Whatever.
Once I was back on my feet, all the penises put away, I wiped my hands together after dusting off the dirt on my knees—that would be a dead giveaway to Dean Briggs as to what we all did while gone. “So,” I broke the silence of the night, “who’s up for round two?” Both of them stared at me, mouths slightly agape.
What? I was kidding.
Mostly.
Chapter Twenty-Three – Sawyer
Being back here, with Travis acting like he was my friend, was rough. It was rougher than I anticipated, and I thought, after these last few weeks, I was ready for it. I wasn’t. There were certain things you just couldn’t prepare yourself for, like going home to your parents who pretty much hated you because you were a constant disappointment to them.
My parents were…not the kind of people most other people could get along with. They weren’t just rich. They were snooty, and they thought their opinions mattered more than anyone else’s.
Our Thanksgiving meal was later—and by meal, I meant the not-so-home cooked meals my mother hired actual chefs to make. Travis and I usually remained apart, always finding an excuse to tell my parents as to why we weren’t hanging out together.
They…they still didn’t change her room. Sabrina’s room was the same, and it was two hours before our dinner was slated to start that I happened to walk by and spot Travis in it. Instantly I grew annoyed, and I stormed into the room, ready to throw it down with him. He was with Ash now, wasn’t he? Why the hell was he in my dead sister’s room?
“What are you doing in here?” I asked, causing his blue-eyed stare to snap in my direction. He sat at her desk, the drawers open. He looked innocent, even though I’d caught his hands right in the cookie jar. When he said nothing, I added sternly, “You shouldn’t be in here.”
None of us should be in here. This place, full of stuffed animals and other things girls had in their rooms—though everything in here was more expensive, t
he stuffed animals practically life-sized—held too many memories. The room still smelled like her, as weird as it was. A part of me expected to turn around and find her sitting cross-legged on her bed, her thumbs furiously typing away on her phone as she texted one of her ten best friends.
Travis glanced at the open door, and he spoke softly, quietly so no one else could hear if they happened to walk by, “I’m looking for her second diary.” Before I could ask just why the hell he was searching for that particular object, he added, “Ash wants it.”
Ash wanted it? I had no idea why. A part of me wanted to ask, but then a bigger part of me didn’t. Whatever Ash did was none of my business. She wasn’t mine. She…she should keep her nose out of this and focus on her crazy fucking ex.
“Even though she has other things to worry about, she wants to figure out what happened to Sabrina,” Travis went on, sending me a frown. “For you, I think. She wants to help you, even though you’ve done nothing but fuck with her from day one.”
My eyebrows came together, and I could do nothing, could say nothing. All I managed to do was shake my head, turn on my heel and walk out, leaving Travis to his own devices. If Sabrina’s journal was in there, he would’ve found it by now. My parents tore apart her room after they found her, and they found no clues. No diaries. They just assumed she had good hiding spots, but now…
Now I started to wonder if someone had taken them—and if someone had taken them, how did they get them? How did they get in the house? If someone had them, they had them before she died.
That, or they took them immediately after hanging her.
The absolute last thing I needed right now was to lose myself in more conspiracies, but as I walked through the house, I couldn’t think of anything else. It was like I had a one-track mind, like I knew, deep down, something wasn’t right.
Something had been off this entire time, but I was too blinded by rage, by soul-crushing sorrow, to see it. I had to see it again.
So I went to the one person I hated going to, mostly because she was one-half of the reason I was as fucked up as I was. Mommy dearest. I’d like to say I loved her because she was my mother, but at the same time, it was impossible for me to say it because it just wasn’t true. When you were a Salvatore, you didn’t get to love your family. You didn’t get to be happy. You only had obligations.
My mother was a forty-five-year-old woman who looked like she was thirty. She had no wrinkles at all on her face or anywhere on her body, and she exercised regularly. She also had her hair done every two weeks, keeping the bleached blonde highlights in her dirty blonde hair always looking fresh. Today her hair was done up in an old-fashioned swirl, and she wore a dress that ended at her knees, along with a string of pearls around her neck and on her ears. The pattern on her dress was very autumny. I hated it.
I found her in the kitchen, humming along as she oversaw the ones cooking. When she turned and saw me, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Her eyes were like mine, a vivid green, and they immediately went up to my hair.
Still kind of pink. I tried washing it out, but I thought whatever dye Ash used stained my hair or something. I didn’t know. Couldn’t say I didn’t deserve it, after what I did with Brooklyn, but still.
“I do wish you’d do something about that hair,” my mother spoke, reaching out to me to gingerly touch the pink strands above my head, as if she was afraid the pink would leap off me and settle on her head instead. “I could see about making you an appointment this weekend. I know it’s short notice, and they don’t normally handle men’s hair, but they have to make an exception for you—”
“My hair is fine,” I said. I didn’t come find her to talk about my hair. “I was wondering if you still have it.” I knew she did; I knew she got it back from the police after they’d closed the case as a suicide. You didn’t need evidence when there was no supposed crime.
That was the problem. I always thought there was a crime, and even though Ash hadn’t been here at the time, she must’ve thought there was a crime, too. Why else would she have Travis looking for her diary?
