Gluttony, page 9
I blink rapidly, sending more tears leaking down my cheeks. His breath is hot as he leans in and presses his lips to the wetness. My eyes close, and I let out a ragged sound when his tongue drags along my cheek, licking up my tears. He licks me again, and fire burns through me. What is he doing? What am I letting him do? Once he’s done with one cheek, he kisses a trail along my face, barely brushing over my lips, to the other side. He licks me once more, causing me to groan. His lips kiss their way to my ear before sliding down the side of my neck. He suckles my tender flesh, and I whimper. My fingers fist the front of his T-shirt.
Pulling. Pulling. Pulling.
I want him closer to me.
His teeth make an appearance, nipping at my neck. My nipples harden under my shirt and my panties grow wet. This is insane. He sucks me harder, and I cry out. His arm wraps around my lower back as he lifts me up. The other hand grabs a handful of my ass, holding me securely to him. All the while, he kisses my neck in a reverent, needy way.
I’m dizzy and lost.
Confused as to why I’m enjoying this with him.
I hate him, I hate him, I hate hi—
“Oh, God,” I moan as he carries us from the bathroom.
He’s gentle, but he brings us both down on the bed with me beneath him. His kissing lowers from my neck to my collarbone. Then, he starts nipping my flesh through my shirt toward one of my breasts. I can’t think. This is madness. When his teeth find my nipple, my back arches off the bed.
I’m aching.
Aching for his touch and his tenderness.
“God,” I whimper, my fingers desperately clutching his hair. “Stop.”
As if doused with water, he pulls his face from my breast, his fiery gaze incinerating me. Brown eyes burn with liquid lust as he stares at me.
“What’s wrong? Am I hurting you? Do you need your medicine?” he asks huskily.
I’m transfixed on his perfect, swollen lips. Lips that were ravishing me moments before.
“I…uh,” I breathe. “I can’t do this with you.”
“Why not?” he asks, confusion in his eyes. I don’t think God has ever been told no.
“Because I hate you,” I tell him, the usual bitterness lacking.
My words wound him. He winces. I feel like a jerk for saying them, but it’s true. He needs to know I’ll never do whatever was about to happen. Not with him. Not ever.
“You should go,” I tell him in a soft whisper.
He shakes his head. “I ordered food for you. I’m going to take care of you.”
“You can’t stay here. You have to leave.” I glower at him.
We’re still pressed together, our bodies hot and burning with need.
“I’m not leaving, Z. I’m going to give you everything you need and more. I can’t stop. I won’t stop. I want to make up for what I did and then some. You deserve more.”
“You don’t even know me,” I challenge.
“I’ve spent nearly two months watching you sleep. Nearly two months reliving that accident. Nearly two months planning how I was going to fix it all for you.”
He pulls away and stands beside the bed. My eyes can’t help but notice the rather large hard-on in his jeans. Heat floods through me, and I quickly close my legs when he smirks.
“Are we having breakfast in bed?” he asks, wickedness gleaming in his brown eyes.
My stomach growls. “The kitchen will do just fine,” I tell him primly.
“I can eat in the kitchen,” he says, a crooked grin on his face. He licks his lips, darting his gaze down my body, then quirks a brow. “I could eat anywhere.”
I don’t think we’re talking about food.
I hate this guy.
Too bad my body doesn’t agree.
God
I’m absently checking my texts as I inhale my food. Blueberry pancakes, omelets, biscuits and gravy, bacon, sausage, donuts. I ordered from three different restaurants in case they were shitty. I felt like at least one of them would turn out okay. Turns out, they’re all good. I pack away food in a way that would make my dad proud. The moment I have that thought, my stomach sours.
I set my phone down and look at all the empty cartons. My stomach aches and embarrassment burns through me. Zemira watches me with wide eyes, the food on her plate barely touched. My phone buzzes, and I ignore the grumble to check my text.
Rhett: Does my butt look big?
