But we weren’t taking no for an answer.
“Less than a second then,” I grunted.
And just like that, she was bent over, the dress flipped up over her ass, her panties pulled to the side as my brother and I stroked her twat, the folds slick and wet already, pink and dripping.
“Oh brothers,” she moaned, her eyes closed, her body relaxing, legs spreading imperceptibly. And like that, we were in her, me from the back, her little cunny lifted with each hard thrust, struggling to accommodate while Cain reamed her from the front, tilting her chin down to accept his pole in her mouth.
“Ummph!” she squealed with each pummel, “Umph! Umph! Umph!”
And it’s like that all the time now, our little doll giving it up, giving back to us, letting us play her body like the finest instrument. And we’ve never had better, those tempting curves irresistible, even minutes before our parents’ civil ceremony.
I could feel my body hardening as I watched her walk down the aisle towards us, her curves in a pink lace cocktail dress, the material hugging those boobies, her rack luscious, her ass juicy. But this wasn’t exactly the place. Because yeah, Karla and Jerry are finally tying the knot, Jerry’s making an honest woman out of the blonde.
They’re not exactly the most involved parents, shall we say. Karlie bangs us every night and it’s not exactly like we’re holding back sound-wise. Sometimes we don’t even lock the door, it’s unnecessary because Karla and Jerry are in their own X-rated haze.
It’s disgusting thinking about our parents get it on, but they always retreat to their wing of the house after dinner, hands all over each other, Karla cooing in Jerry’s ear.
And only once had Karlie brought up the taboo nature of our relationship.
“Colt, Cain,” she began tentatively. We were sitting on the living room couch, watching some sports before activities for the night started, and I guess Karlie wanted to catch us before the sex took off.
“Mmmm?” I rumbled casually. I reached over and patted her butt, the part that was closest to me on the couch. Yeah, tight and totally squeezable, exactly what we liked.
“Do you think this is okay?” she asked, serious, her eyes wide.
“What?” rumbled Cain, still watching the screen. Patriots were on and we never missed a game, we were honing our skills for the NFL and might as well scope out the opposition earlier rather than later.
“You know, this,” she said quietly, looking down at her lap. I could see why. We had our hands on her knees, my big palm slowly moving up one luscious thigh as Cain absentmindedly stroked her kneecap. Not exactly the stuff of siblings.
“I’m not sure, why?” asked my brother casually.
“Well, it’s just that our parents are getting married so we’re technically related,” she choked out. “Do you think we’re breaking the law or something?”
I’d thought about it some and decided to come clean.
“Karlie,” I began, “I think what we’re doing is fine. You’re not a minor, we’re not minors, and we’re all consenting.”
“But it’s not just that,” she said slowly. “You know it’s not just that.”
Of course not, it never was.
But Cain spoke up here.
“We’re not really related,” he rumbled, his eyes searing as they trailed her body. “We only met two months ago at that dinner. Which was the best dinner of my life, by the way.”
“But do you think this, I mean us, could impact your career?” asked Karlie plaintively. Oh right, we’d shared with her our plans to play football in college, make our mark for a year or two, and then register for the draft as first round picks, god willing.
That made us chuckle.
“Honey if you know anything about football, it’s that they’ll turn a blind eye to any type of shenanigans so long as it’s legal,” laughed Cain. “Gambling, divorces, dog-fighting, all that gets by so long as you play well.”
“But has there ever been incest in the NFL?” pushed Karlie, her eyes pleading with us.
That made us grow quiet, using the “I” word.
“Honey, this isn’t incest, not technically,” I stated, this time more forcefully. “We’re not related, we don’t have the same DNA or anything like that.”
And Karlie was silent then, thinking things over.
“I just don’t want to be a millstone around your necks,” she said quietly, her hands in her lap. “I don’t want to hold you back, be a liability when all eyes should be on football.”
“You won’t, you aren’t,” I assured her, my heart in my throat. Cain growled in agreement, reaching for the zip of her dress, our attention completely focused on our girl now.
Because she was it for us, we loved the fact that she considered our priorities, our interests, where we were going in life and how she impacted that. She was someone special and my brother and I made sure she knew it in the best way possible.
And you know what? It’s been like this for a couple months now, the three of us building our bond day by day, emotionally and physically. The physical is awesome, but it’s even more mind-blowing to realize that our girl deserves the best from us, that we want more than just a drive-by.
So now the big day had come. Our parents were making it legal, we were going to be siblings to our best girl. No matter. I was already over it, and I knew my twin didn’t care at all, so long as Karlie was happy and content.
Plus, Jerry and Karla, against all expectations, were having a civil ceremony instead of a big shindig, so my brother and I stood shoulder to shoulder with my dad at City Hall.
Jerry gasped when the doors opened, causing our hackles to go up involuntarily, protecting our girl, what was ours, no one else could look. Because Karlie was gorgeous, dressed in a pink frothy gown, her long legs sheathed in nude heels, a smile wreathing her lips. What the fuck, other dudes looking at our property were asking for trouble.