Her…her second diary, which meant Ash knew she had two. How did she…
“Have what?” my mother questioned.
“The note,” I croaked out, an uneasy feeling settling in my gut. If Ash knew Sabrina had more than one, it meant…fuck, I wasn’t sure what it meant. That she’d seen the other? That someone she knew had the other? I didn’t…I didn’t want to think about what it could mean.
My mother’s expression hardened. “Why would you want to look at that note again, Sawyer?”
Sabrina was their baby, their daughter, their youngest. I was the fuckup, and I could never be enough for them. Just add to the list of disappointments I’d given them. I stopped keeping track a long time ago.
“I just…I need to see it,” I said, unable to tell her the real reason. I suspected I’d missed something. My brain had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Everything I’d done…might’ve been for nothing. I could feel myself slowly losing it, and I hated it, but at the same time I couldn’t stop it.
My mother gave me a look that told me I was the greatest disappointment in her life. “It’s upstairs, in the attic, in a box with everything else the police took.” She shook her head slightly, her nose upturned as she added, “I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. You don’t have too much longer at Hillcrest. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to act like an adult.”
I was getting lectured, and all I asked about was the letter. I already knew I was a disappointment to my parents; a reminder was not needed.
Saying nothing else, I went to the stairs. Our house was three floors, with the walk-in attic being a fourth, or a third and a half. It was bigger than the house I rented across from campus, and it felt lonelier, even though there were other people here. My father was in his study, reading or whatever it was he did. I purposefully steered clear of him, because when he got upset, things tended to get broken.
My family looked perfect from the outside, but when you were in it, you saw its flaws. Its imperfections. We all had our problems. Mother had to drown her depression out with shopping and Botox and manicures. Sabrina had needed medication since she was a kid, being mostly manic with a side helping of depression every once in a while. Father was…well, I was more like him than I wanted to be. Alcohol was his vice, and he was an angry drunk.
Me? I didn’t think I was an angry drunk, mostly because I didn’t want to be like dear old daddy. When I got drunk or high I just made piss-poor mistakes that I was too out of it to regret.
Now? There were things I regretted now. Things I’d take back. Being stoned out of my mind the weekend Sabrina died was one of them. Another was everything involving Ash. Ash deserved better.
Each step that drew me closer to the attic made my chest feel heavy. My heart…it hurt, as much of a wussy thing that was to admit. I’d made other people hurt, and now I hurt too. But that was the thing about me—I always hurt. It’s why I drowned it out with other things. The booze. The drugs. At first it was teenage rebellion, but then as I grew up, I realized just how much my parents expected of me, and then it became something more. An escape. The only way out. The one way I could feel free.
And then I lost Sabrina, so those things helped me feel numb. I stuck to the booze, not wanting to go on another bender, because that bender was the reason I didn’t answer any of Sabrina’s calls or texts, but then Ash came strolling in, tossing that plan to hell.
I made it to the attic, walking up the wooden steps that curled upwards into it. The attic was a dark, unfinished space, holding a few windows that you could see our entire property from. It was mostly clear, because when you were rich, you could afford to toss anything old and buy new. There were some boxes though, mostly holiday decorations my parents made the housekeepers put up.
One box, though. One box was labeled S, and it looked much newer than the others.
S for Sabrina.
I’d never com
e up here after. Never wanted to. But now? Now I needed to. I needed to see that letter again, needed to know if I’d royally fucked my life up past the point of no return.
The floorboards creaked as I moved toward the box, and I fell to my knees before lifting the lid. On top were the clothes she’d worn. I didn’t know why my parents wanted them back, but they’d buried her in something much nicer. It was too morbid for me.
This whole thing was morbid, honestly.
Beneath the clothes, I found it. It sat in a bag, its paper wrinkled. The bag would help preserve it, and for whatever reason my parents couldn’t just get rid of it. I pulled on the plastic, bringing the note to the surface, moving to sit on my ass as it fell on my lap.
This was her suicide note. The last thing she’d written.
I carefully unzipped the bag and pulled it out. My eyes scanned it, and with every word, with every line I read, my heart started to beat fast. Faster and faster until it threatened to burst right out of my chest.
I’d seen the note before, in passing, right after my parents got it back. They didn’t let me see it when it was still considered evidence, and by that time, my parents had already summarized it for me. I’d already made up my mind when it came to Declan’s guilt.
But, as I read the note for myself, with as clear of a mind as I could possibly have, I realized what I should’ve realized all along.
I was wrong.
I was so fucking wrong, it stung.
Nausea rose within me, and even though I hadn’t eaten anything today, I felt like throwing up. I quickly put the note back in the bag, zipped it up, and hurried away from the box, away from the attic. My mind spun, and my lungs felt heavy. Over and over I replayed the words in my head: I was wrong. How could I have been so wrong?
My legs took me to my bedroom, and I immediately closed the door, fighting to get my emotions under control. My breathing was wild, my mind racing. I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried, calm down. Sure, the note could still blame Declan, but there was another possibility, a possibility no one had thought of.
Psycho: A Dark College Romance (Hillcrest University Book 4) Page 18
