by Nikki Sloane
“The company’s history isn’t perfect,” Macalister continued. “After the Civil War, they’d pledged too much stock to back their loans. This was before the Federal Reserve existed. Being a student of economics, you might remember what happened in 1907.”
I wasn’t sure where he was going with this history lesson. “The Panic?”
Three weeks of turmoil had gripped America as people and companies made terrified runs to the banks to withdraw their money, and some were left with nothing.
Again, he was pleased with my answer. “The Stock Exchange plummeted. Banks weren’t just going out of business in New York, they were failing all over the country. Wall Street was in crisis. When my company’s loans were called, we nearly went bankrupt. But my great-great grandfather, Nelson Hale, was incredibly savvy. He consolidated investments, organized a merger between the railroads, and freed up enough capital to avert disaster.” There was admiration in his voice. “He is one of the great men credited with stabilizing the US economy.”
Macalister’s lips turned up in an ironic smile.
“It’s quite spectacular, all he accomplished,” he said, “especially considering he suffered a debilitating stroke the prior year and was completely incapacitated.”
“What?” I asked. “How—”
“His wife Alma, my great-great grandmother. With the help of the board, she saved the company. Nelson remained as the figurehead, but it was her pulling the strings while ensuring no one knew. For ten years she ruled in secret, and HBHC flourished. She made the board very wealthy, and they owed everything to her.” Something dark and sexual swirled in the room, so powerful, it seemed to make the candles flicker.
“In return,” he said quietly, “they showed her their appreciation in ways her husband no longer could.”
Oh, my God.
His icy eyes wandered down over my frame. “Marriage is a partnership, and we need to know what kind of woman you are, Marist. If you would be willing to step in and do what needs to be done to protect the Hale name, no matter how hard it was.” His inescapable gaze connected with mine. “Would you?”
I dragged air into my body. I wasn’t touching Royce, but I could feel him near, lingering behind me. “Yes,” I whispered.
This faint smile from Macalister was the most sinister of them all. “Then we ask that you prove it.” He nodded to Royce. “You’ll bind yourself not just to him, but to this board.”
There was a tug at my back, and my eyes widened. He was undoing the knots on my corset.
Holy. Fuck.
Macalister pulled the untouched glass of champagne from my grasp. I’d forgotten it existed, and as soon as my hands were empty, I pressed them to the front of my dress. My chest heaved, but the dress was a skeleton of boning and fabric, caging me in. I fluttered nakedly inside my prison, not ready to be released.
I held the dress as the laces at my back were loosened, my gaze fixed on Macalister, although I sensed the other men as well. I felt their heavy eyes scouring me, waiting with bated breath.
The back of my dress was undone by Royce’s sure hands, and with my flesh bared to only him, he took advantage. It was his favorite part of a woman, after all. His palms crept inside and slid over my skin just like he’d done in the library upstairs last year.
That night had been a century ago.
Neither of us should be those people right now. I was supposed to be the girl who could handle anything. But I came undone when Royce’s lips ghosted a kiss against my back.
“Be Medusa,” he whispered.
I sucked in a final breath, let go of my dress, and as it cascaded down my body, I unleashed my power, turning all the men into stone.
FIFTEEN
THE RED DRESS COASTED DOWN MY LEGS until it was a heap of satin and tulle at my ankles. I wasn’t wearing a bra since the dress molded to my body and offered support. I stood before the board in nothing more that a pair of lace panties.
My mind was as motionless as the men looking at me.
Of course, it was Macalister who recovered first. His gaze washed down and hovered on my breasts. Invisible fingers slipped over me, tracing the curves of my exposed, sensitive flesh. His attention lingered on my nipples, teasing the distended tips with a featherlight touch.
It seemed to happen in slow motion. His hand extended to me in an offer. Or a demand. I was bashful and wanted to cover myself, but what was the point? I wasn’t done until they’d seen it all.
I stared at his hand, unsure.
“I can’t make him my proxy,” Macalister said, “until we’ve begun.”
Meaning the initiation hadn’t officially started.
I didn’t know how I had the strength, but I reached out and took Macalister’s cold hand. He used his hold to urge me to step free of the dress, but once I had, he didn’t release me. He squeezed my fingers and guided me to walk with him.
