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Once upon a time there was a magic castle in which everything wilted but the soul of one boy.
The girl wondered what would happen if the sun kissed the moon. She had no idea she’d find an answer to that question one day. Or that the person to give it to her would be that very lonely boy.
“I also answer to God and Damn, Hunter You’re So Big,”
“To make a long, excruciatingly gross story short, about a dozen people filmed the entire thing with their phones. Some uploaded it on YouTube, some to Twitter, some to Snapchat. Those were taken down, as far as we know. But the ones on the porn sites? Those are still available. And let’s just say what you lack in academic achievements, you make up for as an adult entertainer.”
The tags on the video included: #FratParty #Orgy #Hotsluts #Cheerleaders #Billionaire #Anal #Oral #69 #Creampie #TagTeam #BestFriendsEx And all I could think was, I managed all those things in the span of twenty minutes with one dick? Im-fucking-pressive.
I watched as three fellow recent high school graduates—Alice, Stacee, and Sophia—giggled into the camera and strutted their way to me, asses dangling, high heels on full display. I was on the couch, getting sucked by a chick named Kylie while another one, Bianca, was circling my nipple with her pierced tongue. I was wearing an open varsity jacket with no shirt, my jeans rolled down to my shins. The camera zoomed out, and the person shooting the video and I pounded it. He lowered the camera to show that he was fucking Kylie from behind while she was sucking me off. He came on her lower back,
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“Besides, they can hardly claim it wasn’t consensual. I mean…” I motioned with my hand to Knight’s phone. In the video, Stacee let me pull out of her, peel off the condom, and jizz all over her face. She’d licked the hot, white cum from her cheek and giggled in delight while Kylie sucked my cock so hard she almost swallowed it. Not to mention Bianca, who did all the work while we did a reverse cowgirl with Kylie sitting on my face, bouncing it like I was a trampoline.
“Just to get a taste of being fucked. One cannot live his whole life only doing the fucking,”
Whenever you feel your precious ego needs a hand job, log on to that porn site and remind yourself that whoever ends up putting a ring on those women will always know you as the guy who fucked them half-dead and still managed to make them come.”
He is sending me to live with a girl whose father is a cold-blooded murderer. Me. With my unfiltered, filthy mouth.
Living with a geek and six months of celibacy weren’t going to kill me. Probably. Only time would tell, honestly.
Boys never spoke to me, and when they did, they didn’t look like him.
Hunter Fitzpatrick was unfairly, undeniably, irrefutably stunning. Shockingly so. In a way that made me resent him simply because men that handsome aren’t trustworthy. Let me amend—men in general aren’t trustworthy. The pretty ones were extra mean, though. That was a lesson I’d learned in high school that wasn’t in the syllabus.
Hunter’s hair was muddy gold, curling in angelic twists around his ears, temples, and the nape of his neck, enhancing his heart-stopping beauty. His eyes were narrow, almost slanted, and brilliantly light, a mixture of gray and powder blue with flecks of gold, and his high cheekbones, square jaw, and pouty lips gave him the elegance of a surly, spoiled prince. His nose was straight and narrow, his eyebrows thick and masculine, and he had that healthy, glowing tan of a man who got to see the better parts of the world.
He was lean, muscular, and freakishly tall for a polo player. According to the rumors, he had enviable abs and a member the size of the Eiffel Tower.
“Specifically speaking, I don’t have any. Just think of me, like, as Bambi: cute AF but super stupid and in total need of supervision.”
“Who’s gonna take care of Hunter Jr., then?” “Your hand?” I suggested. “Or an apple pie, if you’re into cultural clichés.”
“Listen to me carefully, Hunter Fitzpatrick. I may seem like an insecure, average-looking geek to you. And you know what? That’s who I am. I own it. But make no mistake, this insecure geek comes from a long line of people you do not want to screw with, and their savagery rubbed off on me as well. I will not hesitate to pierce your pretty, spoiled-prince heart with one of my pointy arrows. But you’re right. I do have a price. My success is my price. Beating Lana Alder at this game is my price. You have nothing to offer me in that department. You will be celibate, sober, and congenial. We will
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“You’re insane.” I smiled sweetly. “Been called worse.” “Now I get it.” He dropped the garbage to the floor, pointing at me. “You’re my punishment for what I did. He chose the craziest bitch in Boston to set me straight, the old bastard.”
I was already fantasizing about killing her in various positions, landscapes, and with different weapons once this was over. Cue to: Me strangling Sailor against a Sicilian sunset. Me slitting Sailor’s throat while we wore matching swimsuits in the Bahamas. Me pushing Sailor off an aerial tramway on a picturesque Aspen vacation. Sometimes in the fantasies she was asleep, but more often than not she was wide awake and fully conscious, witnessing her demise.
Ceann beag meant little one in Gaelic, which would have been endearing if it weren’t for the fact that I wasn’t the baby of the family. That was Aisling. I was the middle child. Way I saw it, I simply got the smallest chunk of my father’s heart out of us three.