He’s attached a picture with his girl Chastity, who’s asleep with her head on his ass, drooling. Her curly blonde hair is everywhere. He’d turned to the side slightly to take the picture, and I stare at his cut-as-fuck torso. People say we look alike and are built similarly, but I know better. They didn’t call Rhett Romeo back in high school for no reason. He was good looking and had an athletic body to go with it. I, on the other hand, was always three cheeseburgers away from looking like my dad.
Me: Been bleaching your asshole again?
After I reply, I stare down at my bloated stomach. My stomach rumbles, and I bolt from the table. I storm into Z’s only bathroom and drop to my knees. In my finger goes, and I purge out the offending shit in my stomach. For nearly two months, I ate little, and when I’d go home for a change of clothes each day, I’d work my ass off in my gym before showering. I looked leaner and more defined than I ever had in my life, only to ruin it the first day of normalcy. My stomach clenches and recoils, sending more rich food into the toilet. It isn’t until I’ve emptied my stomach that I start to feel better. That’s how it always is. Eat, puke my guts up, and feel normal again. I flush the toilet and rise to my feet. I’m just rinsing out my mouth when I catch Zemira staring at me in the mirror from the doorway.
“Are you sick?” she asks, her brows knitted together.
“No.”
“Then what was all that about?”
I stiffen and wipe my face with a hand towel before turning to face her. The room still reeks of fucking puke. No one has ever asked me about it before. Not my mother on occasion when she’s witnessed it. Not Wendy when she’s had to help clean me up. Not even my best friend Rhett. They overlook it. Why the fuck isn’t she overlooking it?
“What was what about?” I toss back, my hackles rising.
She purses her lips and shakes her head. “You just ate like ten cartons of food in a handful of minutes only to burst from the table and throw it all up. That’s not normal, God.”
I love when she says my name. Like it’s a wicked curse word.
“I don’t fucking know,” I snap back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why do you care?”
Her nostrils flare. “Same reason you care about my wellbeing.”
I cock my head to the side to regard her. “Is that so?”
She shrugs, which turns out being a half shrug since she’s leaning on her crutch. “Are you sick or…?”
I glower at her. “Or what?”
“Are you bulimic?”
Stunned at her words, I gape at her. Fury explodes in me as I step into her personal space, my chest bumping hers. “What the fuck, Z? Bulimic? I’m a fucking man for fuck’s sake. Only little girls with daddy issues have eating disorders.”
She reaches up and slaps me. “Don’t be such a douchebag.”
Reaching up, I rub the tender spot. The anger has bled from me quickly, leaving me hollow and disgusted with myself. “If you saw my dad, you would understand.” I gesture for her to move out of my way. “I have to leave. Your phone is charging. My number is saved if you need me.”
“I don’t have a phone,” she argues as she steps to the side, allowing me to exit.
“You do now. Keep it charged. I’ll call and check on you later.”
“Where are you going?” she demands.
I turn to stare at her. She’s so fucking tiny. And fierce. Only a girl like Zemira Coleman would get hit by a sports car and live another day. Not just live, but stand there looking sassy as fuck as she bitches me out for things she doesn’t understand.
“The grocery app on your phone is linked to my credit card. Order what you need and they’ll deliver it. Thurston’s number is on there as well. If you need anything, and I do mean anything, Thurston will have it to you in a matter of hours.” I shove my feet in my shoes and toss her a wave. “Later, Z.”
“Screw you, God.”
“Where’s your girl?” I slur, waving my hand in the air.
Rhett shakes his head. “Studying. I told her I was going to hang out with you for a bit.”
And by hang out, he means watch me get shitfaced while he stays sober. I lean forward, snort a line of coke, and close my eyes. The rush burns through me as I recall the night I had a little conversation with his girl. Normally, I am into blondes. Especially cute, sassy ones like Chastity. But that night, I wanted to go off on her—tell her she doesn’t deserve someone like Rhett if she’s ready to drop him at the first sign of trouble. I took the blame for shit I didn’t even do just to get her to back the fuck off my boy. She told me I was a disgusting asshole and she hopes one day Rhett will realize he can get better friends than me. I asked her if she kissed her daddy with that dirty mouth. The bitch slapped me for that comment.
