The Anti-hero (The Goode Brothers)

Checking the app becomes obsessive. Watching the number of views climb is like a hit of ecstasy, and soon, I’m an addict. Every like, comment, and share is a serotonin boost I didn’t know I needed.

These comments are a lot different than the Instagram posts from the night of the gala. Maybe because they’re filled with more praise than shame.

Jesus, this is hot.

Who knew that Goode boy had it in him?

I don’t know who this guy is, but he’s making me want to go back to church again.

I’ve also watched the video itself about a hundred times too. Not to brag, but I can’t get over how good I look, how hot we are together. Sage really does appear like she’s riding my dick and enjoying it. And that filthy expression on my face is something I didn’t even know I could do.

My mind is racing when I get back to my apartment. Texts, DMs, and calls have been coming in like crazy. Apparently, this video went viral fucking fast. I had no idea so many people even cared, but once it got out that Truett Goode’s oldest son made a sex tape on FanVids, the media went wild with it. People who had no clue who I was before today are suddenly following my social media accounts in droves.

Everyone loves a scandal.

The one person I haven’t heard from yet—who I expected to—is my father. And that might be the call I’m most anxious to get. Dread and excitement are warring for control in my head as I anticipate his reaction.

On the one hand, I can’t fucking wait to hear how pissed he is.

On the other…I’ve spent my whole life pleasing him. Being the perfect son. His protégé. Doing everything right, the way he wanted. Playing the role of the well-behaved son is my entire identity. It’s all I know.

So yeah…shedding that responsibility is like crawling out of my own skin.

The incoming message notifications get overwhelming, so I put my phone on Do Not Disturb as I drop onto the couch in my apartment and watch the video again. I wish I knew why this is so addicting and why I can’t stop watching it.

Opening my text message thread with Sage, I type out a message with a smile on my face.

Three million views.

She types back her response immediately.

Everyone loves a good boy gone bad.

Grinning at her message, something strikes me about it—something not right.

It’s because of the way I acted in that video. Not because you’re bad. You know that, right?

I’m blushing.

You’re too sweet, Church Boy.

Well, I just wanted to make sure you knew that.

Um, hello.

Duh, Mr. “Fucking Ride It.”

Now it’s my turn to blush.

I reply. My smile stretches across my face as I stare at her messages, hearing them in her voice.

I didn’t know you had it in you.

She replies.

Neither did I.

I take it you’ve never been rough with a girl before.

Not like that.

Well, you should try.

You clearly have a knack for degradation.

I hover over the keys before I type my response. I can’t tell if I’m being forward or if this is inappropriate to ask. But something about typing over text makes it easier to discuss.

Is that how you like it?

While the bubbles bounce on the screen, indicating that she’s typing, I shift in my seat. My dick is growing thick in my pants just thinking about it. Today was clearly tense and I’m feeling very high-strung at the moment. A cool breeze on my shaft might be enough to send me over the edge.

Then her response nearly knocks me out of my seat.

Well, considering I’ve watched it twice now with my vibrator handy, I think the answer is yes.

My mouth is hanging open as I stare at the screen. What the fuck is this woman doing to me?

I don’t respond because what the fuck would I even say?

Well, actually…that’s not true. I know the old Adam wouldn’t know what to say, but this new Adam, the one who made his sex tape debut today, knows exactly what to say.

With a devilish grin, I type out my response.

Tell me you recorded that.

Sorry, that was a private showing.

If you had just stuck around for a few more minutes.

I know she doesn’t mean that. That would be breaking the rules. But still…it’s fun to flirt with the idea.

You really are a horny slut, aren’t you?

So you haven’t rubbed one out yet?

Nope.

You’re lying.

No one is that good.

I am.

No, you’re not.

Not really.

You’ve just been pretending for a very long time.

The texts stay quiet for a moment. Biting my bottom lip, I grow restless in my seat.

So I pull up the video again.

My thumb brushes over the curve of her breast on the screen, and when that little yelping cry she made hits my ears for the hundredth time today, I let myself replay the whole thing in my mind. My cock twitches in my pants, reminding me that it’s been neglected since I put it through so much this afternoon. I’m not embarrassed by how hard I was as she was bouncing on my lap. I mean, any man would have popped a hard-on in that situation.

Clearly, she was feeling it too. Her nipples were hard as fuck, and it was not cold in her apartment.

For a moment, I consider opening a porn site on my phone to get off to, but I can’t stop watching this clip. Hell, watching myself choking her is clearly getting the job done because my dick is aching already.

Reaching into my sweats, I wrap my hand around my hard length, eliciting a deep moan from my throat. Even dry, this feels good as fuck.

Rolling down the top of my pants, I ease my cock out. Then, I pause the video as I start to stroke. Letting my head hang back on the sofa, I let my imagination paint a picture some porn site never could.

I picture that today wasn’t fake, and I let myself remember what it felt like to sink my cock into Sage’s warm cunt. To feel her riding me like she was today, fucking her so deep, she cries out with every thrust, torn between pleasure and pain.

In my mind, I squeeze her throat again, watching her face as a hint of fear and arousal floods her bloodstream. She likes it. Loves being used. Loves being the thing I use to get off.

My imagination paints the picture of her in her bed just now, getting herself off to the video of us, and I nearly come right away.

Then another text from her pops up on the screen.

Uh-oh. You’ve gone quiet.

What are you doing???

I let out a groan. The head of my cock is tight, throbbing as a drop of precum slips from the tip.

“Oh fuck,” I mutter as I squeeze on the upstroke as if just a text message from her is enough. I’m so close. But as the vision in my head starts to fade, I text her back.

I’m watching our video.

Right now?

Yes.

