by Nikki Sloane
He grunted so softly it was barely audible, but satisfaction warmed in my center. It died as quickly as it had arrived, because he tore his lips from mine, jammed his face in my neck, and sank his teeth into my flesh.
“Fuck,” I gasped, more surprise than pain, although he’d bitten hard enough it was likely there’d be a mark. The sharp edge of his teeth was replaced by the damp velvet of his tongue, and the shiver that flitted through my shoulders was unstoppable.
“I see you,” he murmured. “And now I’ve tasted you.”
Oh, God.
In addition to Macalister’s threat, my sister’s face flashed through my mind. “No one can know.”
“Who the fuck would we tell? You don’t have any friends.” His mouth latched onto the spot where my neck met my body.
I tried to shove him away but put no effort behind it. His kisses sucked all my strength. “I have friends.”
He straightened and gave me a hard look. Then I was turned roughly in his hands until I was facing the bookshelf and his chest was a wall at my back. “Fictional friends do not count.”
I had to move forward to try to turn and protest, but he just used it as an opportunity to advance on me. We shuffled two small steps until I was trapped and all I could see were the different colored spines of books. And then his lips were on the curve of my neck again, and his fingers traced a line down my bare back.
I peered at the titles before me and slipped deeper into his seduction.
I wished for a lot of things at that moment. To know if my sister had legitimate feelings for the man at my back, whose erection was poking against me. I wanted the door to this library to have a lock on it, and for Royce to use it. And I needed to know, since everything was going to hell anyway, when he was going to make good on his threat of sliding his hand up my dress and discovering how badly he’d turned me on.
I didn’t have feelings for him. At least, not in the way a normal girl would. He used people, and I was eager to do the same to him. He could satisfy my curiosity about sex, and hopefully be very satisfying while doing it.
His hot, hungry mouth roved over me, like he needed to press his lips to every inch of my defenseless flesh he could find. I put my hands out and grasped the dusty shelf before me. Once again, he pushed my hair over my shoulder and out of his way, exposing my back, and I tilted my chin down to my chest.
“This is my favorite part of a woman.” He drew a line across my shoulder blades with his tongue. Goosebumps pebbled on my skin. Of course, this was his favorite spot. Not the breasts, or the ass, or the legs . . . but the place that controlled all of a woman’s physical power.
The place where she was most vulnerable.
If someone walked in right now, they’d have to think the scene was beyond strange. A girl with green hair in a virginal cocktail dress, clutching the bookcase for dear life as the man in the suit behind her worshiped her back with both his hands and his mouth. It was relatively benign what we were doing, but it was the most erotic moment of my life.
Pleasure radiated from his kisses, and the warmth spread deep between my legs. It got worse as he gripped my hips and ground himself against me. I wasn’t sure which was more shocking, the sensation of his hard length, or that he found kissing me arousing.
Royce’s words twisted with lust. “I want to fuck you under this white dress.”
He kept one hand tight on my hip but slid the other up the curve of my body. All the way until it was cased around my throat, forcing my head back onto his shoulder. His fingers flexed, constricting just enough to make me feel his dominance but not outright fear.
He growled roughly in my ear. “I want to see your red lipstick smeared all over my dick.”
I exhaled a sharp breath.
His voice was abruptly so low and smooth, it sounded like he was inside my head. “Would you like that?”
Would I? The image of me on my knees, his belt and pants undone flickered through my mind. It was undeniably hot, but what about Emily? What about the door that anyone could walk through and catch us?
He sensed my hesitation not by my lack of answer, but by the tension in my body.
“No?” His question was rhetorical. The hand on my hip snaked down to the center of my skirt where he pressed his thick fingers between my legs. The dress had many layers of fabric, but as he rubbed me, the sensation was pleasurable enough to make my heart stop.
When a moan drifted past my lips, a satisfied chuckle rattled in his chest. My legs shook as he deliberately worked the layers of the skirt up, and I jolted when his palm found my inner thigh. What we were doing was bad.
But—God—it would be worse if he stopped.
I couldn’t control my breathing as his hand inched upward and brushed the damp crotch of my panties. His tone was pure evil. “What’s this?”
I didn’t defend myself. I just stood there, waiting patiently for him to cross the line. His phone chimed in his pocket, but he ignored it. He was more interested in teasing and balancing me on the knife’s edge of desire.
Royce finally stroked his hand between my thighs, touching me through the thin satin. He wasn’t gentle about it either, and I was glad. It made it easier to remember I didn’t like him. Plus, the heat between us was searing and urgent, and I’d rather have his touch now than wait for him to be careful.
“I want this,” he said. “Give it to me.”
He couldn’t have sounded more like the spoiled rich brat he was if he’d tried.
But a shudder wracked my body. This was a demand from the prince and one I would have to obey, but I’d do it gladly, even when I didn’t understand exactly what I was surrendering. My body? My virginity? More?
It was poetic justice that the man who’d caused the delay in my sexual journey would be the same one who’d start me on it. And he fucking owed me.
“All right,” I whispered.
