by Tessa Bailey
Especially Macalister Hale, who stared at me shamelessly with lust burning in his eyes. I flinched from the heat of it, and my mouth went bone dry. I ripped my gaze away from him and refocused on Royce. I didn’t know what the rules were. I wasn’t sure if it was allowed, but I did it anyway. He was within striking distance, so I reached up and threaded a hand through the back of his soft hair.
This was a merger, but it didn’t have to lack emotion or passion. I was supposed to be in control, and I decided to flex my power.
He didn’t resist as I pulled up to meet his mouth with mine. His lips parted and welcomed my tongue when it slid inside, seeking out his. But he leashed his kiss. Everything was guarded about it, yet I still tasted the molten desire beneath. Or at least I wanted to badly enough, I convinced myself I did.
It was just us for a moment.
Hurried breaths, lips moving against lips, and my soft sigh.
And then Macalister cleared his throat, making Royce slip from my grasp.
A chill rippled over me as his heat evaporated, and when he moved back from the table, he knocked over something on the floor.
Mr. Shaunessy caught his elbow to prevent him from falling. “Careful.”
Royce nodded. He bent and picked the item up, holding it where I could see. An hourglass. The two kissing bulbs of glass were encased in four bars of dark wood, and it was hard to tell the exact shade in the dim lighting, but the sand inside was a deep red.
Without explanation, fear gripped me just as Royce gripped the bars to hold the hourglass in front of him. Perhaps it was because the timing sand was the same color as blood and I hated the sight of it, but I knew better. It was deeper than that. I sensed this had been brought out for dark, ritualistic purpose.
“I’m reminding you again,” Macalister’s voice slashed deeper into my anxiety, “you are here because you’ve chosen to be. If you want to stop, you only have to say so. Agreed?”
My teeth were chattering, but not from the cold. “Yes, sir.”
Only a hint of a smile ghosted across his lips, but it felt more real than any other smile he’d given me. He looked at his men who surrounded the table and nodded. It was a clear signal. Let’s begin.
Hands reached out to hold me, and I gasped. Shock flooded every muscle in me, and as I instinctively tried to pull away, it drove me toward the hands on the other side of the table. My wrists were circled, and my arms gently pulled away from my body. Palms closed around my shoulders, my waist, my thighs.
None of it was rough or forceful or aggressive, but regardless, I was pinned naked to the table by seven sets of hands, and they all belonged to strangers. My eyes went enormously wide and breath seized in my lungs.
I was trapped, but I’d also been handed the key. I could set myself free at any time; all I had to do was utter a single word. I quit fighting against my restraints and tried awkwardly to adjust to my new captivity.
Was this how it was going to happen? The board would hold me down as Royce took my virginity? Was this some Handmaid’s Tale shit? It was fucked up, but even worse . . . a tiny thrill sliced through me. It cracked open just enough room for unwanted pleasure to have me squeezing my knees tight together.
This sordid rite was like something straight out of the mythology books I found so compelling. I was a virgin sacrifice on Mount Olympus, and the men surrounding me believed they were gods.
I stared at Royce over my heaving chest. He wasn’t looking at me, although I didn’t get the sense it was out of shame for himself or respect for me. His attention was set on Zeus, waiting impatiently for his next command from the chairman. Or perhaps the moment his father’s power would be handed to him.
The chair that had been moved out of the way was dragged back into place at the head of the table, and Macalister gestured toward it. “This is my seat,” he said to Royce, his tone full of resentment. “But tonight, it will be yours.”
Royce passed the hourglass to his father. When he unbuttoned his coat and lowered to sit on the throne, my heart beat so violently I grew lightheaded. He was right there in front of me. My feet dangled between his spread knees.
“You’re committing yourself to this board,” Macalister said. “By putting the company before yourself, you’re giving us a tremendous gift, Marist.” I shuddered when he said my name. “One which we have immense gratitude for.”
Mr. Lynch and Mr. Scoffield each had a palm on the top of my thighs, but when Royce’s hands closed on my knees and urged them apart, those palms slid inward.
