Page 180 of Beyond the Temptation: Vol 2

REVVING REMI

BY WINTER PAIGE

CHAPTER ONE

GARRET

“Garret!” The door to my room flies open and hits the wall behind it with a loud bang. “Rise and shine, fucker. Time for work.”

“Ugh, just shut up and get out,” I grunt, blindly chucking my phone at Adlar.

“Yes, out. That’s where I want you to go – out of my fucking house so that my wife stops acting like an insecure virgin afraid of getting caught and back to my dirty slut who begged me to bend her over the kitchen table and fuck her ass until she screams like God intended.”

“Then fuck your wife at the table, asshole,” I groan, kicking off my blankets, and sit up, dropping my feet to the floor. I lift my arms over my head, twisting and stretching, trying to work the lingering stiffness of a nine-hour drive from my sore muscles. “It’s not like I want to be crashing in your spare room. I would much rather be back at the fucking garage, up to my eyes in work and pussy.”

“Lord knows we love having your pleasant ass here too, little brother.” He snorts and lifts the top of my duffle, rummaging around in the contents before huffing and storming from the room. “Shower, I’ll be back shortly with something for you to wear that doesn’t look and smell like regret and misdemeanors.”

“God forbid,” I murmur, dragging myself from their lumpy-ass fold-out bed into the bathroom and, rolling my head left and then right, flinching when a loud pop echoes in my ears. Fuck that drive. Nah, fuck Leiv. The asshole closed up shop and climbed inside some girl’s pussy, never to be heard from again. The least he could have done was let me run the garage while he slowly suffocated to death between her thighs. I’ll be damned if I ever let a set of tits with a loud mouth have that much sway over my life.

I turn on the shower and let the warm water beat against my skin as I let out a long, slow breath, trying to center my god-damn chi or aura or what-the-fuck-ever that crunchy granola bitch I used to bang would rattle on about in between sucking my cock and shutting the fuck up. I can’t believe I’m about to head in for my first day as a fucking instructor at the same school I attended before blowing out of this hellhole years ago. The very one that my brother now runs. How is this my fucking life? Okay, zen. Gotta find it. What did that chick used to say? Focus on what brings me peace? Inhale. Giant fucking tits. Exhale. A wet cunt to sink my cock into. Inhale again. Extra tits. Exhale again… This just isn’t working. My Zen is nowhere to be found, and I am fresh out of fucks to find. I could use some real fucking pussy right about now. I don’t know what the hell Adlar was going on about earlier because his wife isn’t hiding shit from anybody. I have heard them boring-banging at least twice a day since I got here.

I grip my cock, dragging my palm up and down the hard shaft, and close my eyes, remembering the way her tits practically spilled over the top of her shirt at the dinner table last night. Not sure who she was trying to tempt – me or Adlar – but he is the only one who benefitted from the little display. I lean forward, slamming my free hand against the wall, and pump my fist faster up and down my cock, imagining her down on her knees at my feet, mouth wide open and tongue hanging out, begging for my cum as her expensive mascara streams down her face and onto her bare chest from the water raining down on us. My balls tighten, and a deep groan rumbles in my chest as I picture my cum accidentally missing her mouth when I find my release; it strings warm across her face, and the look of shock in her eyes at my obvious betrayal makes me laugh. I picture my hand erasing any evidence of what we’ve done when I reach out and rub it into the skin of her burning cheeks. Dirty girl.

“Hurry the hell up in there,” Adlar shouts, pounding on the bathroom door, and my eyes pop open, launching me back into my shitty reality.

“I hate this place all over again,” I grumble to myself, grabbing the nozzle from the wall and quickly washing my load from the shower floor and down the drain. “Leave the clothes on my bed, and just go. I’ll be out in a minute,” I holler, putting the shower head back into its place. I quickly grab the 3-in-1 wash from the tub ledge, squeeze a generous amount of the liquid blue soap onto my palm, and lather up my hair. I need to get laid before I do something really stupid – like actually fuck around with my brother’s wife.

Turning to stand under the spray, I let the water beat against my scalp, rinsing away any remaining soap while I squirt some more onto a fancy puff my sister-in-law just swore would change my life. Sure did, cuntcakes… This fluffy pink bastard looks deceivingly sweet, but as it turns out, Adlar’s wife is a closet sadist, and she has clearly sent this hateful ball of passive-aggressive fluff to punish me for daring to step one tainted boot onto her white carpeted Stepford wife delusion with my brother. I cringe, carefully washing my package as the spiteful pink plastic drags against my skin. No sane person would deem this thing a safe alternative for a normal washcloth. It’s scratchy as fuck against my balls, but I can attest that it has, in fact, completely changed the way I think about women and showers – I no longer trust either in this house.

