“Y-Yes,” she whispered. “Master, I-”
“It’s going to happen,” I told her. “Don’t worry, princess. You won’t go hungry.”
I fisted the bulge in my pants and grinned down at her, watching her swallow with anticipation. I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, admiring her innocent beauty.
You won’t be thinking about your father at all tonight, princess. I’m going to make sure of it.
I clicked my fingers, and the lights came on in the whole room. Violet attempted to raise her head, and I thought about stopping her, but I wanted her to see what was going on.
The lights illuminated the walls of the room, which were made of glass. On the other side, diners enjoyed their expensive food served the same way it would be for me – on naked bodies laden with precisely wrapped sushi rolls.
"Master," she whispered. I could hear the fear in her voice, and I touched her cheek gently, trying to ease her worry.
"It's okay," I told her. "Nobody will come in here. They're just going to see you... But you want to be exposed, don't you, princess? You want everyone to see you."
She swallowed thickly, then gave me the smallest of nods. I grinned at her and clicked my fingers again.
Several waiters entered the room, depositing platters of perfectly crafted sushi on the table around Violet. They started placing the food on her body, careful not to brush her skin once. I'd made sure of it, not wanting anyone else to touch her. I'd told them they would be ruined if they so much as brushed an inch of her pale skin. And I was perfectly willing to go through with it. If someone so much as looked at her the wrong way, I'd kill them.
By the time they were done, her sweet naked body was covered in food. I was the only one at the table now, and Violet's eyes connected with mine.
"Are you hungry, princess?" I asked gently, and she nodded again.
I reached for a Squid roll, offering it to her from my fingertips. She opened her mouth, pretty lips wrapping around the food. There was a hint of a smile on her lips, the perfect sign of how much she was really enjoying this.
"I knew you'd like this," I told her. "Being objectified... Being used like you're just a toy for me to do with as I please."
She shivered under my touch as I ate some sushi off her.
"You love being my little object, don't you, princess?" I asked her next, and she nodded so fast a sushi roll fell off her ribs. "Careful now, Violet. I don't want to punish you. You need to learn proper posture and patience. Consider this the first one of your lessons. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master," she managed.
Her eyes never left mine as I fed her and myself. The hint of a smile remained, and I relished the upward tug of her pouty lips. She was so pretty. Almost too cute for her own good.
We ate in silence, with our eyes locked the whole time. The sound of music filled the otherwise quiet room, and Violet stopped glancing at the people on the other side of the glass walls, finally succumbing to the most powerful man in the entire restaurant - me.
"Good girl," I muttered once we finished. "You've behaved so well for me. I think you deserve a reward, don't you, princess?"
"Yes, Master," she whispered.
I helped her to her feet and clicked my fingers again. Once again, the waiters entered, carrying steaming hot white towels. Without touching her skin once, they wiped my princess down. A bottle of champagne arrived, cooling on the rocks in a silver bucket.
"On your knees," I told Violet once we were alone.
She obeyed like a good girl, kneeling in nothing but her sexy pink heels.
I unzipped my pants, bringing out my thick cock, engorged with the need to be inside her. I could practically see her mouth-watering, watching her swallow as she eyed me with expectation in her eyes.
I took the bottle of champagne out of the bucket and used the back of a knife to open it. Bubbly liquid dripped down the glass when the bottle popped, and I aimed it over my cock.
"Suck," I ordered her, and she took my tip in her mouth, swirling her tongue over my tip. "Good girl."
I poured champagne into her mouth while she sucked me, her eyes darting between me and the diners on the other side of the walls were now openly watching us. Not that I gave a damn. I was going to have her any time, any place I fucking wanted.
Good thing they’re too busy gawking to care that this isn’t their usual entertainment.
She gulped the champagne as I fed her, licking my dripping cock expertly. She'd learned so much in the time she'd spent with me. Soon enough, I'd turn her into the perfect fucktoy. But I wanted more.
With Violet, it had never been just about owning her body. I wanted her mind and soul. I wanted her submitting to me not because she was afraid, but because she wanted to offer herself to me completely.
Now, she pressed her tits together under the stream of champagne, leaning her head back so her hair fell down her back. I growled at the sight, discarding the bottle which broke when it hit the floor, and leaning down next to my girl. I sucked her tits into my mouth, tasting the sweetness of the champagne mixing with her own scent. She was fucking perfect.
I pulled back at just the right moment, leaving her desperate.
"Master?" she questioned, and I smirked down at her.
"Patience, princess," I reminded her. "Your lessons have only just begun."
Seven
Violet
I woke up next to Devlin with a slight smile on my face, despite all the turmoil inside me. There had been kindness shown and I couldn’t ignore that. He bought my family home, took me to see my father, and then we were able to have dinner in the city—that was a night I would never forget, and the distraction I needed after seeing the conditions my father was being kept in.
I can mark being Devlin’s sushi buffet table off my bucket list—right after I add it.
I wished my father would have been more understanding, or at least let me explain why I was seemingly in leagues with a Windsor, but that could be explained when it was over. He would have to understand once a Devlin helped him get out of prison.
