Page 59 of Gilded Gods

The girls were into it.

He handed me the blonde with big tits like she was a piece of cake. But I couldn’t bring myself to do more than stare at them. The blonde was disappointed, but Atlas fucked her good, helping her to forget about me. And after I came, I left his bedroom, feeling disgusted.

Like I do now.

Fisting my shaft, I give myself a few strokes and lick my lips. I can’t see much more than Ophelia’s tits and those big, brown eyes that keep searching for me.

I want to go over there.

But that’s out of character.

I usually watch from a corner.

“Ares.” Ophelia wets her lips with her tongue and moans. “Oh, God.” Her eyes snap shut from being impaled by my brother’s big cock. Her head drops to his shoulder, and she turns her head to the side, eyes open. “Apollo, come here.”

I don’t move toward her but stop touching myself and consider her request. Ares knows I’m going to stay where I am. He knows what happened four years ago and why I can’t let her touch me.

His fingers slip through her hair, and as he looks at me, he brings her mouth to his to distract her. They kiss and fuck, moaning and panting as they move together as a team.

“You’re such a good girl,” Ares says once their lips separate. “Come for me, little dragon.” He turns her head to the side and licks her neck. “Come for Apollo.”

Heat glides over my skin as I jerk my cock harder, matching each of Ares’s thrusts into her pussy. My brother shatters her world, stealing one orgasm after another, tearing screams of pure pleasure from her lips.

I nut in my hand seconds before Ares comes inside Ophelia. She whimpers from the orgasm before collapsing on Ares, struggling to catch her breath.

“Ares,” she whispers.

He’s equally spent and clutches her against his chest, stroking his fingers down her arm. “You fuck like a rock star, little dragon.” He kisses her lips. “Not that I would expect anything less than perfection from you.”

He’s really into her. I’ve never seen Ares show this much interest in a woman.

I tuck my cock back into my pants, needing to escape them.

It’s like this every time.

The shame.

The anxiety.

I wipe the cum from my hand on a towel and open the door.

“Apollo, where are you going?” Ophelia asks.

I can’t talk to her.

I can’t look at her.

“It’s his thing, baby,” Ares tells her. “Just let him go.”

My brothers have no problem indulging my obsession. Some nights, we stop by a bar on our way home from Akropolis, and I choose the girls. So far, none of them have complained.

Once, a woman asked, “Is he just going to stand there and watch?”

She wanted me to join.

But I refused.

I leave the bathroom, and Atlas steps into the hallway as I’m about to turn. He grabs my shoulder before we collide. The leather sketchbook our father gave him tumbles to the ground, flipping open to a new drawing of Ophelia.

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