I drop the fucker to the shower floor and finish rinsing the soap from my body before kicking off the water. Yanking my towel from the outer bar of their hoity-toity, curved double curtain rod, I wrap the million-thread-count bath towel around my waist and step out of the shower – all of me except for my right fucking foot. Holy shit, I’m stuck. Lame. My life flashes before my eyes… I. Have. Regrets.

I try to bend over and yank the rope off of my big toe, but halfway there, it’s obvious that bendability isn’t one of the flexes I actually possess. Shit. So, shake it off? I kick out, trusting my free leg to step up and have my back in this, but I should have known better. Given the opportunity, even I screw me over, so of course, that asshole immediately slides in the opposite direction on the damp tile. I panic, reaching out for stability, finding fuck-all for help, and clumsily windmill my way into three stumble-slipped, tottering hops that gift Satan’s sponge enough spinning momentum to successfully tourniquet my second favorite big toe. This isn’t good. Doesn’t look good. Doesn’t feel good. Not good. Cool, now I’m twitching like a pissed-off cat who stepped on tape, barreling bare-assed into a humiliating loss. This cord is out for blood, and Adlar’s guest bath was not built for battles. If I end up on the news for this, I swear to – I go down hard, submitting with a thud on the bathroom floor in their extra fancy, living-their-best-lives-in-the-damn-suburbs, gated-community house where we’re all too good to just use an old towel as a bathmat. I roll over and look down so I can glare daggers of hate at my attacker – just like a fucking woman – that damn puff had to get one more jab in to cement my shitty day before I’ve even left for work.

“What did I ever do to you!” I shout, yanking the damn thing off my foot and slamming it into the small trashcan in the corner as if I can somehow inflict pain on it in return while the bathroom door squeaks open. “Get out!”

“Problems?” Adlar smirks through the small crack.

“Fuck your wife, man.” I hiss, gripping the ledge of the sink and pulling myself back up.

“That’s the plan.” He shrugs with a smirk, stepping aside and motioning for me to follow him into the room. “But don’t blame her because you don’t know how to shower without hurting yourself. Why are you so mad at your sponge? Did it hurt your feelings? Has it touched you in your no-no place?” He whispers loudly with a gasp, and I flip him a middle finger while pulling on a pair of boxer briefs.

“Anyway –” He nods to the clothes he’s lain out on the bed. “You can borrow some of my things until you get your first check.”

“I have jeans, Adlar.” I lift his boot-cut, American Ostridge bullshits from the mattress and raise a single brow. “You do realize that there is no borrowing in this situation, right? I’m teaching classes on auto body work, vehicle maintenance, and engine repair; these will be ruined before lunch. I can just wear my coveralls from the –”

“No.” He holds up a hand, stopping me, and I resist the urge to break off a couple of his fingers and jam them down his throat.

“Why?” I snap. I know I need to chill the fuck out. He’s doing me a favor by letting me teach at his school. I’m an employer's nightmare and an enormous HR risk, and we both know it, so I take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose before speaking again. “I don’t see any reason why I should ruin your stuff when everything I own was quite literally made for this job.”

“It’s all about appearances, Garret.” He sighs and drops to the bed. “When you tore out of here a few years ago, you acted – well, you –”

“Burned every bridge in sight and told the entire state to suck my cock?” I chuckle, sitting down beside him.

“Yeah. That.” He passes me the jeans and button-up. “Look the part of a man who has changed even if you haven’t, Garret. Get back on your feet so you can get the fuck out again if that’s what you really want to do, but –” He pats me once on the shoulder. “I worked hard to build what I have here with Summer. I know this isn’t what you want for your life, and I get that, but can you at least respect the fact that I’m going out on a limb here? I’m risking it all to pull my brother out of a hole. I know you don’t mind the dark, Garret, but I have no interest in trudging through another stygian hell with you unless I have to.”

“Fancy speech, brother.” I clear my throat, giving his words a moment to sink in. Fuck, I’m the asshole here. “Fine. I’ll wear your pussy-ass clothes. Now, go brew some of that high-dollar coffee that tastes exactly like shitty-ass cheap coffee while I get dressed. I’m going to need a gallon since you won’t let me add liquor.”

“It’s policy. And the law, Garret.” He actually looks shocked this time.

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