My hand is moving fast now but doing just enough to keep my climax at bay, dragging out the inevitable and enjoying every torturous second. While I wait for her text response, I open the video again. Instead of watching, I hold the speaker close to my ear and focus only on her moans and cries. Then, I let my imagination take over again.

She’s on my lap right now.

The hard bud of her nipple is in my mouth, and her wet heat is snug around my cock instead of my hand. With every thrust, she’s getting closer, and when I feel her pulsing with her own orgasm, I unload, filling her up as I come.

You want me to fuck you like I hate you?

My ears are buzzing like static as my own voice replays on the video again. Closing the app, I drop my phone on the sofa and stare down at the mess I just made.

“Jesus.” There are white globs of cum all over my shirt, nearly up to my neck and covering the hand still wrapped around my cock.

I desperately need to get laid. But oh yeah…I can’t.

“It’s going to be a long three months,” I mumble as I grab a tissue from the end table and wipe up the mess from my hand. It’s not like I was having so much sex before, but with all of this foreplay, it’s going to be that much harder.

My phone buzzes with a text. Smiling, I pick it up and read her response.

Are you done?

Did you record it?

The girls would pay good money for that.

I laugh as I type up my reply.

Seriously?

Would you?

Oh, hell yeah. That shit is hot.

With a scoff, I shake my head. It seems hard to believe that that’s what women want.

Standing up, I tear my shirt off and throw it in the laundry room on my way to the sink to wash up. Just as I’m drying my hands on the towel, there’s a heavy bang on the door. My heart nearly flips its way up through my throat as I stand there in shocked silence.

“Adam, open up,” my father bellows from the other side.

As I make my way toward the door, I prepare myself for what I know is coming. The likelihood that he’s here for a casual conversation is pretty slim.

He bangs again before I turn the dead bolt to unlock it. Then I swing the door open and he comes charging into my apartment, his wrinkled face red with fury, slamming it behind him.

“You motherfucker.” He growls with rage, and I notice the way his fists clench at his sides as he paces the room. “What the fuck are you thinking?”

My face stays passive and uninterested during his rant. Crossing my arms over my still bare chest, I watch with satisfaction as he fumes.

“Say something, Adam! Goddammit.”

“What’s wrong, Dad? You didn’t bring any bouncers to hold me down while you beat the shit out of me?”

His eyes narrow. “Oh, so this is about me? Is this your way of getting revenge, Adam? Do you have any idea what this is doing to your mother?”

I laugh. “So now you care about her?”

“Don’t start with me, boy.” He has a finger pointed in my face, and I notice the way it trembles. “First, you show up with that slut at the charity event, and now you post some video of you two fucking all over the internet? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m thinking pretty clearly for the first time in my life, actually.”

My cool temper only makes him angrier, and I love having that power over him. His anger fuels something inside of me, pushing me to fight back. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like apologizing or playing the good son. Seeing how my rebellion enrages him only makes me want to do it more.

“Do you have any idea what this is doing to our family? To me? Your reputation? Any chance of taking over after I’m gone is dead now, son. Do you understand that?”

“I don’t care,” I reply coolly, even though it feels like a lie. “I don’t care about my reputation or the family’s. And least of all yours.” I let out a chuckle as I lean against the counter, staring at him with humor.

“What about that little slut of yours? Do you care about her?”

Something in me tenses at the mention of Sage.

“We’re just having a little fun,” I reply with a smirk. “And we met because of you, so thanks for that.”

“Don’t get too attached, Adam,” he says like it’s a threat. At which I laugh again.

“You let me worry about my love life, old man.”

His anger morphs into something far more menacing. “If you care about her at all, you’ll end this now. Because I can’t ruin you, but I sure as hell can ruin her.”

Before I know it, I’m charging toward him. His back slams against the front door loudly with my forearm pressed against his windpipe.

“It’d be so easy too,” he mumbles as he struggles to push me off of him. “She has no one, Adam. No family. No money.”

I release my arm against his throat and clench my fists with the desire to punch him so hard he’d be out cold.

But like the brainwashed coward I am, I don’t.

“Do it,” he says in a cruel dare. When it’s clear my fist won’t leave my side, he laughs. “You always were a pussy. Couldn’t think on your own. Couldn’t fight on your own. Couldn’t do shit on your own. At least Isaac had the nerve to leave.”

With rage boiling to the surface, I grab him by the back of his shirt and tear the front door open, tossing him out in one quick motion. Just before I slam the door on him, I hear him laughing, and it chills me to the bone.

Then I pace my apartment in anger. I let him get to me. And I said I wouldn’t do that.

Why didn’t I say something? Why couldn’t I open my fucking mouth and threaten him right back? And why the fuck couldn’t I punch him? It’s like he has me so trained I can’t utter a single word against him or lay a single hand on him. And I hate him for that.

Flipping the dead bolt closed, I pick up my phone and call Sage.

She picks up on the first ring. “What’s up?”

“Let’s film another,” I say with urgency. She senses my anxiety immediately.

“Now?”

“Yes, fucking now. Bring your tripod and come over.”

There’s a second of silence before she responds, “I can’t right now.”

“Why?” I reply in a dark mutter.

“Because I have plans.” Her tone is weak, with a hint of sweetness. And it’s grating on my nerves.

“What plans?” My teeth are clenched and it’s bugging the hell out of me that her first response isn’t, Yes, Adam. I’m on my way.

She clears her throat. “I have a book club meeting.”

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

“You’re welcome to join,” she replies jokingly. “This week, we’re discussing The Rake and His Reluctant Bride.”

“Are you fucking with me right now? Because I’m really not in the fucking mood.”

I expect her to argue back. Give me some quippy, sarcastic reply, keeping the conversation light on her end, even though—I’m aware—my attitude fucking sucks.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, the line goes dead.