by Cate Corvin
I stared at him incredulously. “You think I would’ve screwed you over? Is that the kind of person you think I am?”
“Mutually assured self-destruction is a powerful motivator,” he said quietly. “But no, that’s not why, and that’s not the kind of person I think you are, Jane.”
“Then why? You told me the why wasn’t important, but it is to me.”
Rhett was silent for a minute, riffling the edges of the magazine he held. “We work together. That’s all you need to know. And as long as you’re our Pet, you’re important to us.”
“You don’t see how that might make me feel used?” My voice dripped acid as I spoke. “Once you find a new Pet, I’ll just be the side piece who was dumb enough to get herself blackmailed.”
A hint of a smile finally touched his mouth. “There won’t be another Pet for me, Jane.”
Hopeful butterflies burst to life in me, and I immediately stamped them out without mercy. The mouse is not in the cat’s league. “So was this just some sick hazing ritual you had to do with your mentors?”
Rhett cocked his head, looking me over. “It’s a ritual, yes. I know you have some version in your head of the real Rhett Harlow, but you need to let that one go. That isn’t me. It’s a fabricated fantasy, and he never existed. I went along with this ritual of my own free will.”
I looked down at the contents of my bag just to avoid his eyes. Part of him was the Rhett I’d known, but this dark side was the real him. He enjoyed having his thumb over me.
And you enjoy being under it.
“What about Spears and Thayer?”
“They have their own reasons for participating,” he said, lifting one shoulder in a casual shrug. “They started it, after all. But really… let’s not pretend you don’t love it, Jane.”
When I lifted my eyes, he held up the magazine and handed it to me. I turned over the glossy pages and said nothing, because there was nothing to say.
I did love it, even if I was dancing on the edge of burning down everything around me.
I smoothed the cover of the magazine, taking in the large picture of Bourdillon University. “What’s this for?” There was nothing else I was going to get from him.
“The university’s news rag,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You should write for it.”
I held back a scoff and flipped through the pages. Here among the elite, tomorrow’s journalists and TV anchors, I’d be severely outmatched. “You think I should write for this.”
“Yes.” I looked at him. There was not even a hint of amusement there now, just a mild frustration. “You had this same problem when you were younger- you never think you’re good enough. Here’s my next order for you, Jane: you’re going to write an article, on whatever you damn well please, and you’re going to pat yourself on the back and feel good about yourself for once.”
“You’re the Head of the English Department,” I pointed out, lowering the magazine even as a shiver of anticipation ran through me. “How do I know you won’t just slide this across the editor’s desk and they’ll run it because you ordered it?”
“No nepotism. I swear. If you make it in, it’s because you’re just as talented as they are, and for once in your life you’re going to be proud of something you did.”
Despite myself, I believed him. If I got an article into the school magazine, it would be because I made it, not because Rhett had power over that department.
“Fine. I’ll write an article and submit it.”
“Fine,” Rhett repeated. “And when you make it in, you’ll have no choice but to face the facts.”
I slid the magazine into my bag and was gripped by a powerful emotion that had nothing to do with being the pet. I stepped around the desk and approached Rhett, who didn’t shy away. With all six-foot-two of him looming overhead, I still felt safer in his shadow than I’d felt in Sean’s.
I stood on my tip-toes to wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tightly. He slid his arms around me, his face buried in my hair.
“Thanks, Rhett,” I whispered, my antagonism towards him fading away. He might be dark and cruel, but there was still the Rhett I’d dreamed about living side by side with the twisted half of him.
“You’re welcome, Jane.” He kissed my ear. “I’m going to drive you home now.”
I shut him up by turning my face to kiss him on the lips, soaking up the heat he made me feel. “I can walk.”
“Don’t make me punish you for disobedience, Jane.” His breath stirred my hair, and I wondered just how bad the punishment would be. “I’ll always win this argument. You might as well give in now, and don’t tell yourself the punishment won’t be that bad. You know what we did to put you in this position. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re out of it.”
I kissed him again hard before releasing him and grabbing my bag and the library key. “Whatever you say, sir.” It came out as sarcastic as I intended, but Rhett smiled.
“Let’s go, Pet. You’ve got an article to write.”
Chapter Nine
When I got home, I woke up Mom, who’d been asleep in her armchair, and felt the familiar pang of fear that the cancer had returned. When she slept, she looked as fragile as a feather, still eaten away by chemo.
She blinked at me sleepily and I helped her to her bedroom, where she was snoring softly within minutes.
I told myself she’d wake up and feel better, because that was all I could do. Her next appointment wasn’t for another three weeks, and the doctor had said that her recovery would take time. I couldn’t worry myself sick every single time she was a little more tired than usual.
I spent the rest of the evening flipping through Bourdillon’s student magazine, reading the articles and absorbing the general tone. There was a large emphasis on the lacrosse team this year, but every time I tried to think of a topic anyone else there might care about, I kept landing on Rachelle.
I was curled up in bed, still outlining vague ideas for an artists’ featurette, when my phone lit up on my nightstand. I dropped my pencil grabbing for it while simultaneously cursing my eagerness.
There was no reason to care so much that one of my owners might be texting me this late at night.
