The Twins & Me: Summer Vacation

Who You Belong To

My blood runs cold. "I—I don't understand. This—this is your punishment—"

The corner of Ollie's mouth tilts and his eyes darken. "I think I've learned my lesson, Little Wren. But you've still got a lesson to learn."

"What's that?" I whisper. I'm vaguely aware of Arlo grabbing my discarded sundress, as if he knows what's about to happen.

"In case you forgot, you owe me a punishment. On top of that, no one's allowed to touch Baby Brother without my permission." His eyes flicker to Bastian. "And definitely no one's allowed to fucking taste you."

"I'm responsible," Bastian interjects, hand on my shoulder. "If you're going to blame anyone, take it out on me."

Ollie shakes his head, slow. "You're just a toy here, itty bitty Bassie. Wren made that very clear. Toys aren't responsible for their actions."

His talk of toys takes me back to another conversation, with Arlo, a long time ago; where I was the toy for Ollie and was assured that he wouldn't hold interest in me.

Now I just made Bassie into my toy. Will I lose interest? Or will he develop into something more, like I did?

Either way, Ollie's words are coming through—I took this too far. But didn't he say he wanted it to hurt? Guilt rips through me and I wish I could start this over. Though, the heat of Bastian's body behind me and his hand resting protectively on my shoulder makes me feel something completely the opposite.

Oliver drags his eyes back to me. "You understand what's going to happen when I catch you?"

When, not if.

Mouth dry, clit tender and throbbing, I nod.

So the countdown begins.

"Ten."

Arlo jerks my sundress over my head. "Run, Wren."

"Nine."

I don't bother with panties or shoes—I leap from the bed and fly across the room.

"Eight."

I yank the door open and run down the hall as fast as my shaking legs will carry me. Where do I go? Stay in the house? Try to hide? Or go outside? Oliver wouldn't dare taking me in the middle of the street, would he?

I nearly trip going down the steps, but manage to keep my balance. At the bottom of the stairs, I need to make a choice. The front door, or back door?

I can't hear Ollie's voice anymore but the countdown must be coming to a close because I hear footsteps upstairs.

Heart thundering, blood roaring, I run to the sliding back door. The beach. The dark. Maybe into the water?

Though, as I bound across the deck and jump off, into the sand, the inky ocean twinkles and the last thing I want to do is dive into it. I'd probably drown and that would really piss off Ollie. But the sand is harder closer to the waves and easier to run across, so I head for the water.

The wind rushes over me and lifts my dress up; I feel coolness all over my bottom half. It jolts me into longer strides.

When I risk a glance back, I see a large figure emerge from the house.

No, no, no.

Genuine fear runs through me, mingled with heart-racing anticipation. Ollie's in shape—really good shape—and I'm lucky if I can finish a mile under nine minutes. This is like an ant trying to outrun a cat. My only hope is that the loose sand slows him down long enough for me to get a good lead—but then what? Do I try to make it down the beach to the volleyball nets, hope that people are out late? Or even further down, to the steep rocks?