Page 70 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers
My blood chills. It’s clear I’m not in the video, or rather, not much more than my hand, but still—I get the feeling it’s not going to be good when I hit play.
And I know I have to.
Because I have toknowwhat I did. I don’t remember sending that photo and I certainly don’t remember recording myself doing anything…
I know once I play the video, there’s no going back. My head is killing me, my heart in my throat. I need to know how Irespondedto Brett.
The man whose first words after cheating on me—days later—are asking if I’m apologizing tohim.
So I press play. I watch as the video shows nothing but my palm, the wall, and perhaps an odd angle of the ceiling. But there doesn’t need to be any video to display what’s obviously going on.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Because the sounds of my strangled, desperate need for release hit my ears like a shrieking raven.
I cover my mouth, dropping the phone as I pull my knees up to my chest. The sound echoes around me, a curse of my own making. I close my eyes as the tears come. Just as the sound of my release bellows around me. I shut the video off and push the phone aside as tears fall down my cheeks.
It was an accident. I didn’t mean to record that.
Just like I don’t think I meant to send that photo, but…
A part of me knows Idid.
Mean to send that photo.
I was feeling myself—feeling confident in how I looked, for once. And that confidence had translated to boldness and drunken impulsiveness, and wine-drunk me apparently thought it would be a good idea to sext my ex with a steamy photo of me looking like someone I don’t recognize.
I don’t want to keep looking at the thread, but I have to. Because I need to know what he said. I need to know how deep I’ve gotten myself this time.
So I pick up the phone with a shaky hand and look at Brett’s response.
Brett:Where are you?
There’s no answer from me, though there are several more texts from Brett asking where I am. Demanding I tell him where I am. If I’m at some guy’s house. After the thirdwe’ll talk about this later, I let out a choked sob.
And then I see Tommy’s text come through on the screen.
Tommy:We should grab coffee. Talk more.
My heart stops as I stare at his words, and my mind wanders to this morning. In his truck. How he just…listened.
Part of me wonders if I would call him now, if he would listen. Something tells me that he would, but the truth of the matter is I don’t even know how to startthatconversation. Though I can’t deny the idea is rather tempting. With everything’s that happened since Brett and I broke up, I feel like I’m living in a damn hurricane. Every spin and twist brings a new obstacle, or something happens that I don’t expect and could never anticipate.
Maybe I should just take him up on the offer. I could use a break from all this nonsense.
And something tells me that Tommy would tame the chaos spiral if I let him. If I gave him the chance.
Then I realize I have two other unread messages. One from Rush and one from Freddie.
I swipe to see Rush, his thread above Tommy’s. I’m not sure what I expect, but when I see my photo—the same one I sent Brett—staring back at me in the thread, I nearly scream. Not only did I send Brett the photo—and the video—but I’ve also sent it to Rush!
Panic laces me as I realize Rush not only saw this…he…
I scroll down to see the photo he sent back, and when I look I actually do yelp. Because there on the screen is most certainly Russell Sterling’sdick.
I nearly choke at the sight. AfterfeelingRush’s damn cock—which I’m more than certain happened as the bits and pieces come back to me—and thinking about it, seeing it is…
I blink, unable to look away. Not because it’s a masterpiece or anything, but because it’s just as sizable as I imagined it would be. And I can’t help the way my body responds—my heartbeat kicking up a notch, my pussy twitching at the sight.