Vincent: How’s my Pet tonight?
I stared at the backlit screen, letting my notebook fall off my lap. I had no idea how to respond. He was so cold in person, but the idea of texting him back with a formal tone didn’t appeal, and there was no way being casual was going to get on his good side.
I wrote and erased about six messages, wondering if he saw my little text dots appearing and disappearing.
Jane: I’m good, sir. You?
There. No more than needed to be said until I figured him out a little better. I waited impatiently for a text to come back once it was marked read, but the minutes ticked by fruitlessly.
I’d finally given up and picked up my pencil and notebook again when the soft chime alerted me. Embarrassingly, my hands were trembling when I picked up the phone and read the new message.
Vincent: One thing could make it better. Answer.
I stared at it, wondering what he wanted me to answer. There was no question.
Then a video call popped up, running across my screen. I gulped when I saw Vincent’s name, and obediently tapped.
A pitch-black screen showed up, his side of the camera blocked. My own video in the corner showed my face, scrubbed free of makeup and my hair a bit of a mess.
I wished he’d given me forewarning so I could’ve made myself look a little more presentable, because my stomach was churning with the thought of what was coming next. I hoped he wouldn’t see the screen shaking from the tremors in my hands.
“Hello, Pet.” His gravelly voice was pitched low, sending shivers through me.
“Hello, Professor Thayer,” I whispered back. I knew Mom would sleep soundly, but I was still terrified she’d hear me talking.
I self-consciously tucked a lock of blonde hair behind my ear, waiting for w
hatever he wanted me to do next, and wondered what he was doing. He’d completely blacked out his screen and there was no ambient background noise to tell me where he might be. Was he laying across his bed? Sitting on a couch?
Were the other two Demons next to him, watching me guilelessly stare back at him?
“I’m not in the mood to share your video tonight,” he growled, sounding much grumpier than usual. “This one is just for me.”
My nipples hardened under my thin t-shirt at the possessiveness in his voice. Thayer had been such a jerk the first time I’d met him, and yet he seemed to hold my strings like a puppet master, eliciting reactions I’d given to no one else.
And if those words weren’t an order, I didn’t know what was. “One minute, sir.”
Vincent made an “mmm” of assent, and I swept the notebook and pencil onto the floor, not allowing myself to question the eagerness running through me or the butterflies in my stomach. They had no business being there, but they fluttered just right.
My bedside lamp was already on, giving me the best lighting that would hopefully obscure my flaws. I propped the phone at the end of the bed, ensuring he’d be able to see everything, and when the moment finally came I paused, kneeling in front of it.
A long minute passed in total silence while my palms went clammy. As with the video, the moment of truth was much harder once you found yourself standing on its doorstep.
“What are you waiting for, Pet?”
Vincent sounded thicker, huskier, and the electric tingle burst back into vivid life.
With his screen dark, it was easier to pretend that no one was there, and I bolstered my willpower and grabbed the hem of my t-shirt.
I closed my eyes when I peeled it upwards, hoping he was biting his lip in anticipation, hoping he was hard for what I was going to do for him.
He made a low sound that grated through the phone when my t-shirt reached my collarbone, exposing my hard-tipped breasts and the few freckles scattered across my chest. I swallowed hard and pulled it off the rest of the way, forcing myself not to rip it off like I was yanking off a band-aid.
But the sound he made just spurred that twisted side of me further. I tossed the shirt aside and ran my hands over myself, up my stomach to flick my own nipples, already tight with anticipation for my own fingers.
It was easy to pretend it was Gabriel’s warm hands on me while my eyes were closed, searching downwards to peel my panties over my hips and down my thighs. I’d already entertained too many daydreams about what Vincent’s beard would feel like against my skin, and I imagined him taking himself in his hand and stroking himself when I reached down to touch myself, spreading my legs so he could watch everything.
I knew it was messed up. He made low sounds that just drove the fantasy further, tiny hitches in his breath that made my blood run hotter.
On a whim, knowing this wasn’t recorded and would never see the light of day, I turned around and got on my knees, pressing my face into the bed while I stroked my clit, giving him a full view of everything. There was no part of me that would be a mystery to Vincent after this.
His breathing grew faster, deeper, and when I was dangerously close to the edge, his next command made me shake, my pussy contracting in anticipation even though he was miles away.
“Come back. Let me see that beautiful face when you come for me.”
I obeyed, positioning myself so he could watch all of me. I imagined those warm brown eyes gazing up at me while he sucked my clit, and then the orgasm was ripping through me. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle my noises, praying like hell the sound didn’t carry, and Vincent let out a low, satisfied groan and several gasps that left no doubt in my mind that he’d just spurted all over his own hand while watching me.
Satisfaction curled around the afterglow, and I knew my cheeks were flushed when I finally reached for the phone.
“Suck your fingers,” he demanded, and I did, gazing into the sightless camera eye. I tasted myself, but all shame had temporarily fled in the presence of one of my owners. He didn’t even have to be in the room to bring me to my knees in obedience.
“You’re so beautiful when you come.”
“Thank you, Professor Thayer,” I said around a thick tongue, not knowing what else to say. I wished I’d been able to watch him.