“My bad for being alive. For what it’s worth, I wish I’d been pulled out before conception,”
I hated it, hated that they were united and had a father-son relationship, that I was a stranger in this town, in this building, and in their home, where I wasn’t welcome.
Da had always seemed to have a soft spot for innocent Aisling, and he was enamored with devilishly smart and self-possessed Cillian. I was the savage creature who lacked that Fitzpatrick shine, and we both knew why, but neither of us had the balls to say it out loud.
Troy did was stare at me like I was the craziest asshole he’d ever laid eyes on. “No, you clown. I don’t think you stand a chance with my daughter. She’s not cut from the same dime a dozen hussy cloth you’re used to. Why would I assume she needs protection from you any more than you need protection from her?”
“Sam Brennan. Troy’s adoptive son.” “Just son,” Troy corrected unemotionally. Aww. Even this serial-killer-ninja-asshole loved his kid more than Da loved me.
“Which makes me Sailor’s slightly unhinged, overprotective brother with a chip on my shoulder. Which makes you the perfect candidate for my fist.”
“She doesn’t need gift cards. Give her the gift of not being an idiot. Because if you hurt her, I will have to kill you. And I don’t mean that as a figure of speech. I will literally kill you.”
by a couple of murderers? I really should take a long, hard look at my life.
“Jesus Christ, I’ve never met someone so eager to get punched,”
“Persy and I have reached the conclusion that for Hunter to grow up and take responsibility, and for you to…well, get a life and a clue, you guys need to fall in love,” Belle explained,
I always turned a blind eye to what my dad and Sam did. It helped me love them wholly. But that didn’t mean I agreed with how they chose to make money.
Sailor: Why don’t you just tell me what you want? HHH: Why, I thought you’d never ask. A kiss. Sailor: From who? HHH: A flame-haired banshee.
It was funny how Hunter believed he was dumb, and I believed I was unattractive—and that these opposite sources of insecurity made us enemies. I despised him for his looks, and he thought I was an unattractive bore.
“Disney movie,” she mouthed, standing to her full height. “Make the prince fall in love. Seize the castle. Become his queen.”
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” “Do what?” “Hate me with such a passion. Your wrath gives me a semi, and I still have a kiss I can collect whenever I wish to.”
“Obviously you’ve never been kissed by a Fitzpatrick.” “Have you?” I challenged, cocking a brow. “Was it your brother or sister? I’m hoping your brother. I love me some male-on-male action.”
“Deep breath,” he whispered, his voice calm. “Remember, they’re just people. They breathe. They eat. They fart—loudly, sometimes—and to answer your question, yes, Cillian and I French kiss all the time, and he uses an excessive amount of tongue.”
“To being with someone who loves you just the way you are, and vice versa.”
At the rare times I was invited to parties after the Saggy Sailor ordeal, I always passed. It was guys like Hunter who scared me the most—the beautiful, popular, athletically accomplished creatures who looked down on me. I knew they were waiting for the slightest sign of weakness to leap and tear me to shreds.
I held him like he was made of glass. He held me like I was made of clouds.
In that moment, I wished I’d never laid eyes upon Hunter Fitzpatrick, because I knew with certainty that for all his spoiled ways, corrupted behavior, and obsession with pleasure, he was innately good, loyal, and courageous. Those things made him very dangerous to me. Dangerously attractive.
There was something whimsical about Sailor’s red hair and pale skin and sage eyes. She looked like a fairy from an Irish folklore, one where a lot of strange, magical shit happened. Call me a hopeless romantic, but if I were, say, to plow into Sailor Brennan one day, you could bet your ass I’d be looking at her face and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. (Profanity about what I wanted to do to her uterus was considered sweet, right?)
Sailor confirmed that finding good food spots was her talent. Which, side note, made her marriage material, if I was into monogamy.
You can’t be that much of a dick. Besides, it’s Sailor. He was right. It was Sailor, and in my world, Sailor deserved better.
I looked up from my offended nuts, noticing that she was full-blown smiling, and that I was full-blown fucked. How did I not realize Sailor Brennan had the most amazing goddamn smile in the entire goddamn world? She radiated. Her face glowed like candlelight, her eyes gleamed, and that mouth…her lips weren’t thin or boring at all. They were full and pink and had a dusting of orange freckles that I wanted to devour. Violently.
I’ve watched enough horror flicks to know you’d turn at the stroke of midnight, and I don’t want to be here in the morning when you make me your breakfast. Although, let it be known, I’d be happy to eat you out whenever you please.”
I high-key agreed, but I couldn’t help it. She called me Hunt and told my da I was awesome and always knew what I felt like eating when she ordered DoorDash, even if we hadn’t spoken all day.
Sailor Brennan confused me. I fell asleep on her carpeted bedroom floor, like a goddamn tweaker.
Rather than answering me with actual words, Sailor took a step back, grabbed her bow, and plucked out an arrow, her face void of emotion. She was vivid, loose-limbed. Also, completely deranged. But I saw the huntress within her. She was a daring little thing, and that made me want to fuck her even more.
