His to Belong To

by jm blake

  Murder. Cold-blooded fratricide. My mum will just have to get over it. “It was mud, alright? He wanted us to sit in a muddy puddle in the pouring rain. It was ridiculous and I told him so. When he tried to tell me that he would report my bad behavior, I let him know that I wouldn’t tolerate his bullying.” My mum had spent the morning ironing and tailoring my uniform, making it perfectly creased. And this fool wanted us to camp in a bush? Not bloody happening.

  “How old were you?” She wipes the wetness from her face and I scowl. “I was six.”

  The giggles start again, and I poke her in the side. She squeals, and I do it once more. A devilish thought comes over me, and I quickly flip her until she is on her back, pinned under me. I gather her hands in one of mine and dance my free fingers across her ribs. Her giggles turn into tortured shrieks, and I poke and dig until I find her worst spot. Her screeches are uncontrollable—in between, she is begging me to stop.

  “Ay-den..puleeze! I’ll pee!!”

  I pause and smile evilly. “Will, you ever bring up my short career as a scout again?” I poke her once in emphasis. Her head wildly shakes from side to side and her curly hair covers half of her face. “No, no, I promise! I won’t even bring up your knobby little knees.” My mouth opens in pure pain. “Did he show you the pictures, too?”

  She nods hesitantly, a brilliant smile quivering at the edge of her mouth. “You were the cutest little thing. Skinny, but cute.” My eyes narrow and I climb off of her, searching the floor for my pants. I dig my phone out and shoot of a warning to Bash. “Get your affairs in order, Puddock. Your days are numbered.” Three dots dance across the screen, and a small looped video pops up of a girl holding up her fingers, making a “W.” I frown and flip the phone around. “What does this mean?”

  Cassidy sits up and squints. “It means ‘whatever.’ But super sarcastic.” I huff and my head drops back. “I should have sold him to the circus when he was little.” I peer at her as she wraps her arms around her knees, hair a mess, and a little sweaty. She’s gorgeous.

  “Are you hungry at all? We could order takeaway. It’s very late, but I know a few spots.” She nods enthusiastically and I smile softly. “Anything, in particular, Cass, or do you trust me?”

  She swings her legs over the side of the bed and grabs my shirt. “I trust you.” She buttons up half of the shirt, rolling up the too-long sleeves. “Do you have any socks I could borrow?” I point toward the closet and she smirks while walking past me. I follow behind her, hearing her gasp when she turns on the light. “Holy shit!”

  I may have a bit of a clothes problem. When my designer built this closet, she had to take over a bedroom next door to get all of my suits to fit. “Socks are to your left.”

  Her mouth is open, eyes wide. “My sister would flip out right now. This is literally her dream.” She runs her fingers lightly over the rows and rows of jackets and customs shirts. She stops in front of a series of clear drawers and pulls one open. Yanking out a pair of pristine Falke vicuña socks, she holds them over her head. “These ok?”

  My lips twitch, but I nod gravely. She plops on a tufted leather ottoman and pulls them on her little feet. I tie a pair of sweatpants at my waist and slip on some sheepskin houseshoes. “Come, love, let me feed you. And maybe you can tell me the story about you falling out of a tree.”

  Ayden

  “What about Valentine’s Day? How did you spend it last year?” Her precious face is tipped up at me as she shovels a large forkful of curry between her plush lips. My own mouth quirks at her performance; what a novelty it is to have a woman eat in front of me, in lieu of picking annoyingly at their food. I recall one particular lady who ordered the most expensive selection at a five-star restaurant: complete with a rare wine and made-for-table dessert. She took one bite of veal and one sip of wine and stared at me the rest of the meal— bug-eyed and starving—poor thing.

  “Ayden?” I snap out of my reverie and grin at her. “Erm, last year?” I tap on her knee and think. A sudden memory snaps at me, and I gulp rather loudly, horror creeping up my chest.

  “That bad, huh?” Cassidy’s amused voice is muffled while she chews. “You can tell me. I won’t judge.”

  Judge? I’m more worried about her running out of here screaming. How am I supposed to tell this woman- an absolute dream- that I spent last Valentine’s Day taking a random to an emergency dentist after I fucked her so hard that her teeth clacked together and broke? The sound of her ecstasy had quickly morphed into screams of horror as she spit bits of tooth and blood onto the silk sheets. Talk about a mood killer.

  “I spent it with a friend who, erm, had a medical issue.” I can barely look at her, concentrating on her smooth legs which are draped over my lap. She stops chewing long enough to grin at me, her blazing blue eyes tinting green with her mirth.

  “A medical issue? Dude, you gotta do better than that. Details, I need details.”

  “I think we can leave the details on this one out, hmm?” I take my fork and scoop up a bit of her curry, ignoring the greedy scowl on her face. “So we have gone through most of the holidays, now what about you. Tell me something about when you were a little girl.”