“I want to taste you.” His growl was back in force, even rougher than before.
I licked my lips, watching through my camera, wanting just a glimpse of his face.
“My office, Monday. During your free afternoon slot.” I wasn’t surprised he had my schedule.
I managed to jerk my head in a nod, already sick with anticipation. “Yes, Professor.”
“Good girl. Go to sleep now.”
I hadn’t realized how tired I was until he said it. He kept me hanging on his words, hoping for another as time slipped by unheeded. It was already midnight. “Yes, sir. Good night, Professor.”
“Good night, Pet. Until Monday.”
A long pause, then the video call ended. I wondered if he’d hesitated before hanging up, and perversely hoped he had.
Whatever pull I had for them was strange and unknown territory, but I wanted to keep those strings intact, reeling them closer and closer.
Until they came for me.
As I curled up to sleep, satisfied and sleepy, I wondered if maybe the mouse had a little cat in her, after all.
Chapter Ten
I spent most of Saturday cleaning and gardening with Mom. If she noticed that I glanced at my phone a little too often for normalcy, she said nothing. Her slowness worried me, and I finally made her sit down with a cup of tea and brought all the tools back inside the small storage shed out back. I was going to have to move up the next appointment if this continued.
For my part, I was counting down the seconds until Monday, wondering if maybe I’d finally lost my mind, or if maybe there was some good to come of being the Pet. Vincent’s rough growls echoed in my ears like a phantom.
A text finally did come through; Rachelle was determined to get me out to the Mulholland coffee shop, and I figured I’d be able to pick her brain a little about the artist featurette I’d planned. I repressed a groan when she mentioned Sean was going, too. If he hadn’t told her about his failed coffee date, I was going to keep quiet. There was no point in humiliating him by pointing it out.
Ever aware that I might run across one of the Demons, I took the time to make myself look nice that evening, curling my hair and touching mascara on my lashes. Mom hugged me before I ducked into the rain for my waiting taxi.
“You smell good enough to eat, honeybun,” she said.
I kissed her cheek, made sure she was stocked with enough novels to last through the Apocalypse, and caught the cab.
The forest opened on the metropolitan Mulholland, a glass-and-concrete blemish on the woodland vista. The only people who lived around here were people who had money coming out of their ears, and the scene reflected that. Everything was perfectly manicured, glossed within an inch of perfection.
The cab deposited me in front of the Tall & Dark Grind Haus. Even from the cab I saw the bright shock of Rachelle’s blue hair inside the windows.
She held up a silver see-through thong on one fingertip when I entered, waving it around like a flag.
“Victoria’s Slut-cret is under way!” she announced as I shed my dripping raincoat. Sean was sitting across from her, casting wary sidelong glances at me. I was going to have to sit between them, with no extra space at the tiny table.
I ordered a mocha and sat down, almost rubbing elbows with Sean. Just because he’d asked me out and I’d refused didn’t mean this had to be awkward. “I was thinking of writing a feature on Bourdillon’s artists, would you be my guinea pig?”
“Yes, I would!” Rachelle dropped the thong back in the pink bag beside her and folded her fingers under her chin, giving me an impish grin. “Fire away, Miss Fawkes. Let’s put that pen to work.”
I got
out my pen and notebook. “All right, Miss Reid, let’s talk about your childhood and then the inspiration behind these unmentionables.”
Rachelle started talking a mile a minute, and my notebook was three pages full before she finally stopped for air. Sean just watched us and sulked the entire time, spinning his half-empty cup of coffee around on the table with the tips of his fingers.
I’d just flipped to a fresh page when Rachelle sucked in a sharp breath. Her attention was focused outside the window.
I followed her gaze and watched a beautiful woman cross the street. I wasn’t the kind of person who was stingy with my assessment of beauty, but she was breathtaking. Long red hair, the kind of red that caught the sun and sparkled with the hue of rich autumn, blew back in the breeze and framed porcelain skin.
She looked expensive, from the tips of her manicured fingers to the frames of her Celine sunglasses and the soles of her Louboutin heels.
For a moment I thought Rachelle might’ve just been inspired by the fact that Aphrodite had just crossed the street, but she tore her gaze away and leaned towards me over the table.
“Are you ready for some juicy gossip?” Her eyes sparkled with malice. “Guess who she is?”
I glanced at the woman and felt a strange twist of foreboding in my guts. Beauty stepped onto the corner and headed for the Grind Haus’s doors. “I have no idea.”
“She would be the cold and conniving ex-Mrs. Thayer, Alyssa Pelletier.” Rachelle’s voice dropped to a whisper. “One-time wife to our illustrious Dean of Students.”
Alyssa’s heels clicked on the floor as she dropped out of line of sight, approaching the counter. A strange roaring filled my ears, my phone seeming to burn my skin through my pocket.
At that moment I realized what a joke I must be.
“They got divorced about a year ago,” Rachelle whispered, her eyes laser-focused over my shoulder. “I wonder why she’s back in Mulholland.”
I got another good look at Alyssa when she grabbed the Americano she’d ordered and strode past us. Even the smell left in the wake of her passage was heavenly, a breath of spring.