Plowed

Chapter One

"SIX MONTHS. TWO WORDS THAT had chilled Daxton to the core from the second they were uttered. Certainly not ones that could make his near-flaccid cock any harder, despite the pair of collagen-infused lips clamped with determination - sucking, pulling and tugging to no avail. He clenched the arms of the plush leather recliner, as his eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to force images of his family's tear-streaked faces far from his mind when they'd received the prognosis.

Jase had only been eighteen. Eighteen! What kind of God gives a kid an inoperable brain tumor and allows it to ravage his body, decimating his once-muscular frame down to nothing more than ashen skin and brittle bones? Brain Cancer. A fucking death sentence. The pain of such a loss ran deep into the crevices of Daxton's fractured soul. A world without Jase had been inconceivable. The guy always lit up a room with his mega-watt smile and equally charged personality. Nothing was ever doomed; there was always a silver lining. Glass half full and all that crap. He'd been a glittering diamond in a world of coal.

But despite all the positivity Jase could muster, reality bore its ugly-ass head, claiming his young and formerly vibrant life. Daxton's baby brother and best friend was gone, forever. Days turned into months and shit never got easier, no matter what people said. There were three means of escape – booze, sex, and music – but they were temporary. And when the buzz wore off, grief always prevailed.

"Come on, Daxy. Why can't you get hard?" The whining voice grated on his nerves, blunted as they were from the excess of whiskey. "I wanna make you come. Tell me what to do so I can get you off." Why couldn't she just shut the hell up? And when would the toxic thoughts streaming through his foggy mind finally stop?

"Show time was in two hours and here he was, hung over from day-drinking, and getting sucked off by some bleached blonde backup singer named...Brandi? Brianne? Bambi? What the hell ever. Typical behavior for an insensitive asshole with the emotional stability of Jell-O. At least, that was the commonly held opinion of his father, legendary rock god Tyler Cole. Performing on the anniversary of Jase's death was nothing short of a mortal sin in his book. Not that Daxton had ever been able to make him happy or proud. Nope, that was all reserved for Jase.

Long, hot pink-lacquered nails trailed down his thighs, cupping his balls, kneading them with urgency. But his heart was too empty, and his mind was too full to cooperate with the valiant efforts.

He pushed her away. "Stop."

The blonde's eyes widened. Her mouth fell open, his cock slipping from her still-pursed lips. "What did you say?"

"I said, enough. Just get dressed and go."

"I thought you wanted to—"

"He raked a hand through his longish-dark hair. "I'm not into it anymore."

"You're a real asshole, you know that?" Blondie jumped to her feet, hands on her hips, clad only in a red lacy bra and matching thong. Her body was tight and her tits were huge, but his brain refused to provide him any bit of release.

"Yeah, that's one I've heard a few times before." He stood, zipping up his low-slung black jeans. More alcohol was a necessity. His pounding head did nothing to deter him from grabbing another highball glass and filling it with the amber-colored liquid.

"I wasted the past half hour on my knees, and you're still limp as a freaking spaghetti noodle. Not like you bothered to return the favor. So much for your reputation. Sex god, my fucking ass. You can't even get it up!" The girl shimmied back into her obscenely short pleather mini-dress and flipped him off. "Fuck you, Daxton Cole. You have no idea what you're missing."

"He blinked several times, his half-hooded eyes focused on her overly made up face. Her lips twisted into a nasty grimace, brown eyes so heavily lined she resembled a raccoon, a really skanky one at that. "I guess my cock's just not interested. He's obviously got better taste than I do."