Nervous excitement made me tremble.
I lifted my head, staring down as the men spread me open and bared my nakedness to Royce, and a horrific thought flooded my mind. This was supposed to be Macalister’s seat. If I hadn’t negotiated, he would be the man before me.
My feet were guided and set on the armrests of the chair, and then the two men flanking it locked both of my knees under their arms.
“What are . . .” I gasped, swallowing a gulp of air and choking on it.
The low light in the room heightened the shadows, and as they flickered over Macalister’s face, he looked wicked. “Each board member will have one minute to show you his appreciation and prepare you for your partnership with Royce.”
I couldn’t hold onto my thoughts enough to process what he was saying. I ran after them, but they slipped through my fingers, nothing more than wisps of air. It left me disoriented and confused. Prepare me?
“As chairman, I would go first.” Envy coated Macalister’s voice.
Royce’s warm hands skated along the insides of my thighs, creeping upward. Goosebumps lifted on my skin in the aftermath of his touch. He leaned forward, closing in as his hands glided all the way to the most feminine part of me.
“And the chairman also goes last,” he whispered.
When his thumbs peeled me open, I gasped at his touch. I stopped breathing altogether when his head dipped down, and he delivered his shockingly intimate kiss.
Chapter Sixteen
My heart ground to a halt. A cry erupted from my chest, and I lurched against the hands holding me still. Beyond Royce’s shoulder, Macalister turned over the hourglass in his hands, and the sand began to fall.
Royce’s lips were all I could feel at first, but then something soft and wet brushed over me, and it could only be his tongue.
Fucking Mother of God.
My head thudded back against the pillow and I slammed my eyes shut, too stunned to do anything other than endure. His palms were on the insides of my legs, and as his tongue glided over my bare skin, he pressed me further open.
A year ago, I’d stood in the upstairs hallway and wondered what it would feel like to have a man’s mouth on me. Well, now I knew. It was a strange, wonderful sensation. I ordered myself not to like it, but no amount of convincing would make my body believe. The tongue on my center probed and fluttered, and heat washed along my legs. It traveled through me, tightened my nipples, and set my face on fire.
Royce Hale was going down on me while all the gods watched.
Was this really happening? My head snapped up and I opened my eyes, staring in disbelief. There he was in his black tuxedo jacket and white shirt sleeves peeking out at his wrists, adorned with silver cufflinks. His blue eyes trapped mine as his lips parted. The tip of his tongue stroked slowly over my sensitive clit in one long . . .
Indecent . . .
Lick.
A moan swelled out of me.
Thankfully, Macalister’s gaze wasn’t on us. It was focused on the top half of the hourglass, and it allowed my attention to swing back to the man pleasuring me with his mouth.
And there was pleasure, no doubt about it. Royce’s tongue whipped at me and made me squirm. I wanted to split down the middle. Give the sensible part of myself an escape, and the wrong, depraved part a safe place to stay and enjoy. Not just what he was doing, but the way the men watched.
He fucked me with his mouth while the board held on to me, and I heaved air into m
y body, fighting the swell of satisfaction that was brewing in my center. The hands gripping me were a lie for my benefit. It made me feel like I had no choice.
Yet I made the decision repeatedly to stay with each flick of Royce’s tongue.
“Time,” Macalister announced.
Royce sat back in his chair and used a hand to wipe his mouth. The action was almost as sexual as what he’d just done and caused a shiver to glance through my shoulders. His expression was corrupt, as was the thought his devilish eyes hinted at.
I’ll be back.
When he stood, the hands on me moved, along with the grip on my legs. As if I were lying on top of a giant clock, the men rotated clockwise, each moving into the next man’s spot. It meant Royce was now holding my right leg . . .
And Mr. Lynch was seated in the chair.
Panic locked me in place far more than the hands on me, but then—the hands weren’t confining me. They moved, gently stroking against my skin. I reeled around, gazing from one man to another, stunned at the expressions I found. It wasn’t lust, but reverence. Adoration. Like these men truly believed I was giving them a gift, and they were grateful.