And yeah, that extended to our dad too until we realized he was actually looking at Karla in her white dress. Yeah, I guess the mom looked okay for someone forty or so, but she was nothing compared to her daughter.
And after the ceremony, we went out to brunch.
“I’ve made your mother an honest woman, what do you think about that?” crowed Jerry, his arm slung over his new wife’s shoulders.
“Um, great work, Mr. McKesson,” said Karlie, smiling at him.
I loved that. Even two weeks ago, she would have been shy with my bombastic father, not sure how to respond, but now she sat between my brother and I at the table, confident, beautiful, a vision in that pink dress.
“Call me Dad,” said Jerry, “I insist.”
“Okay Dad,” she said sweetly, her hand on our knees under the table. “And should I call Colt and Cain ‘Brothers’?” she continued, squeezing us under the table.
Cain visibly jerked, his face expressionless even as hot streaks stained his cheekbones.
“Call us anything you like sister,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. And she shot him the sweetest smile, although I knew she was going to get it later tonight … probably up the backside, given the look on Cain’s face.
But it was all good.
“What do you have planned for today?” boomed my dad, leaning back in his chair, his stomach full, his appetite satisfied, king of his kingdom. “Practice? How’s that looking?”
“Yeah, we have practice,” I rumbled, “and we’re also meeting with the NCAA later.”
“Oh really, what’s that about?” asked my dad. “Do they want to do some pre-season recruiting, talk to hot prospects about the system, the procedure?”
Jerry was referring to the NCAA’s orientation for promising high school players. You see, picking a college team is complicated, we’d already had a couple recruiters come by the house, gone to a few dinners with coaches, even visited some schools where prospective teammates showed us around. College was going to be a blast, some of the students had even taken us to the strip club in their local town
s, nothing like the Donkey of course, but still.
So the NCAA greases the way by setting up a mini-orientation for high school standouts. My brother and I were scheduled for a meeting later today, probably just some BS about how there are no wrong choices, every team is a winner, more feel-good banter.
“I’m so excited for you,” breathed Karla, “and for Karlie too. Where are you thinking of going for college next year, honey?”
That drew an awkward pause because we want Karlie to come wherever we matriculate, we want to continue the way we’re going, keeping our sister safe with us, in our lives, in our bed.
But Karlie couldn’t exactly say that.
“Well I’ve been considering State,” she said, “You know they have a great photography program.”
“What?” asked Karla confused, her brow wrinkling. “Honey, you’ve always wanted to go to Berklee or Tisch, they have the best arts programs. There’s no reason not to go honey,” she said, her voice lowering. “Jerry has offered to pay your way.”
That was true. My dad was going to spend some of his millions on his stepdaughter’s college tuition. But Berklee and Tisch were no-gos for us, they didn’t even have football teams, they were little liberal arts schools where everyone wore painter’s smocks and talked about politics.
“Jerry, I appreciate it,” Karlie said graciously, “but I’ve had a change of heart lately. I think State or maybe even Ravenswood would be good.” Ravenswood Junior College was a feeder to State, that way Karlie could stay close by in case she didn’t get into State.
“Honey, you can’t!” gasped Karla. “A community college? What happened to working for National Geographic one day? Or the New York Times? Or even as a freelance photographer?”
“Mom,” said Karlie slowly. “I just don’t know right now, okay? I mean, I still want to be a photographer, but it doesn’t have to be the center of my life. Besides, a college degree isn’t important if you want to take pictures for a living.”
“But, but,” stuttered Karla. “I always thought you wanted to get an arts degree, honey I was so proud of you.”
“Mom, you’ll still be proud of me,” said Karlie softly. “I just have other priorities now, okay?”
“But what?” pleaded Karla. “What could be more important than following your dreams?”
And that was the sticking point. Because Karlie was following her dreams, her dreams just lay with us now, Cain and I were her priorities, more than any camera, any world travel. And we’d make sure our little girl was taken care of, that we’d do right by her.
“It’s tough to explain Mom,” said Karlie patiently. “But trust me, this is right for me, okay? I’m applying to State, we’ll see what happens,” she smiled.
And I reached for her thigh under the table, giving that luscious flesh an appreciative squeeze. State was our first choice, they had an amazing football program, a new stadium, strong boosters, all the stuff that goes into a winning season. And if we could bring our girl with us, move her into our apartment, live with her during the weekday while winning games on weekends… well life just didn’t get any sweeter.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cain
Damn, this NCAA shit was boring. Colt and I already know where we want to go, State’s the place for us and we’re practically admitted already. The head coach has already come by our house three times, they’ve talked with Dad, the school’s already hosted us for pre-admit weekend, all that kind of stuff. So I figured the meeting with the NCAA was just a formality, more talk about rules, regulations, things we already knew.
