Bree is the golden rose of the Longstreet clan – my family's most hated rival.
The blood feud between the Longstreets and the Sheridans goes back to the Civil War and is one of the most violent, bloody, and notorious in the entire South. Our ancestors had started a company making and selling Folson Forge Bourbon. Something happened way back when, and old man Longstreet ended up dead, and old man Sheridan – my ancestor – ended up building a fortune off the recipe.
My family is absolutely loaded because of Folson Forge Bourbon. And the Longstreets – although they've built their own empire of hardware stores that have made them the second wealthiest family in town – have never forgiven us Sheridans for that past transgression.
Truth be told, we don't know what the transgression actually was, or even how old man Longstreet ended up dead. All we do know is that the Longstreets blame us and have despised our family ever since. In return, we hate them back and do whatever we can to thumb our noses at them whenever possible.
Petty. Childish. Immature. Yeah, probably. But, fuck it. You can't have a real Southern town without a good blood feud between families.
Which is how and why I ended up fucking Bree tonight.
“Did you get it, Milo?” Quentin calls out.
I look up from my bottle, half expecting to see him standing in front of me, but I can still hear him banging Cassidy from behind in the other room. I can hear an eagerness in his voice that has nothing to do with being balls-deep in the girl in front of him.
“Yeah, did you actually do it?” Zach calls as a thick plume of pot smoke pours out of the doorway. “Or did you pussy out?”
“Of course, I did it,” I say. “I told you I would, didn't I?”
“Shit,” Dalton calls as he smacks Monica's ass, drawing a yelp from her as she rides him. “I owe you guys twenty bucks.”
“You bet against me?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Sorry.”
“Unbelievable.”
I walk over and open a window, trying to bring in some fresh air to clear the haze of smoke out of the guesthouse. It's as thick as the sound of moaning coming from the women in the house. This guesthouse – one of several, but the largest – on the rear grounds of our family's estate serves as our clubhouse. Our father – whom we refer to as the old man – is a firm believer in the “boys will be boys” philosophy of life and raising kids.
And to that end, the guesthouse is where we go to be boys.
It's actually a longstanding tradition in the Sheridan clan. The walls of this guest house – though it's been added on to and renovated over the years – have seen debauchery and depravity of every flavor and stripe over the decades.
The only rule is that nobody under the age of eighteen is allowed through the front door. No exceptions. The old man said the last thing he needs is an underage sex scandal on his hands. So, it's a rule we strictly enforce – much to poor Timothy's chagrin. After seeing Quentin, who just turned eighteen a week ago, take his place in the club, Timothy is anxious to be one of the Sheridan men. But, he's only fifteen and has a few years to wait.
“Not that I don't trust you, but you do have proof that you did the deed, right?” Zachary says, finally finishing his thought.
“What deed?” Monica asks.
“None of your business,” I say. “It's Sheridan family business.”
At first, it was strange, being in the same vicinity as my brothers while we were all having sex. Eventually though, it started happening more often, the weirdness began to fade. No more remarkable than walking in on them in eating breakfast in the kitchen.
I take another drink of my beer and look down at my phone. The proof I have to win the bet is on it, but I'm suddenly feeling hesitant to share it. I can't explain it, but there's something about Bree Longstreet that clicked with me.
Yeah, it was just sex, but I feel like we had some kind of a connection. She's every bit as gorgeous as everybody says she is. She could easily be a beauty queen if she wants to. Maybe it's something as simple as physical attraction and lust. She definitely has that whole ‘good girl’ appeal – one that's only magnified by how downright filthy she can be. It's something that resonates with me. Maybe that’s all there is to it.
I have no idea what it is, but there seems to be something deeper about her, more substantial. She's far more than just her physical beauty. I can't say what it is exactly, but I know that down to my bones. There's a spark, a fire inside of her, that I find compelling. It sounds crazy, given the fact that we barely spent any time talking, but there is something about Bree that I like.
Of course, given the fact that she's a Longstreet and I'm a Sheridan, it's not something that I'll ever have the opportunity to explore with her.
She's obviously not the angel of purity and virtue people think she is, as she told me – and as I found out for myself. But, she isn't anything like the girls currently fucking my brothers, either. She's beloved in Folson Forge and is very well-thought-of by almost everyone in town. Nobody has an unkind word to say about her. And for good reason. I don't know her well at all, but from everything I do know, she's a good person that deserves that saintly reputation.
Unlike the gold diggers we use for pleasure, Bree is the marrying kind of girl. And I suddenly fear that if we follow through with our plan and release this video, her reputation is going to take a major hit.
Not that I should care. The Longstreets are scum. Vermin. We cherish every opportunity to tarnish their name and bring them down. At least, that's how I feel about the men in their clan – men like Bree's brother, Clyde. He's an asshole. A self-righteous prick with a bloated ego. And I enjoy embarrassing him like I enjoy few other things.
Back in high school, it was always on the football field. We played for rival teams and I delighted in always leading my team to a win over his. In always being considered the better athlete – and the better college prospect. I got offers from a ton of the major players in college football. He got a few.
It's always a great feeling to come out on top of the Longstreets – I just don't know if this is the way to do that. I don't know if I'm willing to ruin this girl's reputation, just so my brothers and I can be assholes and embarrass her family.
Dalton and Q grunt and groan out loud at virtually the same time in separate rooms as they shoot their loads deep into their respective girl. I only hope they were smart enough to strap on a rubber. Knocking up one of these girls is the quickest way to destroy their lives. That's a burden they'll carry with them forever.
I can hear Q pushing Cassidy off his lap as he steps away from her, pulling his pants back on. Zachary is still in his room, and is probably too high to leave right away.
I clap my hands loudly. “Time to go, girls,” I call. “We have things to do here.”
Cassidy and Monica both give me the finger in unison, so I blow them a kiss. Neither one is exactly thrilled with me for kicking them to the curb when I was done with them, but whatever. Not my problem. I made no promises to either of them. I don't believe in leading people on and hadn't done that to either of them.
Alyssa is buttoning up her blouse as she walks over to me, a playful little smile on her lips. She was no happier with me than Cassidy and Monica when I cut her loose, but she's pragmatic enough to understand the score. She hopes for better by banging my brothers, hopes that one of them will somehow fall madly in love with her, and want to make her their own. But, I have to think that somewhere deep down, she knows that she – and the girls like her – are merely playthings.