Chapter Two
Milo
Later That Night
“Girls, out,” I call as I step through the door.
Kicking it shut behind me, I drop the twelve pack of beer on the counter in the kitchen. In the various bedrooms beyond the counter, I can hear my three younger brothers, Zachary, Dalton, and Quentin – Q for short – with their flavors of the night.
That's the problem with a small town like Folson Forge – everyone knows everyone, and it can feel incestuous, really quick.
Oh, they're all gorgeous. They're all beautiful Southern belles. But some of the girls in this town think that they are special and deserve the finer things in life. They seem to think that if they go down the line and fuck each one of us, it will eventually stick, and they’ll become part of the Sheridan clan – wealthier than their wildest dreams and set for life.
What they don't seem to understand, however, is that to us, this is purely sex. Period.
The women we'll eventually marry would never dream of throwing themselves at men as desperately as these women.
“I repeat, get out,” I call again.
“Fuck off, Milo,” one of the girls calls back to me through the wall.
There's a bubbling noise from one of the bedrooms to the right that makes me laugh and shake my head. As usual, none of the doors to the rooms are fully closed, allowing me to see what’s going on inside. Zach is reclining on the futon, a thick cloud of pot smoke in the air around him, and a blissful look on his face. A girl named Alyssa – is on her knees before him.
Quentin is in the room next to Zach’s. I can hear him fucking his flavor of the week, a girl named Cassidy. I’m assuming, based on the sound of flesh slapping flesh reverberating off the walls. I played around with Cassidy for a while about a year ago. She’s a little off in the head. That situation could end up in disaster if Q isn't careful. And Dalton is in the last room to the left, with the door wide open. He’s a bit of an exhibitionist. Always has been. He’s laying back on the recliner, a girl named Monica riding him enthusiastically.
They move from me to Zach, to Dalton, and then finally to Quentin. And who knows, maybe when our youngest brother, Timothy comes of age, he'll fuck these girls too. But, that's still a few years off and I have a feeling Timothy won’t have any issues in that department. He's a good-looking, smart kid already.
That, combined with the Sheridan name, ensures that he's going to have zero problems getting laid whenever he wants to.
Twisting the top off a bottle of beer, I drop it on the counter and take a long pull from the bottle, relishing the feel of the cool liquid as it slides down my throat. As I look across the counter into the bedrooms, and see my brothers screwing their flavor of the night, I think back to my time with Bree.
I don't know Bree personally. But I know of her. Which is to say, I know her public persona. Know of her sterling and saintly reputation. She's the town's golden girl and an object of admiration near and far. She's one of the most beautiful women in town and thought by many to be virtuous and sweet, and completely untouchable. And like every other man in Folson Forge with a cock and a pulse, I lusted after her from afar.
Bree is the golden rose of the Longstreet clan – my family's most hated rival.
The blood feud between the Longstreets and the Sheridans goes back to the Civil War and is one of the most violent, bloody, and notorious in the entire South. Our ancestors had started a company making and selling Folson Forge Bourbon. Something happened way back when, and old man Longstreet ended up dead, and old man Sheridan – my ancestor – ended up building a fortune off the recipe.
My family is absolutely loaded because of Folson Forge Bourbon. And the Longstreets – although they've built their own empire of hardware stores that have made them the second wealthiest family in town – have never forgiven us Sheridans for that past transgression.
Truth be told, we don't know what the transgression actually was, or even how old man Longstreet ended up dead. All we do know is that the Longstreets blame us and have despised our family ever since. In return, we hate them back and do whatever we can to thumb our noses at them whenever possible.
Petty. Childish. Immature. Yeah, probably. But, fuck it. You can't have a real Southern town without a good blood feud between families.
Which is how and why I ended up fucking Bree tonight.
“Did you get it, Milo?” Quentin calls out.
I look up from my bottle, half expecting to see him standing in front of me, but I can still hear him banging Cassidy from behind in the other room. I can hear an eagerness in his voice that has nothing to do with being balls-deep in the girl in front of him.