I hear people talking and I wonder who else Rhett invited. Irritation itches inside me. It was supposed to be just the two of us hanging out like old times. I’d wanted to get fucked up, but I didn’t want to party. Rhett now knows I hit a girl in his mom’s car—something he thankfully forgave me for—but he doesn’t know the level of which I’m obsessed with said girl. When I open my eyes, I’m pissed to see my brothers walking in, checking out my apartment. Without music blasting and a hundred people milling about drunk as shit, it’s like they’re seeing it for the first time. Pride flits his gaze over my things, seemingly unimpressed, but I don’t miss the glimmer of envy in his motherfucking eyes.
“Hey, guys,” Rhett says, all too fucking cheerfully. “We were gonna hit God’s gym. His shit is better than any gym you guys have been to.”
Sloth saunters in and shakes his head. “I’m not doing shit.” He pulls out a blunt and lights it. “But I want to see it anyway.”
I rise to my unsteady feet. All day, I’ve drank and snorted coke. My heart feels like it’s going to burst from my chest. After my embarrassing morning with breakfast, I haven’t touched a single thing to eat.
“Wrath,” I say, pointing out my door. “Sloth, Lust…Pride.” I sneer Mason’s stupid sin name, but he doesn’t make any indication he’s annoyed. Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I try to clutch onto sanity. I’m looking for a fight, and Pride has been an easy target in the past to get angry with. I don’t hate the guy. He looks like he could take a punch but wouldn’t break my fucking neck like Wrath would. Rhett slaps Pride on the back, and we all file out of my apartment. The hostility in my veins evaporates as I realize Rhett likes having these brothers. Though I’d probably never admit it aloud, I do too. I walk them down the hall and we take the elevator to the gym floor only accessible by me. It’s gigantic and filled with every machine imaginable.
I’m vaguely curious as to why Greed isn’t here, but he’s been an absent motherfucker lately. And when he’s around, he’s definitely acting weird as hell. I guess we’re all dealing with some shit.
Rush—the complete opposite of his name, hence why Sloth is so damn fitting—saunters over to a bench and plops his happy ass down. He gives me a mock salute, and I can’t help but grin at him. I walk over to my pull up bar and set to doing as many pull ups as I can.
“He’s fucking intense,” Pride says about me. Then he laughs and points at Wrath. “Same with that crazy ass.”
“Told you he was a gym junkie,” my best friend replies. “And Wrath…well, he’s just Wrath.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Wrath going ballistic on the punching bag. As though the damn thing personally wronged him. With Sabella still missing and all the Envy shit, it’s understandable.
I ignore them all as I let the coke fuel me on. When I feel myself weakening, I jump off, ignoring the wave of dizziness. I toss back a Xenical tablet, swallowing it dry, then lie down on a bench to lift. My heart starts racing faster than any speed my cars have ever gotten up to. Wrapping my hands around the bar, I start lifting the weights. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. I’m trying to blank out my mind, but that bitch Lillian infects it anyway.
A black Mercedes sits in front of Zemira’s shitty apartment complex. Dread washes over me. The only person who could be here is the one I don’t want to fucking see.
Lillian Griffin.
I throw my Escalade into a parking spot and jump out, rage burning inside me. If she so much as touches a hair on Zemira’s head, I’ll make sure I do more than headbutt that wicked cunt. If I had it my way…I’d get rid of her completely.
My sudden, furious thoughts stun me, but I don’t stop. I stalk into the building and down the corridor. Lillian stands next to Zemira’s closed door, her hip leaned against the wall. To anybody passing by, they’d think she’s a sexy little vixen with nice tits and dick sucking lips. But I know better. She’s the motherfucking devil in a pair of Louboutins.
“Why are you here?” I demand as I stalk her way.
She straightens and flashes me a sinister smile. “Why are you here is the better question? Are you fucking the little vegetable who woke up?”
“Fuck you,” I sneer. “I’m just checking on her.”
“Awwww, so noble,” she taunts. “God works in mysterious ways.”