Macalister flipped the hourglass, and the bottom bulb rapidly filled with a pile of red.
Mr. Lynch set his hands on my thighs and leaned in. His hot breath rolled over my damp skin just before his mouth replaced it. I jerked at the sudden contact, and all thought emptied from my brain.
I stared at Royce, and he gazed back with his unflinching eyes, the ones that saw all the way through me. I didn’t want him to watch as another man went down on me, and he didn’t seem to want that either. So, we held each other’s gazes and pretended it was just us.
But after the blinding shock faded enough that I could think again, it was much easier to convince my body I didn’t like what Mr. Lynch was doing. The man’s lips sealed around me and sucked so hard his cheeks hollowed out. I clenched my teeth and tried to shift away from the uncomfortable suction.
“Stop.”
It wasn’t clear who Macalister’s order was for, but he’d twisted the hourglass onto its side, cutting off the flow of sand and stopping the timer. Mr. Lynch paused.
“Do you not like what he’s doing?” Macalister asked me.
“Uh . . .” I blinked. Once again, inappropriate laughter threatened. Was I supposed to like any of this? An evil voice whispered in my head that I already did.
“Who is in control?” he demanded.
I didn’t believe the answer until I gave it. “I am.”
“You’re an equal. Your opinion matters, but only if you express it.”
I licked my dry lips and struggled to catch my breath. If I was an equal, why were my wrists pinned to the tabletop? I wanted to ask the question but thought better of it. If the men let go of me, I’d have no excuse about why I stayed and let this happen, accept that I wanted Royce.
Also, I didn’t feel restrained. The board members’ hands rested on me, but it was more about connection versus dominance. This tradition was supposed to bind us all together. I wondered though . . . was this initiation for Royce, or for me? Both of us?
Macalister was waiting for me to prove I would speak up.
“It’s just, um,” I stammered, “a little rough.”
“Oh.” Mr. Lynch straightened, and embarrassment darted in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
When he nodded, the hourglass was righted, and Mr. Lynch’s mouth returned to me. I bit my bottom lip as his tongue spun circles. It caressed and massaged, and all the heat that had dissipated when he’d sat down began anew.
“Time,” Macalister said.
I exhaled a long breath. I’d only endured two of the nine minutes and I was already fracturing. How was I going to last until the end?
Mr. Scoffield didn’t take a seat. He stood at the edge of the table, and when his time started, he placed his hands on my hips and dragged them upward. His thumbs splayed out while he caressed me. His touch was sensual . . . until his palms inched to my breasts and his gold wedding band caught the light.
I forced myself not to think about it. I had enough shit to deal with right now. I wasn’t going to feel guilty about his decision to cheat on his wife. Those were his actions, which he could stop at any time. Plus, how likely was it any of these men were faithful to their wives? Money and power could corrupt anyone.
I was fucking proof of that, wasn’t I?
My eyes drifted closed as he trailed fingertips over the curves of my breasts. I pictured Royce touching me this way. It was his fingers circling my nipple. It was his greedy mouth sucking at me and creating a knot of need deep between my legs.
“Time.”
It became a chant that I both dreaded and looked forward to. Each utterance of the word brought a new man before me, but one step closer to being done and Royce’s return.
As Macalister had said, they used their hands and mouths. I’d just been too naïve to understand at the time. Tongues teased. Fingers touched and stroked and squeezed. Their kisses never reached my mouth, but their lips and caresses always had the goal of pleasing me.
I knew their names and faces. Alice had given me backstories and details on each member, but sex hazed the room now. It descended on the table like a fog, making it impossible to distinguish one male from another. I hid behind closed eyelids most of the time anyway.
Close your eyes and it will be just us.