“Yeah, did you actually do it?” Zach calls as a thick plume of pot smoke pours out of the doorway. “Or did you pussy out?”
“Of course, I did it,” I say. “I told you I would, didn't I?”
“Shit,” Dalton calls as he smacks Monica's ass, drawing a yelp from her as she rides him. “I owe you guys twenty bucks.”
“You bet against me?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Sorry.”
“Unbelievable.”
I walk over and open a window, trying to bring in some fresh air to clear the haze of smoke out of the guesthouse. It's as thick as the sound of moaning coming from the women in the house. This guesthouse – one of several, but the largest – on the rear grounds of our family's estate serves as our clubhouse. Our father – whom we refer to as the old man – is a firm believer in the “boys will be boys” philosophy of life and raising kids.
And to that end, the guesthouse is where we go to be boys.
It's actually a longstanding tradition in the Sheridan clan. The walls of this guest house – though it's been added on to and renovated over the years – have seen debauchery and depravity of every flavor and stripe over the decades.
The only rule is that nobody under the age of eighteen is allowed through the front door. No exceptions. The old man said the last thing he needs is an underage sex scandal on his hands. So, it's a rule we strictly enforce – much to poor Timothy's chagrin. After seeing Quentin, who just turned eighteen a week ago, take his place in the club, Timothy is anxious to be one of the Sheridan men. But, he's only fifteen and has a few years to wait.
“Not that I don't trust you, but you do have proof that you did the deed, right?” Zachary says, finally finishing his thought.
“What deed?” Monica asks.
“None of your business,” I say. “It's Sheridan family business.”
At first, it was strange, being in the same vicinity as my brothers while we were all having sex. Eventually though, it started happening more often, the weirdness began to fade. No more remarkable than walking in on them in eating breakfast in the kitchen.
I take another drink of my beer and look down at my phone. The proof I have to win the bet is on it, but I'm suddenly feeling hesitant to share it. I can't explain it, but there's something about Bree Longstreet that clicked with me.
Yeah, it was just sex, but I feel like we had some kind of a connection. She's every bit as gorgeous as everybody says she is. She could easily be a beauty queen if she wants to. Maybe it's something as simple as physical attraction and lust. She definitely has that whole ‘good girl’ appeal – one that's only magnified by how downright filthy she can be. It's something that resonates with me. Maybe that’s all there is to it.
I have no idea what it is, but there seems to be something deeper about her, more substantial. She's far more than just her physical beauty. I can't say what it is exactly, but I know that down to my bones. There's a spark, a fire inside of her, that I find compelling. It sounds crazy, given the fact that we barely spent any time talking, but there is something about Bree that I like.
Of course, given the fact that she's a Longstreet and I'm a Sheridan, it's not something that I'll ever have the opportunity to explore with her.
She's obviously not the angel of purity and virtue people think she is, as she told me – and as I found out for myself. But, she isn't anything like the girls currently fucking my brothers, either. She's beloved in Folson Forge and is very well-thought-of by almost everyone in town. Nobody has an unkind word to say about her. And for good reason. I don't know her well at all, but from everything I do know, she's a good person that deserves that saintly reputation.
Unlike the gold diggers we use for pleasure, Bree is the marrying kind of girl. And I suddenly fear that if we follow through with our plan and release this video, her reputation is going to take a major hit.
Not that I should care. The Longstreets are scum. Vermin. We cherish every opportunity to tarnish their name and bring them down. At least, that's how I feel about the men in their clan – men like Bree's brother, Clyde. He's an asshole. A self-righteous prick with a bloated ego. And I enjoy embarrassing him like I enjoy few other things.
Back in high school, it was always on the football field. We played for rival teams and I delighted in always leading my team to a win over his. In always being considered the better athlete – and the better college prospect. I got offers from a ton of the major players in college football. He got a few.
It's always a great feeling to come out on top of the Longstreets – I just don't know if this is the way to do that. I don't know if I'm willing to ruin this girl's reputation, just so my brothers and I can be assholes and embarrass her family.