There may be problems between our families, but Devlin is not Dominic. The sins of the father should not fall to the son, even if the son does call himself the devil. There is still a semblance of good in Devlin. Hopefully my father will see that my deal with the devil was necessary and not an act of betrayal.
My father will be able to return to Cabot Estate instead of finding out it has been sold off. He’ll be able to rebuild his empire. His son won’t end up in a cell beside him. All those things are possible because I signed my name at the bottom of that contract.
Yes, it cost me my innocence and I’m no longer the little girl I used to be, but I had to grow up at some point.
I’m a Cabot. I won’t forget that, no matter how many times I fall on my knees for the devil.
“You’re awake.” Devlin sat up and looked over at me.
“Yes, Master.” I smiled and closed my eyes when he reached over to brush his hand against my face.
“I will have to leave soon to handle some business.” He exhaled sharply. “Are you going to be okay after yesterday?”
“I feel better now that I’ve had time to process it.” I nodded. “I understand why my father was upset, but at the same time, I believe he’ll understand once he’s free.”
I hope.
“Good.” Devlin pulled his hand back and smiled.
“Could I—make a request?” I turned over on my side.
“You can make it.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I don’t know that I will grant it—but I’ll try.”
“There were some things at Cabot Estate—heirlooms mostly. A lot was taken when the Estate was seized, but I would like to preserve anything I can.” I sighed. “I don’t want them to just sit there…”
“I could have them brought here.” Devlin nodded. “I’ll make the arrangements before I leave for work.”
“Thank you.” I smiled and moved closer, putting my head ag
ainst his chest.
I’m curious to know what is in my mother’s diaries. I wonder if my father has read them…
We lay there in bed as long as we could. Devlin went to shower and get ready for work. After he returned and got dressed, I took a bath—relaxing in the warm water. My meal was prepared when I got downstairs.
I spent most of the day in my room, reading and trying to keep myself entertained until Belle came upstairs to let me know that some boxes had been delivered from Cabot Estate. I thanked her, and then headed downstairs to make sure the movers had packed everything appropriately.
Hopefully they didn’t break anything that survived the initial search by those assholes who stepped on my mother’s picture.
I looked through the boxes that had arrived and was pleased to see that the movers had been cautious with everything. There was no reason to start unpacking them—I hoped that I could have it sent back to Cabot Estate once my father was free from prison. Still, I couldn’t help getting lost in a few of the memories. After looking around for a few minutes, I found the box I was looking for—the one from the attic.
My father kept some of my mother’s things in the basement. My sister took a lot of them when she moved out and I had been able to retrieve a few trinkets that I kept in my room. I had no idea that some of her stuff was in the attic—it seemed intentional to separate my mother’s diaries from the rest of her things. That was part of what made me curious.
When I was younger, I found a few letters that my mother wrote to my father. He kept them in the desk in his study and while I shouldn’t have been snooping—I couldn’t resist reading her words. The handwriting in the diaries definitely belonged to my mother. I had memorized it—even tried to copy it when I was younger. No matter how much I tried, my own handwriting was never that beautiful.
I flipped through the first journal and realized that it was from when my mother was a teenager—before she married my father.
Diary of Brynne Davenport - January 1, 1989
I met someone last night.
I probably shouldn’t have flirted with him, but I just couldn’t resist. He’s older but he’s so—distinguished. He’s not like the boys at school that only seem to be interested in one thing and call you a stuck-up bitch if you’re not willing to—perform.
Unfortunately, the man I met didn’t seem to realize that I was trying to flirt with him. He just seemed to be tolerating the annoying teenager who wouldn’t leave him alone at my father’s New Year’s Eve party. Still—it was fun to put on a beautiful dress and pretend that I belonged in that world.
One day I will.
One day, men like him will see me as something other than my father’s youngest daughter. I am Brynne Davenport, and one day, I’ll be Queen of the Ball.
I smiled when I read my mother’s words. She would have seventeen when she wrote them. It was hard to envision her as a teenage girl. She looked so radiant in the photographs I had. The letters she wrote my father were eloquent and sounded like poetry, while the journal entries read like something I would have written myself—about Devlin.
The distinguished older man she is writing about must be my father—the timeline makes sense. She married him when she was eighteen and he said they met at one of her father’s parties.
I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of advice she would have given me if she was still alive. Would she have shared my father’s hatred of all Windsors or would she have understood my fascination with Devlin when I was younger? Would she have intervened and kept my father from ruining my prom?
I flipped the page and started reading the next entry, but it was rather dull—just stuff about school, a teacher she didn’t like, and a test that she had forgotten to study for. I flipped through a few more pages and it was similar stuff—the usual angst of a teenage girl. She even wrote an entire page about a zit that she named Charlie—which was also the first name of the teacher she hated.
God, she had a sense of humor. That kind of reminds me of Georgia—I think she named one of her zits too.