It became dangerous as the process wore on. My body could only be primed and left hanging so many times before it threatened revolt. The pleasure had left me trembling and breathless more than once, but I clamped down. Soon after this had started, I’d come to a decision. Seven other men could fuck me with their mouths and their hands, but Royce would be the only man who’d bring me to orgasm. So much of me was being shared, I’d do my best to keep that intimate experience between us.
He hadn’t asked me to wait for him specifically on this, but I would.
Mr. Shaunessy was the last board member to go before the cycle of men was over. He sat in the chair and brushed the pad of his thumb over my swollen clit before sliding it all the way inside me. I arched up at the intrusion, and when the other men gently nudged me back onto the table, Mr. Shaunessy set his lips where his thumb had just been.
His tongue flickered while his thumb thrust. Slow at first, then speeding along and the two working together felt . . .
Good.
Really, really good.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered. I’d tried to hold it back, but I was breaking down.
There were appreciative, encouraging chuckles from the board. “I think she likes that,” one of them said.
Shit, I did.
Instead of imagining Royce, now I pictured Mr. Shaunessy’s son, Richard. I used the humiliating memory to combat what was happening and control myself. The mental cold shower seemed to work, because—
“Time.” There was relief in Royce’s voice. Instead of watching me, he’d been fixated on the hourglass, beating his father to the announcement. Perhaps he’d silently pleaded for the sand to fall faster.
I sighed with contentment as Royce settled into the chair and surveyed the scene. He marveled at me, the sweaty, panting, and naked girl on the table in front of him. I was all for him now. Even without looking behind him, he sensed the turn of the hourglass. His gaze caressed across my body until it focused where he was most interested, and one of his long fingers pushed inside.
He pumped it leisurely, once . . . twice. The chair creaked as he shifted forward, and his mouth sought the bundle of nerves at the top of my slit that throbbed and ached. He found me hot and wet, and as his tongue cartwheeled across my sensitive skin, I groaned my approval through clenched teeth.
The candles in the candelabra in the alcove had become dripping, melting messes, and I could relate. Fire seared across my nerves from the insistent mouth lapping at me, and the finger that slid along, growing slicker with each pass. I was a melting, dripping mess too.
&
nbsp; His tempo built, as did the urgency inside me.
I felt the sand cascade through the hourglass and pool at the bottom. Every single grain was one less fraction of a second that I’d have like this. As the pressure rose, so did the satisfaction Royce created.
Fuck, it felt good. His finger plunged deep and the tip of his tongue teased endlessly. My heart’s frantic rhythm matched his pace. I squirmed against the table, wanting to move, needing him just a fraction of an inch higher.
I moaned loudly.
The sound was drenched with desire, and some of the men shifted. A few were aroused, their tuxedo pants bulging. It was fucked up and yet flattering. I, a nobody, was suddenly powerful enough to have this effect on them. Everyone was looking at me, not just Royce. I’d never liked it before, but this wasn’t me. Right now, I was the rebranded Marist Northcott, soon to be the Hale edition.
I shuddered as his tongue massaged my clit, working to coax the orgasm from me, and the pleasure in my center ramped up. Tingling crept over my legs, signaling my climax. It bared down on me, faster and faster—
“Time,” Macalister said.
The hand moving inside me froze.
“No,” I gasped. “I’m so close.” The words stumbled from my lips. “Please, Royce.”
That was all he needed to hear. A second finger pushed in to join the first, and it was a lot, but my body was ready for it. His urgent thrusts made me shake. I was vibrating against the table, writhing against his mouth, struggling in the hands holding onto me.
But he took it a step further. The hand he wasn’t using to fuck me crawled the length of my body. The wool of his coat sleeve grazed over my stomach as his fingers closed, grabbing a handful of my breast. He thumbed my nipple, brushing back and forth.
“That’s it, Marist. Yes.” He paused his tongue just long enough to issue the order. “Give it to me.”
The prince had wanted me all to himself, and I gave it willingly.
Bliss exploded in my core, firing outward and racing across my body. My cry pealed in the candlelight, announcing what was happening, and the contractions that wracked me from head to toe showed them.