Dalton and Q grunt and groan out loud at virtually the same time in separate rooms as they shoot their loads deep into their respective girl. I only hope they were smart enough to strap on a rubber. Knocking up one of these girls is the quickest way to destroy their lives. That's a burden they'll carry with them forever.
I can hear Q pushing Cassidy off his lap as he steps away from her, pulling his pants back on. Zachary is still in his room, and is probably too high to leave right away.
I clap my hands loudly. “Time to go, girls,” I call. “We have things to do here.”
Cassidy and Monica both give me the finger in unison, so I blow them a kiss. Neither one is exactly thrilled with me for kicking them to the curb when I was done with them, but whatever. Not my problem. I made no promises to either of them. I don't believe in leading people on and hadn't done that to either of them.
Alyssa is buttoning up her blouse as she walks over to me, a playful little smile on her lips. She was no happier with me than Cassidy and Monica when I cut her loose, but she's pragmatic enough to understand the score. She hopes for better by banging my brothers, hopes that one of them will somehow fall madly in love with her, and want to make her their own. But, I have to think that somewhere deep down, she knows that she – and the girls like her – are merely playthings.
She leans in to kiss me and I pull back, giving her a wry grin. “Yeah, you just had my brother's cock in your mouth,” I say. “No thanks.”
I can see something in her eyes – a flash of pain – that sends a small stab of guilt through me. She cares about me. Even still. I knew it when we were together, and that's why I cut things off in the first place. I didn't want the emotional entanglement then and I don't want it now.
She sniffs and straightens herself up, her face darkening. She's doing her best to not let me see the hurt in her eyes, instead putting on an irate mask of outrage. Which is fine. Whatever helps her cope with her emotional bullshit. I'll take the hits.
“You really are a prick, Milo,” she says.
I shrug. “Yeah, I know,” I say. “Shocking as it may seem, you're not the first to say that, and I'm sure you won't be the last. But then, I've never pretended to be anything else.”
She snatches her purse off the counter and follows the other two girls out, slamming the door behind them. My brothers walk over to the counter, each of them grabbing a beer, looking at me expectantly.
“You really did it, huh?” Zach says, his voice thick with skepticism.
“Yeah, I sure did,” I reply.
Q and Dalton exchange a look and then turn their eyes to me – obviously eager to see the proof. Proof I'm unsure that I want to show them, bet or no bet. All of us have talked about wanting to bang Bree Longstreet for ages. Hell, every warm-blooded man in town has probably wanted to fuck Bree Longstreet.
And why not? She's the gold standard in Folson Forge. The epitome of Southern charm, grace, and femininity. And a damn fine lay, if I do say so myself. There probably isn't a guy in town who hasn't jerked off to images of her running through his mind. Yeah, me included.
“We need to see the proof,” Zach says. “There's a lot of money on the table, so you'll forgive us if we don't just take your word for it.”
I shake my head. This whole bet was a stupid idea to begin with. Not that I'm going to complain about reaping the rewards, mind you. It all started a few weeks ago. We'd been here, drinking, as usual, and talking about girls. Bree's name was brought up, of course, and my brothers all bragged about how they had the best chance to bang her. I told them that none of them had a chance, that she was way out of their league, and that she needed a real man.
Zach had challenged me, betting me a thousand bucks that I couldn't do it. That I couldn't bed Bree Longstreet. Not to be outdone, Q and Dalton had also ponied up a thousand bucks each. Money aside, I felt a tremendous amount of pressure to seal that deal. My brothers and I have always been competitive – though, my competition with Zach is on another level than with the Q and Dalton. It's more primal. Much more intense and personal.
But then, given that I'm the eldest, Zach has that second child syndrome, knowing that he's second in line for everything. Once the old man gives up control of the family's bourbon empire, it will naturally fall to me. Oh, Zach will have a role in the company, but I'm going to be the man at the top of the totem pole.
That's just the way it works. And I know he can’t stand it. Probably even hates me for it. Because yeah, it's my fault. Ever since we were little, he's nurtured this inferiority complex and has pushed himself to do better and achieve more than me at virtually anything and everything. He's always come up short and finishes second to me in almost everything. Which, of course, only adds to his pool of anger and angst.
