Page 50 of Tempted to Rebel

Slowly, I unbutton my pants and mimic my brother’s movements, dropping them below my hips. Celia reaches inside my boxers and pulls my cock out, squeezing it gently. She might be stroking Rebel’s dick, but she’s staring at mine. Her lips part and she scoots closer, like she wants a taste.

A bead of precum slips free as I imagine what that would feel like, having her soft tongue pressed to the sensitive underside.

She spreads my precum with the pad of her thumb, then begins stroking in earnest. Pleasure zings up my spine, and for the first time in my life, I think I understand the appeal of jerking off. As she tugs the skin over the tip and maintains a steady amount of pressure, more precum leaks out onto her palm. Taking a shaky breath, I lower myself to my forearm and thrust my hips in time with her movements, the cool metal of the car spreading goosebumps down my thighs.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Rebel rasps, trembling beside me. “I want your mouth—fuck, no, your pussy. I want your pussy, baby,pleasemilk my cock.” She nods breathlessly, and that’s all the permission he needs to drag her jeans down her thighs and thrust harshly between them, grunting as he slots himself inside. Her hot pink panties turn deep magenta as Rebel thrusts in and out of her heat, staining the fabric with their need for each other.

But it’s not her pussy I’m enthralled with—it’s her mouth and all the pretty cries spilling past her lips. She grips my cock hard as my brother rocks into her. Each time their bodies meet, she tugs my shaft and pants in my ear, her moans growing louder by the second. I know that it’s my brother that’s pleasuring her, but it sounds like she’s moaning for me, and that’s all it takes for me to slip over the edge.

I come without warning, gasping as it ricochets through my body like a gunshot. My legs quake as ropes of cum spill into Celia’s hand, too much for her to hold, and spill all over the hood of her new sports car.

She doesn’t seem to care about the mess as she throws her head back and cries out in bliss. The sound goes straight to my loins, and another wave of pleasure crashes over me. Gritting my teeth, I hiss as my cock spills once more, flooding Celia’s palm, smearing my seed all over her fingers and wrist.

Rebel comes next, slamming his hips into hers and groaning as he pumps her full of cum. He cups her face in his hand and turns her towards him, capturing her lips in a sloppy kiss. I wonder what that’s like, too—looking her in the eyes and filling her up, leaving a piece of yourself so deep that it can’t be removed.

I’ve already fingered my blood inside of her pussy, satiating a need to claim her like my brothers do.

But maybe I can dothis, too.

The way she threads her hand in Rebel’s sweaty hair and pulls him into an embrace sends a twinge of jealousy through my veins. But then she smiles—a radiant show of warmthand affection—directly at me, and the jealousy snaps out of existence.

I may not fuck her like my brothers do, but that smile—that smile is just for me.

Chapter 19

Celia

There’sa certain kind of power that’s addicting. I used to think that having social status, being the name on everyone’s lips, and having the power to influence others’ opinions was the height of my existence. Hosting dinner parties, attending lavish private events, and catering to my ex-husband’s every whim were my arena, and I was at the top of my game.

Butthis—this is another level of satisfaction that I never knew existed.

I whip around a sharp corner with a shriek of pure joy, the tires hugging the road in a perfect balance of control and power. We zip down the road faster than anything I’ve ever experienced before, the wind roaring in our ears as I punch the gas. Rebel pumps his fist against the roof of the car with awhoop, holding onto the two front seats to keep himself steady. I insisted that he wore a seatbelt, but the man wouldn’t be deterred. If he isn’t in the front seat with me, he’ll still get as close as possible—which, for now, means hugging the middle console. Most sports cars only have two seats, but somehow Rebel found a four-seaterandhad it delivered in record time.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect he wants to have an orgy in the backseat.

Laughing at the mental image of the gymnastics required for that feat, I can’t believe any of this is real.I just jerked off two men!At once! Past Celia would have been mortified, but the new me wonders what’s next. The Eiffel Tower, isn’t that a sex position with the woman framed between two men? Could we try that?

After seeing both Rebel and Ruin drop their pants beside each other, I’m willing to bet that they’re open to more than they ever imagined, too.

The thrill of endless possibilities is a high of its own, but that thrill being partnered with Rebel’s glowing grin in the rearview mirror and the peaceful tap of Ruin’s fingertips on the dashboard heightens the feeling. Today feels like a perfect day, and I don’t want to waste a single second of it.

“Oh, Than wanted us to stop by your house.” Rebel points to a street a few lights down the road. “Take a right, and we should hit North Side again. Then we can cut across the river and be there in no time.”

“What for?” I follow the directions, eager to head home no matter the reason. Despite how nice it’s been sleeping in Rebel’s bed, I miss my own. Maybe I can convince the boys to let me stay the night at home—and if they agree to join me, they might actually say yes.

Rage won’t like it, but Rage isn’t here to tell me no.

“Supplies pick up,” is Rebel’s reply. “He dropped off a package for us.”

“At my house?”

He nods. “At your house.”

As we drive over the largest bridge in the city, the river sparkles like a bed of diamonds. I glance down the waterway to the ocean glittering in the distance, marveling at how beautiful the city is. Waterfront on one side, mountains on the other, with a sprawling metropolis in between. Harlin Heights reallyis beautiful—it’s the perfect place to raise a family. I’ve always believed that a robust childhood filled with beachy weekends and movie nights and camping under the stars would enrich my future children’s lives in a way that mine was lacking.

I won’t enroll my children in finishing school or force them into ballet if they don’t want to point their toes or wear tutus. We’ll go camping or fishing or hunting—assuming their father knows how to do those things—and spend hours at the park on the swings, or attend the annual fair in the fall to pet the cows and ride the ferris wheel.

We’ll ensure that our children have a better childhood than we did.

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