Page 90 of Full Split
His fingers on me are expected. As are his fingersinme. But then there’s something else.
“Niles, we really shouldn’t—” There’s pressure, but it’s definitely not the same as his cock. Although even thinking about it makes me all tingly in the right places, he doesn’t need to be exerting himself that much. Mostly because we’ve learned I have no self-control and will actually go into beast mode if provoked.
My nostrils flare. “What exactly are you putting in my ass?”
I feel like I should know.
“Just a little plug, Daddy.”
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
I groan, forehead resting against the tiles. He is doing this shit on purpose to get my blood pressure up. I know he is. He enjoys taunting me.
“You’re evil.”
“You’re hard.”
I grit my teeth. He presses gently against the bulb he’s pushed inside me, and I shudder. He fucks it in and out of my ass until I want to beg for him to fuck me.
“Behave. Until tonight,” he says, and kisses my shoulder.
I groan again, but end up laughing. That brat.
We’re both grinning like idiots when we leave the room. So much so that Weston glares at us the whole elevator ride down.
“You guys are gross,” he mutters.
“Agreed,” Niles says cheerfully. He’s glowing.
We get to the arena, with Niles walking between Weston and me like usual. Everything seems normal on the outside, but the atmosphere is different. Niles stops, and I know he feels it too.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“No idea,” Weston says, but his voice and body language are tight.
I glance around. People are watching and whispering, but there’s a blanket of hushed awkwardness over everything. The fans outside are more subdued, and the usual event chatter as we enter the building is strained. We don’t even get the typically friendly banter from the security guards.
Something is very wrong. I don’t like it.
I don’t want to separate from them, but I have no choice. Niles and Weston peel off towards warmups while I head into the stands. Mik is there, waiting, his expression grim.
“Okay, what’s going on?” I say as I drop into the seat beside him. “What did I miss?”
Mik hesitates, then he pulls out his phone. “Have you checked social media today? News?”
“No. We’ve been avoiding it since competition season started and the press started hounding Niles. Why?”
“You might want to see this.”
He hands me the phone. A tabloid headline shows Niles’ name in bold, but I can’t process it at first.
‘Multiple Anonymous Victims Come Forward: Olympic Hopeful’s Sex Scandal.’
I read the first few lines, and my stomach sinks to the floor. I’m going to be sick.
Unnamed sources… Claims of wild sex parties… Hookup apps.