But, that's not my problem. That's his baggage to carry and sort out.
Zach is a lot more like our old man than he'll ever care to admit. Maybe even more than he realizes. Definitely more like our father than I am. Which is probably what is adding fuel to the fire that burns between us. Everything is a competition and this bet about Bree is no different.
The idea to make the video public and shame the Longstreet family naturally flowed from that. Well, from that and too much booze.
Not that I'd gotten to know her on a profound level or anything, but now that I've spent some time with Bree, I'm seeing things a little differently. There's something about her that's sweet and kind. She's feisty as hell and burns with this inner fire that I find incredibly alluring. Compelling. I was only with her a short time, but in those intimate moments, I found her to be utterly intoxicating.
And she doesn't deserve to be publicly shamed or humiliated like that.
“Okay, listen up,” I say, “I'll show you a bit of the video. But, it stays here. That video is not to be made public. Period. This is between us and us alone. Everybody got that?”
“That's not the plan –” Q starts.
“Plans change,” I growl.
“You can't just change the plan,” Dalton says. “We're supposed to use it against the Longstreets. That was the plan.”
“Like I said, the plan changed.”
“Why?” Q asks.
“Because I said so,” I say.
Zach starts to laugh and shakes his head. Q and Dalton look at him like he's lost his mind.
“What's so funny?” Q finally asks.
Zach looks at me, that smug smile on his lips. “He knows.”
Both of our younger brothers look to me and I just shrug. “I have no idea what he's talking about.”
“Right,” Zach replies.
“Zach, tell us,” Dalton says.
“Our big brother here,” Zach says, “has a crush on the Golden Girl of Folson Forge. That's why he doesn't want that video getting out.”
“That's bullshit,” I say.
Zach shrugs. “It's either that,” he says. “Or there is no video. In which case, you owe us each a grand.”
“There's a third option you're not considering,” I say.
“Oh yeah?” Zach smirks. “What's that?”
“That I'm not as big of an asshole as you three and am not comfortable ruining an innocent girl’s reputation and life,” I say.
“Oh, but you'll fuck her,” Zach says.
“That's different,” I say.
“But, she's a Longstreet,” Q says.
“Yeah,” Dalton chimes in. “She's a Longstreet.”
Anger surging within me, I slam my fist down on the counter, rattling the bottles. My brothers all look at me, eyes wide. I'm the oldest of the Sheridan boys, so my word is law. That's the way it's always been and how it's always going to be. And right now, I'm tired of these shitheads questioning my word.
“I don't give a fuck if she is a Longstreet,” I say. “This video does not see the light of day beyond these walls. Period. Am I in any way, unclear?”
Q and Dalton shake their heads. As the youngest – eighteen and nineteen respectively – they still live in fear of me a bit. Zach, only a year younger than I am, has lost some of that fear, though he still abides by my word – albeit grudgingly. It's family tradition – and one the old man takes seriously – after all.
“Are we clear?” I ask.
“Clear,” Q says.
“Crystal,” Dalton says.
“Sure. Fine. Whatever,” Zach says, his smirk not fading in the slightest. “I think it's kinda sweet though – your crush on her.”
There's part of my mind screaming at me to not do this. To not show them the video. But, there is no way in hell I'm going to let Zach think he got the better of me. At anything. I started this, so now it's time to finish it.
“Shut the fuck up,” I say and hand my phone over to Quentin. “Go hook this up to the computer.”
Q takes the phone and scampers over to the computer set up on a desk in the corner of the room. Dalton, sensing the tension in the air between Zachary and me, scurries over with him. I step closer to my brother and take a long pull from my bottle.
“She's sweet and hot,” Zach says. “Trust me, I get it, Milo. I get it.”
“Our beef is with the Longstreet men. Her father. Her brothers,” I say quietly. “There's no reason to involve her or shame her like that.”
He shrugs. “Our beef is with the Longstreet clan in general, brother,” he says. “She's collateral damage. Sexy as hell, but collateral damage nonetheless.”
