Saturday night Miles passed out on the couch with the game still on.
I went downstairs with a basket of towels that didn’t need washing. The guest room light was off. Julian was already there. He shut the door this time, put me on my knees on the old carpet, and used my throat until I gagged and spit ran onto my t**s. Then he bent me over the plaid, shoved into my cunt, and f****d me in the same quiet rhythm as the night before — deep, mean, one hand over my mouth whenever my voice tried to get out.
He came in me, pulled out, pushed into my ass, and finished a second time in that hole while the ceiling creaked with my brother’s dead weight.
Sunday morning Miles hugged me at the door.
“Be good,” he said. “Don’t let Crowe work you too hard. I know his classes are brutal.”
Julian was on