But it was odd. When we showed up, we were guided to a private conference room and the commissioner was there. Really? Commissioner Dean, the man himself, was sitting inside, another dude by his side, ready to take notes.
But whatever. This was going to be cakewalk and I strode in, confident, assertive.
“Colt, Cain,” the older man said jovially, shaking our hands as we sat down. “Door please,” he directed the other man.
And the door was closed, shutting us into what looked like a sound-proof room.
“What’s this about?” drawled my brother. “We’re into State, that’s the place for us.”
“We realize that,” said the Commissioner formally, “But we wanted to talk to you about infractions.”
What the fuck? We hadn’t even matriculated and they were already talking to us about breaking the rules before they were broken. Fuck my life, this college shit was getting to be a drag.
But the commissioner continued.
“It’s come to our attention that you know Jimmy Long, the equipment manager of the Eagles,” he said.
Colt snorted.
“Of course we know him, the dude’s always around, why?” he asked. “What does it matter? Is he selling drugs or something, dealing dope? Because my brother and I don’t use the juice,” he said, his voice menacing, his eyes already shooting sparks.
“No, no steroids,” said the Commissioner slowly. “Nothing like that. It’s come to our attention that the footballs you use are deflated.”
I sat back, thunderstruck. Deflated balls? What the fuck? Was this some kind of sick joke?
“What do you mean?” I asked slowly. “We use regulation footballs, same as anybody else.”
But the man wasn’t answering my questions.
“Aren’t you the one who checks them before each game?” he asked Colt, his question directed at my brother. “Don’t you check all the game-day balls before they’re used?”
Colt frowned, his handsome face stormy.
“Sure, but it’s routine. I squeeze ‘em and stuff, but it’s not like I get out the gage and check each one’s pressure individually. Why? Was I supposed to?”
“I don’t know,” said the Commish slowly. “We have reports that the balls were underinflated, making it easier for you to grip … and for your brother to catch.”
Oh fuck. What the fuck. This was serious shit, not some slap on the wrist for going to strip clubs and banging hot chicks. This was the real deal, cheating … before our career even started.
“Listen,” I growled, feeling my muscles tense, my jaw clench. “We’ve never skirted the rules, it’s all fucking lies. Where the fuck is this coming from anyways? Did another team complain, sore losers?”
“Well, no,” said the Commish. “Jimmy Long stepped forward himself, saying that you paid him to deflate each ball.”
“That’s a fucking lie!” I roared, standing up, pounding the table with a huge fist. “What the fuck, we barely talk to that guy, and we definitely don’t give him money.”
“Calm down son,” said the other man, “no need to leap to conclusions. All Jimmy said was that you and your brother routinely passed him cash with the understanding that he’d deflate balls before each game, making it easier for the Eagles to win. We haven’t verified his statement,” he said, holding his hands up. “We merely wanted to notify you of the claims, let you prepare a defense.”
Prepare a defense? WTF? This was more serious than I thought.
“Do we need to get lawyers?” I asked slowly. “Because this is starting to sound like a lawsuit.”
“I can’t tell you what you should and shouldn’t do,” said the Commissioner smoothly, the other man nodding in agreement silently. “But there will be an official investigation and from here on out, the McKesson twins are suspended. No game time, no meetings, no practice. You’re effectively benched until this is cleared up.”
And Colt and I sat back, thunderstruck. This was fucking bullshit. We needed to get to the bottom of this clusterfuck pronto.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Karlie
“What?” I gasped, my hands flying to my cheeks. “You’re suspended? Why?”
“Some bullshit,” Colt growled, his mood dark, his face furious. “It’s fucking lies.”
“But how? Why?” I asked, shaking my head in confusion. This was all a huge mix-up.
“They said Jimmy Long, that fuck
head equipment assistant, deflated balls before game time,” snorted Cain. “What a loser.”
“But how would that even help?” asked Karlie. “I don’t get it.”
“Honey,” said Colt patiently. “Have you ever touched a football? You know those things are big, they’re hard to grip even if you have hands like ours,” he said, flexing his fingers, the digits articulate yet powerful. I grew red, just thinking about where those fingers had been on my body, but this clearly wasn’t the time.
Colt continued. “Deflating balls even by a little makes them easier to catch and throw. Jimmy’s saying we paid him to do it.”
I shook my head. “But who is this Jimmy Long guy? Why would he do this?”
“Who knows?” ground out Cain. “Probably some idiot fuckwad who’s jealous of what we have.”
I was silent for a moment, shaking my head confusedly. The name sounded familiar, something rang a bell although I wasn’t sure what. My mind whirred before seizing on a vague impression. Oh yeah. A scrawny dude, some little guy who was always running around with a load of towels, shin guards, breast plates, that kind of thing.
“I think I’ve seen him around,” I said slowly. “In fact, I think he asked me out my first week at XM.”
Closer: A Blind Date Bad Boy Romance Page 19