My agreement was a release. It was a signed contract, a done deal, and tension poured from my muscles. It made me malleable in his steady and no doubt experienced hand.
He dug his fingers inside my underwear, and I tightened my grip on the bookshelf, clamping my teeth together to hold back a breathy moan. His touch was so different than my own. Rougher. Confident. Greedy.
It was so much better.
Could he feel my pulse roaring in my neck? His hand still collared me, but there wasn’t aggression there. He saved all of that for the hand strumming between my legs, stirring my clit. I was going to melt. Drip down his fingers, pool onto the floor, and seep into the fibers of the Persian rug.
His phone chimed again.
Its mechanical noise didn’t belong here. The only sounds I wanted ringing in my ears were my whimpers of pleasure and his hurried breaths. But the second text alert was a trigger. It felt like a bomb had been armed and we only had so much time left before it blew up in our faces. Someone was eventually going to come looking for him.
Royce’s tie swayed against my back as he moved his arm, working me over. Then he slid a finger inside, and I wanted to curl up onto my toes.
“Oh, fuck,” I groaned. I tilted my head forward, letting it thud onto the bookshelf with a soft bang. It wasn’t that his intrusion felt particularly good, but the idea of it? That, I enjoyed very much. I liked his possession.
His tongue was at the shell of my ear, and although he wasn’t saying anything with words, his hot breath whispered dark thoughts directly into my mind. I spread my legs wider, increasing my stance, and rocked on the finger pulsing inside me.
“You sure you’re a virgin?” He nipped at my earlobe, and his tone was teasing. “Because you’re fucking my hand like you’re not.”
“Shut up,” I gasped.
He laughed and tightened his hold on my neck, wordlessly telling me I’d better watch it. I didn’t get to tell him what to do. His firm hand was a reminder of who was in control right now.
His long, fat finger withdrew, only to rub lazy circles on my swollen, sensitive clit. It was ove
rwhelming, everything that was happening. He returned to kissing my neck, his lips working just under the hand he pressed to my pulse point. I jolted and stretched at the fingers twitching inside my panties, writhing like a mindless animal.
Royce boiled the thoughts in my head down to single words. Want. Need. Come.
“This is mine now,” he said.
I couldn’t see his face, but I pictured his expression. It was the same one he’d wear someday in the boardroom during a hostile takeover. Absolute.
He said I was his. I tried to understand what he meant, but I was fracturing. He increased the intensity, and pleasure spilled from my center, running down my legs. I was coming apart.
“You wait for me. You understand?”
Wait for him? My confusion made the orgasm brewing in my system hesitate.
It was less of an order from him, and more like a plea. “I get to be first, Marist. No one else touches you.”
I tried to step away, but his strong arms crushed me back against him, trapping me. And as I settled into my new prison, he rewarded me. His hand fluttered until it became too much. I cried out, my voice soft but soaked with bliss as I came.
It was violent.
I flinched and contracted under the weight of the pleasure, its intensity so strong for a moment it felt like dying.
I hadn’t finished recovering when Royce turned my head toward his and captured my mouth in a brutal kiss.
“You’ll wait,” he demanded. “Say you’ll do it.”
Nothing made sense right now, but I was under his influence and would agree to nearly anything. His magnetic voice was a siren’s call, luring me in.
“Yes,” I breathed.
Something oddly like relief filled his eyes and then vanished. “Good.”
He let go of me and stepped back so suddenly, I had to use the bookcase to keep myself upright, nearly toppling it and crushing us both. I got strength back in my legs and whirled around to face him, only to see his broad back heading quickly for the exit.
“Royce.” I said it the same way I’d tell him to stop.
But he didn’t. He opened the door and disappeared into the hallway, never once looking back at me.
FOUR
One Year Later
I WAS STILL A VIRGIN on my twenty-first birthday.
It wasn’t done out of loyalty to Royce, I continually reassured myself. I hadn’t seen him since his graduation party a year ago and did my best not to think about him at all these days. It had been hard at first. I’d spent an unhealthy amount of time obsessing over our night in the library and wondering what the hell had happened. Had I done something wrong? Or had the whole thing just been one massive mindfuck?
It was going to be tough to get through today without thinking about him. He, along with his father, was due at the house within the hour.
I sat on the tile floor of Emily’s bathroom, gazing at my purple toenail polish. She was beside me, and I stroked a hand over her hair as she bent over the toilet and spit the lingering stomach acid from her mouth. I tore off a strip of toilet paper and passed it to her as she leaned back, and I stayed quiet as she wiped the corners of her mouth.
Her eyes were bloodshot. She’d thrown up so many times today, it’d burst blood vessels.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
“A little. God, please tell me it’s finally out of my system.” Her skin was ashen and waxy. “Shit,” she groaned, collapsed back against the wall and put a hand on her forehead. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“People get sick,” I offered. “Everyone understands that.”
Her red-rimmed eyes popped open and stared at me like I was nuts. “Macalister won’t.”
She was right, so I wasn’t going to argue with her. Humans got sick, but Macalister Hale wasn’t human, so he wouldn’t be able to relate. Our father had tried to cancel the luncheon, but his boss refused. There were important things that needed to be discussed. Plus, he told my father there was “plenty of time for Emily to get herself together” before they arrived.