“Does my dad know your favorite activity is fucking with me?” I demand.
Her Achilles heel.
She loves the power, but my dad lords his over her. As long as all four hundred pounds of my father stands in her way, she’ll be nothing.
“Leave.”
“Of course,” she purrs, stepping closer so she can slide her palm up my chest.
I grab her wrist hard enough to make her yelp. “I won’t say it again, Lillian.”
When she realizes I won’t succumb to her whore tactics, she yanks her hand away and storms past me.
“You boys will learn your place,” she calls out over her shoulder. “The sooner you do, the sooner you’ll reap the rewards only I can offer.”
Ignoring her, I shoot off a text to my dad.
Me: Lillian is fucking stalking me.
Dad: I’ll deal with it.
The bar, heavy with weights, wobbles, jerking me from my thoughts. I close my eyes to drive away the lightheadedness. Someone grips the bar to steady it. Sloth. He gives me a slight nod, then helps me guide the bar back to its resting spot.
“Come on,” he says, pointing to the door that leads to the rooftop exit.
I follow him outside. Once on the roof, we stand in the pouring rain. It feels good and cools off my body almost immediately. I watch with amusement as he tries to light his blunt in the rain.
“Rhett says you’ve been with her,” he utters, blowing out a plume of smoke.
He passes me the blunt, and I take a hit. The calming smoke does wonders to chill me the fuck out.
“Zemira Coleman,” I say. “I just…” Bitterness roils in my stomach. I don’t fucking feel one-hundred percent comfortable with this brotherhood shit yet. Especially since it nearly got Z killed. Rhett’s not happy about what he had to do. Betraying Chastity wasn’t something he was eager to do either. Pride, Wrath, Envy. And Greed disappears on us all the time. Lillian probably has him by the goddamn balls too. Everyone’s had to do some fucked up shit. This whole Elite bullshit makes no sense. “I just want to make up for what I did.”
Rush nods his head. “Can you believe this shit has been going on for decades? No wonder this city is so fucking corrupt.”
A city my father rules with an iron fist.
“It’s lame. We don’t even need this shit.” I shrug. “Well, maybe that fucker Pride does. You think if I just buy him a new car he’ll go on his merry little way?”
Rush laughs. His golden hair is plastered to his forehead, making him look like a drowned rat. “I don’t think Pride goes away that easily. And you know you like him.”
Letting out a huff, I shrug. “I guess.”
He grows serious. “I heard there’s a book.”
I arch a brow at him. “A book about what a dick Mason is?”
“No, asshole. A book about The Elite. Tells all about the families, their sins, their tasks, and all kinds of shit.”
“Sounds boring,” I grumble. But I know it’s not. I’ve seen it. Rhett and I both have when we snuck into my dad’s office safe once. I’m not going to let Sloth know that, though. I don’t know what his fucking play is.
“I want to read it,” he says coolly.
“Why?”
“You never know when you might need that information.”
“If it’s secret,” I supply, “it feels like something we could use to our advantage over these dinosaurs running this shit.” The same dinosaurs who gave Pride my task of betraying my best friend by stealing his mom’s car, then running over the most beautiful girl in the world. “And where do you think this book is?” I ask, suddenly eager to read it myself. With new eyes. Back then, Rhett and I didn’t know what the hell we were looking at.
“I’ll text you the location where I heard it was at,” he says, taking another hit of his weed.
“Why not go get it yourself? Do I fucking look like an errand boy?” I demand.
He snorts with laughter. “It’s here,” he says, holding up his phone. “If we could have gotten it ourselves, we would have.”
Who the fuck is we?
“This is all up to you, though, God.”
When I see the address, I confirm it’s where my parents live. The same damn book. Probably thicker and juicier than before.
“I’ll get the damn book,” I growl, no longer caring if I’m considered the errand boy. “Question is, what are you going to do with it once you get it?”
“For now, we just want to read it.”
Zemira
I wake to banging. A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s three in the morning. Slipping out of bed, I grab my crutch and hobble from my room to the front door.