I kept flipping and continuing to laugh at the kind of stuff my mother considered more important than life or death at that age. She was so carefree and happy. I wished I could have seen that side of her—the woman that existed before she was a mother of three and so incredibly busy.
I would have liked to have been able to sit down and have one meaningful conversation with her—to know more about the woman I screamed for every time one of my siblings tormented me. The woman that was taken long before her time.
Diary of Brynne Davenport - February 14, 1989
Do you know what I hate? Valentine’s Day. Guess who didn’t get a single flower? Even some of the teachers got flowers! I thought he would send me something—I mean, he’s taken me on two dates now. It has to be a secret or else my father would lose his mind, but would a bouquet have been too much to ask for? He wouldn’t have even had to sign his name. I would have known who they were from.
So much for him being Mr. Romantic. He might as well just unzip his pants and point like Johnny Carmichael did when I made the mistake of going out with him.
Maybe I should just tell my father that he kissed me—that would be fun. I bet he’d regret not sending me flowers after he got his balls chopped off.
I blinked a couple of times and suppressed a giggle. My mother wasn’t just some sweet innocent girl—she was a firecracker. Thinking about flowers made me sad though. My father always brought her flowers—every Sunday—except she didn’t get to see them. They were just left beside the gravestone that stood as a reminder of the woman she was.
Brynne Cabot.
Beloved daughter.
Beloved mother.
Beloved wife.
I wiped away a tear and squeezed my eyes shut as my emotions started trying to flood down my face. My fingers trembled as I flipped to the next page.
Diary of Brynne Davenport - February 15, 1989
I got flowers! Beautiful long stem roses that make the whole room smell like I’m standing in a garden. One of the maids left them in the kitchen and forgot to tell me that they arrived. If I wasn’t so excited to see them, I might have had her fired on the spot.
There’s just one problem. The roses aren’t from Mr. Romantic. I called him as soon as I saw them because I wanted to express my gratitude, but he said he didn’t really do the Valentine’s Day thing. I guess that would have been good to know before I got so worked up about it.
So, I have flowers—but from who? I told my father they were from a boy at school, but I’m pretty sure they’re not.
Do I have a secret admirer? This is kind of exciting.
I was shocked to learn that my mother had a secret admirer. Was that my father? Was he the one who sent her flowers? As far as I knew, he didn’t have anything against Valentine’s Day. I flipped through a few more pages of discussions about school, teachers, wondering who the guy was that sent her flowers, a list of names that seemed to be comprised of boys she went to school with, and then I finally found another entry that was a little more interesting.
Diary of Brynne Davenport - March 1, 1989
Mr. Admirer has a name—and it wasn’t anyone that I suspected. Dating him would be even more scandalous than Mr. Romantic, but how can I resist a man who bought me such beautiful roses? I agreed to go out with him next weekend. I don’t know if I’ll like him, but I’ll give him a shot. He’s—nice. He’s handsome.
Mr. Romantic might have to step up his game, because he’s got some competition now—I’m not even sure he deserves to be called Mr. Romantic anymore. Maybe I should tell him. He got really jealous when I mentioned the flowers—but he just thinks it’s some teenage boy that wants to get in my panties.
Who knows? Mr. Romantic might not be the first guy who gets to pull them off after all…
I flipped to the next page, but before I could read the entry, there was a sound and I heard Devlin’s voice. He was back—and he was asking Belle where I was. I put t
he diaries back in the box pushed the box into the stack. I wanted to continue reading more about my mother’s life, but I didn’t really want to discuss it with Devlin. The dairies felt personal—and I wasn’t ready to share them with anyone else.
“Welcome home.” I walked up behind Devlin as he was talking to Belle.
“Ah, there you are.” Devlin turned towards me with a smile on his face.
“Yeah, I was checking to make sure the movers didn’t break anything.” I nodded quickly.
“I trust your heirlooms are intact?” He chuckled and put his hands on my hips.
“Yes, they’re perfect. Thank you so much.” I leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“I’m starving.” Devlin exhaled sharply and let his hands fall away from my hips. “Is dinner ready?”
“Y-Yes sir.” Belle motioned towards the dining room.
“Perfect.” Devlin took my hand.
My mother’s words were still resonating in my head as we ate dinner and made small talk. I wondered who the two men were and more importantly—which one was my father?
It was possible that neither of them was, but the timeline suggested they had to meet soon if she was going to marry him and have Georgia nine months later.
Mr. Romantic? Mr. Admirer? I guess she couldn’t write out their names if it was so scandalous…
* * *
“Okay.” Devlin picked up his napkin and dropped it next to his plate after we finished our meal. “I think it’s time for us to retire to the bedroom to the evening.”
“Just like that—no romance?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Not tonight, Violet.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “Tonight, you’re simply going to submit.”
Well he’s definitely not going to be called Mr. Romantic…
Eight
Devlin
She was shaking in anticipation as I approached her, eyes filled with dark intent and my hands forming fists at my sides. I wanted her. I wanted her on her knees, professing her desires like a good girl should.
Devil’s Toy Page 5