Macalister probably thought it was just a hangover and not actual food poisoning as my father had explained.
“Maybe a shower will help,” I said, glancing at the screen of my phone. The meeting was unavoidable, and she needed to get her ass in gear if she was going to attempt to look presentable.
“Okay,” she said weakly. I helped her up off the floor and plodded over to the shower, turning on the water.
After she finished, there was a knock at the bathroom door, but it swung open without waiting for a response, and our mother floated in. Her dark chocolate colored hair didn’t show a speck of gray because she paid a great deal of money for it not to. She wore a red and navy striped dress with a pleated skirt, and although lunch wouldn’t be served for another hour, she was all polished and ready to give Martha Stewart a run for her money.
She watched Emily climb feebly out of the shower, and worry streaked across her face. “Did anyone else get sick?”
I shook my head. “Em is the only one who ordered the salmon.”
My mother scowled, creating a crease in her forehead. “Don’t call her that today, all right?”
My sister’s nickname had never been an issue before. Any other time, I’d have been irritated at the idea of changing my behavior to please someone else, but today I would go with it. “Okay.”
The Hale family held sway over everything, and my parents would have less stress over the President of the United States visiting. They were supposed to be friends, but every moment with the Hales was rigid and formal. A visit with Macalister was a job interview that never ended. Every answer and action you made was evaluated and catalogued in his brain, and one wrong move would be disastrous.
“I should call the restaurant and let them know,” my mother said. “A lot of times it doesn’t get reported and—”
She froze as she stared at her daughter’s bloodshot eyes. It was obvious the thoughts running through her mind. First was concern over how sick Emily was, but the second thought was given almost as much priority. She was worried what Macalister’s reaction would be.
“I think I’ve got some Visine,” I whispered.
My mother’s attention swung toward me and, as she blinked, it was like she was seeing me for the very first time. Her critical gaze took in my deep emerald hair, scoured downward over my tank top and shorts, and landed on my flip-flops.
“Marist, please. Get dressed. I’m getting nervous sweats just looking at you.”
Emily lurched toward the toilet again. There wasn’t much left to throw up, and my mother and I stood helplessly by as she dry-heaved. If there was a way I could have transferred the sickness to myself, I gladly would have done it. It was so hard to watch my sister feeling miserable.
And she’d said the salmon wasn’t even that good. We’d gone out last night with her friends to celebrate her graduation from Etonsons. It had been a small gathering. The garden party my parents were planning would happen over Memorial Day weekend when the weather was better.
My mother locked eyes with me as Emily coughed and moaned. “Wear something nice. You might have to represent both my daughters today.”
After much arguing, I wore the pomegranate dress Emily had intended to wear. With my green hair, I was modern Christmas colors in May. The V neck party dress wasn’t my style, but it fit me and satisfied my frazzled mother.
After getting dressed and putting on the makeup my sister insisted I wear, I lingered upstairs as long as I could when the Hale men arrived. I waited until my father had to call for me to join them. It had been a small miracle I’d gone this long without running into Royce since I’d returned from college, but I couldn’t avoid him any longer. I teetered down the staircase on Emily’s heels, which were a half-size too big and made me clutch tight to the banister.
The polite conversation ceased at my entrance, and for a moment I became Medusa, turning everyone into statues. My father was the first to break fo
rm and gave a surprised smile, happy to see me. There was safety in numbers around the Hales, after all.
The patriarch of the visiting family took longer to recover and look mostly human again.
At fifty-two, Macalister’s hair didn’t contain a single thread of silver. It was swept perfectly over to one side, not a strand out of place, and I wondered if he simply decreed it in the morning and his hair fell into line. His nose was long, his cheekbones were high, and he was in perfect shape.
And just like his sons, Macalister was ruthlessly attractive.
But there was an unsettling edge in his eyes. As if he’d seen the entire world, down to every crevice, and found all of it so very disappointing.
His top lip curled as his gaze evaluated me top to bottom. Oh, he fucking hated my unnatural hair color, and it was so bad, he wasn’t even going to acknowledge me. I didn’t deserve a sliver more of his attention.
Royce, on the other hand, was frozen and focused only on me. His wide eyes didn’t blink for an abnormally long moment, and with the surprised expression fixed on his face, he looked . . . strange. Like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Otherwise, he appeared the same as last time. Still irritatingly sexy, wearing a cobalt blue suit with no tie, and shoulders set with confidence.
Had he not expected to see me? I guessed that made sense. His younger brother Vance hadn’t come, and when Macalister had requested the lunch, he’d only asked Emily attend.
The anxiety of it hadn’t helped my sister with the nausea.
Macalister cleared his throat, jolting his son from his stupor, then narrowed his exacting gaze on my father. “Where’s your other daughter?”
My father stiffened. “She’s still not feeling well.”
Macalister was only a few inches taller than my father, but he seemed to loom over everyone, and his displeasure drifted down, permeating the room. “Then she can join us after lunch.”