Page 3 of Butterfly

She raised an eyebrow. “Nice to meet you too, Jason,” she retorted, and as I walked away, I couldn’t help but smile at her attempt at a power play.

But my smile dropped off my face as I remembered that was the only time we’d ever be playing.

I grabbed Tiffanie by her arm and dragged her off with me without saying anything.

“Where have you been?” she asked in what I’d always thought was a sexy voice until now.

I had a growing fear I’d never think a single voice was sexy if it wasn’t high and clear and sounded like bells over water.

I didn’t bother to answer her. “I need you to suck my cock.”

“Of course, baby,” she said.

I dragged her into the pool house, ignoring the other guests, the sound of metal on glass as the toasts began. I ignored everything as Tiffanie got on her knees, unzipped my pants, and pulled my hard cock out.

“You were that excited thinking about me, weren’t you, baby?” she crooned, and I didn’t bother to correct her.

I wasn’t hard for her.

I was hard for a butterfly who would remain just outside of my grasp, unless I set fire to her wings.

As Tiffanie’s mouth worked my cock, I fisted her hair, trying to focus. Usually her blonde, carefully-constructed waves and huge tits did it for me, but not tonight. I didn’t want blonde curls and curves, I wanted straight black hair and a lithe, petite body. So I imagined Leslie in front of me instead, her dark hair falling around her shoulders as her pert mouth gave me pleasure. I imagined coming down her tight little throat, on her tiny, perky tits, or on her perfect, beautiful face.

Pleasure rushed through me at the thought, followed by anger.

Some people pinned butterflies to keep them close.

I was going to make this one fly far, far away.

After all, she was the most beautiful girl I’d seen in my entire life.

I wanted her more than I wanted anything.

And I hated her for it.

1

LESLIE

Ifucking hated the motherfucker.

You know that feeling? When hating someone fuels you with so much spite it makes you feel alive? That’s how I felt about my goddamned stepbrother.

Mason Calloway. Or “Ohmygod, Maaaaaace!” according to all the girls who sighed and giggled when he drove by them in his Tesla or hung out at his pool in tiny bikinis, hoping that he’d wife them up.

Spoiler alert, he never did. Even his girlfriend, Tiffanie, was only there to ride his dick.

I’d been excited to meet my new stepbrother at first, until he’d insulted me and my mother to my face—in front of my new stepdad. My mom had been through enough in life. After we learned that we were my father’s side family—and he left to go be with his real family without looking back—she swore off men. To me, it had felt like she also swore off happiness. So I was ecstatic that she’d finally found a man who treated her like she was the sun itself. No one mistreated her, especially not some silverspoon-fed, pompous asshole who happened to be so incredibly gorgeous it almost hurt to look at him.

Mason was tall, and built, and his muscles needed their own zip code. That night, the fairy lights around his father’s pool had lit his tan and sparkled in his blue eyes, so dark they were almost navy. Freckles scattered across his cheeks, making him almost pretty. Pale blond hair fell in waves over his eyes. He had the beauty of wealth, privilege, and never having to worry about anything in life.

Yeah, I hated him.

Even if there’d been a moment there, when his eyes were on mine and he’d licked his lips, when desire and an unfamiliar longing had shot through me.

And then he’d opened that gorgeous, cruel mouth and ruined it all.

I see you get your intelligence from your mother.

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