“Yeah, well, I'm not comfortable ruining this girl's life just because we hate her daddy and brothers,” I say. “There's no honor in that.”
“Honor doesn’t have anything to do with it, Milo,” he says. “You know what the old man told us about what the Longstreets have done to our family.”
“Yeah, I know what the old man told us,” I say. “But I'm not the old man. And what I say here goes.”
Zach holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, Milo,” he says. “I'm not arguing. I just never thought I'd see the day my own brother went soft on a Longstreet.”
“Shut the fuck up, Zach,” I say.
He gives me that crooked, stoned off his ass grin. “Okay, man. Shutting the fuck up now.”
“It's ready,” Q announces.
Taking my beer with me, we walk over to the desk and gather around. Q has the video set up and ready. He turns and looks at me. I didn’t want them to see it anymore. The sport's been taken out of it for me. It was never about the money. The bet was made in fun, meant to be just a gag between brothers. But, the fun has been totally stripped out of it.
“Play it,” I say.
Q hits the button and the video begins to play. As I watch it onscreen, I think back to actually doing the things I'm seeing with Bree. And I feel my body begin to react. My face suddenly feels hot and a sense of desire and longing begins to swirl around inside of me.
As I watch the video, it's almost like I can feel her cool, alabaster skin beneath my fingertips again. Can see the sparkle in eyes that gleam like polished jade, and can taste her sweet mouth behind her full, sensuous lips. The long, red hair that flows over her shoulders was smoother than silk, and her full breasts strained against the plunging neckline of her purple gown.
Physically, she is perfection to me. Recalling the feeling of being inside of her, of hearing those filthy words coming out of her sweet, angelic mouth – it sends a shudder of remembered pleasure through me.
The sound of my brothers laughing hysterically pulls me out of my reverie. I stop the video. Q and Dalton are high-fiving each other, eyes riveted to the screen.
“I can't believe you did it,” Dalton says.
“Yeah, seriously,” Q adds. “I didn't think you had a snowball's chance in hell.”
I smirk at them. “No, none of you clowns had a snowball's chance.”
Zach watches the screen through glassy eyes, sipping his drink. His jaw is clenched, and his body is tense. I know it bothers him that I succeeded where he'd failed. He'd tried to hook up with Bree several times over the years and had been shut down, viciously, every single time. And I know he proposed the bet originally, hoping that I would strike out as badly as he had.
I hadn't though, and I know it must piss him off.
“Man, the way she talks,” Q says. “Who knew little Miss Purity was such a slut?”
I smack him across the back of the head, the pop echoing around the room. Q turns and glares up at me, rubbing the back of his head.
“That fuckin' hurt!”
“Have a little respect,” I growl.
“She's a Long –”
I lean down and stare at him, my eyes narrowed, a dark anger rising within me. “I don't give a shit, little brother,” I say, my voice low and menacing. “She's a lady. You show her some fucking respect.”
Zach snorts. “Yeah, but you’re not sweet on her or nothin',” he says and heads back to the kitchen.
“Cue it up again,” Dalton says and chuckles, nudging Q in the ribs.
“Show's over, boys,” I say. “You got your proof, time to pay up.”
“Oh, c'mon, Milo,” Dalton says. “Let us watch the full video. I could watch her –”
I smack him in the back of the head, though far less roughly than I'd popped Q earlier. This time, it's more playful, and less angry.
“Show's over,” I say.
I drop my phone into my jacket pocket and walk into the kitchen, giving Zach a smug, satisfied smile. He looks at me with a mixture of amusement and disdain – a combination I wasn't aware one could actually combine in one expression. He opens a drawer and pulls out an envelope, dropping it on the counter before me.
“Well earned,” he says.
“It was a pleasure,” I say, picking up the envelope full of money and flashing him a smile. “Really. An absolute pleasure. Believe me about that.”
Zach snorts and gives me a derisive look, knowing that I conquered something he'll never be able to get a sniff of, let alone a taste of. I slip the envelope into my pocket and laugh as I walk out of the clubhouse and head for my room in the main house.
It's been a good night.