My breasts swayed with each inelegant step I took in the red bottomed heels Alice had dressed me in, and I held my body tight and careful. It was a sexual promenade to the far end of the enormous dining table with a court of hungry men in tuxedos trailing behind us. There was something darkly powerful about it. I was the queen, and their desire made them my subjects.
When we reached the head of the table, Macalister let go of me and pulled the large, ornate chair out of the way. More chairs scraped over the rug and hardwood as they were dragged away, making room for the board. Royce moved in, turning me so my back was to the men and he became all I could see. He smoothed his warm palms over my stomach, sliding them around my body until they came to rest on the small of my back. His eyes searched my face, desperate to make sure I was okay.
It was so much easier like this when he was all that existed. I pressed my body against his, flattening my breasts to his dress shirt. We couldn’t stay like this forever, though. He’d come to me with a purpose, and his fingers hesitantly inched toward the lace. It was the last scrap of fabric hiding me from everyone else.
It had to be quite the image. I was nearly naked in his arms, while the men gathered around the table. Once again, four on one side and three on the other, the Hales and I at the end. It tasted like pennies in my mouth, which I found ironic until I realized I’d bitten the inside of my cheek so hard I’d drawn blood.
The question was loud in Royce’s expression. He needed to know if I could keep going. I gave the subtlest of nods and closed my eyes.
Down, he pulled the lace, dragging it over my thighs and trembling knees. My breath went so shallow I was barely taking air into my body, and I swayed, a reed in the wind. One strong gust and I’d break.
The quick, uneven breath and shuffle of feet was the only thing I could hear when he bent, and my underwear dropped all the way to my ankles. Then Royce straightened, and his voice went nearly silent, like he didn’t want to disturb me or the quiet in the room.
“Have a seat.”
I had to open my eyes to do it. I put my hands down beside me on the tabletop at my back, and my bare skin squealed as I got up, sliding until my knees were at the edge, my feet dangling over the side. I pinched my legs together and my shoulders were tight to my ears. Tension twisted so hard inside me it made my chest hurt.
This command came from Macalister instead of his son. “Lie back.”
Oh, God.
Trepidation was strong, but so was relief. It wouldn’t be long now, and the sooner we started, the sooner it would be over. I’d waited so fucking long, the darkest part inside of me no longer cared how it happened. I was eager for Royce to make me his.
The table was a hard slab of concrete against my heated skin. My shoes and panties were removed, and I curled my awkward hands in fists, resting them tensely over my stomach. I couldn’t really see the Hales at the end of the table, but the other men? They stood shoulder to shoulder at the sides of the table, their curious and thirsty gazes exploring the naked landscape before them.
“Are you comfortable?” Macalister’s tone was pleasant and off-p
utting.
“Yeah,” I said, punctuated by a nervous, sarcastic laugh. Being naked was beyond disorienting. “This is great.”
Although I couldn’t see him without lifting my head, I felt Royce stiffen at my flippant tone. I wished I could take it back. If the board found me disrespectful, would I lose their approval? I pressed my lips together to keep anything else unfiltered from coming out.
Rather than look upset, Macalister appeared understanding and turned to his son. “There’s a pillow in the cabinet with the hourglass.”
Right, I wanted to say. A pillow was going to make all the difference. I stared up at the chandelier, ignoring the eyes leering down at me. I’d never really been naked in front of the opposite sex. Royce had seen all of my body, but not at one time, and now there were nine men seeing me at once.
Try to enjoy it, Alice had said.
Had she done this? Lain right here on this same spot while Macalister fucked her? Had she been special enough to warrant a pillow? I wanted to giggle inappropriately. My emotions were all over the place.
My eyelids fluttered closed as I drew in a deep breath through my nose and pushed it out slowly through my mouth, hoping to center myself. A cabinet opened and clicked closed, followed by rustling. Then fabric, covering a male form, leaned into me.
“Marist,” Royce whispered.
There was a gold throw pillow in his hands, and when I lifted my head to look at him, he slipped it beneath me. It was marginally better because it kept the pins in my hair from digging into my scalp, but it was also so much worse. It made it so I would be able to view all the men surrounding me more clearly.
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.
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 G
od.
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 my 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.