  While we were waiting for the food to deliver, I gave her a tour of the apartment. She was less interested in the priceless art and luxurious decor, than she was in the little things; a photo of my pop, an old pull toy that survived Bash and his reckless childhood antics, my university BUCS trophies. I was telling her about a particularly hairy Boxing Day, when Bash ran off and was lost for about three hours. My histrionically challenged mum fell practically faint, and it took my grandfather’s whole staff that time to discover that the little bugger was in the kitchen pantry, gorging himself on lard. In between her hilarity, she began asking me for stories about other holidays and get-togethers, and that led to the Valentine’s Day Tooth Massacre. It wasn’t lost on me that I had been doing the majority of the talking, and while she listened attentively, she also wasn’t sharing much. I don’t have a of a frame of reference for children of adoption, but all that keeps popping into my head are horrible things. Was she starved? Beaten? Neglected? I unconsciously tighten my grip on her leg.

  She chews slowly, thoughtfully. “When I was six, I led a revolt at my group home. The state or charities donated a lot of our toys and games. None of them were educational, though. They were mostly action figures with guns or dolls that needed diapers or outfits. So one time, this really rich lady came in- she was a frequent guest- mostly pats on the head and a big fat check, you know the type. Anyway, I went around and gathered up all of the kids and when the lady was about to leave, I kicked up the most dramatic stink ever. I wailed and wailed that we didn’t have any toys and that we would wind up being cat burglars in jail because they only gave us violent dolls to play with. All of us cried- mostly faking-and the lady got so upset that she started crying too. About a week later, boxes of Legos, Lincoln Logs, and all sorts of art supplies got dropped on our doorstep.” A wry grin graces her lips. “I got grounded for two weeks- couldn’t play with toys or have dessert. But it was worth it.”

  “You were a little rebel, even then, mmm?” I poke her lightly, but internally I rage. Who in their right mind would punish a little girl for trying to get better toys for a bunch of orphans? I have a clear picture in my mind of a tiny thing with wobbly glasses and a mess of curly hair, that adorable glare on her face. I make a mental note to have Phyl research orphanages and process a load of educational toys out. Maybe I’ll donate on Cassidy’s behalf. Secretly, of course.

  She shrugs, a little embarrassment on her face. “I still am. I’ve just learned to hide it better.” Her fork scrapes against the empty plate and she plops back on the couch with a satisfied sigh. Her slim finger reaches out and taps in between my eyebrows. “What is this frown for?”

  I swallow and carefully consider my words. I may have only met Cassidy a bit ago, but I know that she has a tremendous amount of pride. I don’t want her to know that her lit
tle story got to me in any way. “I’m thinking about how DevCo can use an educational department. Maybe one that develops toys that encourage proper environmental awareness.” Her face lights up.

  “I love that idea! Can I email over some suggestions? Who would be in charge? How many toys are you thinking? You know that they have to be gender-neutral, right? I mean, you can’t have like pink and blue stuff, ‘cause that’s awful.” Her brain is going a mile a minute and her mouth is running catch up. I lean over and kiss her soundly, less passion and more affection. Her enthusiasm is delicious. “I just thought of the idea, Madam Genius. Give me at least ten minutes to process it, hmm?” Her lips pout under mine, and she nods, annoyed.

  “Now, what would you like to do? I have a few suggestions.” I waggle my eyebrows at her, and squeeze her hip. Her blues narrow, and a faux innocent looks crosses her face. “Can we watch a movie?” She gestures to the large television that graces one of the walls.

  “Absolutely.” Translation: I was hoping you were going to let me eat your pussy on the couch, but I’ll take any time with you I can.

  “Great! I’ll log into my Netflix account.” She grabs the complicated digital remote that I never use, stares at it for a moment, and then starts pushing buttons. The screen comes to life, and a series of logos flashed in a row. I grab a thick throw and drape it over both of us, pulling her legs back over my lap. She shoots me a small smile and settles back into my arms.

  “What’s ‘The Strangers’ about?” I squint at the screen. “There’s no clowns or demons are there?” I look at her face suspiciously, but she seems genuine.

  “Nope. Not a clown or demon in sight.” She snuggles deeper under the blanket and pats my leg. “No talking during the movie, handsome.” I’m still a little apprehensive, but I decide to trust her anyway.

  * * *

  Wrong move.

  This little schemer managed to force me to watch the most terrifying movie of my life. To make matters worse, there was a disclaimer that it was based on a true story.

  Excuse me?

  When the credits rolled, she turned to face me, a hopeful, yet satisfied look on her face. “So, what did you think?”

  I sit for a moment, my heart beating a mile a minute. I gently push her legs off of my lap and run to the front door. I check all of the locks, and then go around to the windows and check those as well. Why do I have so many bloody windows? I can hear her muffled snickers as I pick up the house phone and notify my doorman that I am not expecting anyone, and no one is allowed upstairs. Her giggles turn into sparkling laughter, and I turn around and glare at her. I don’t care how precious she looks with her wild hair, wrapped in my shirt and socks. That was dirty.

  “Vixen. You knew that the movie was scary and didn’t say a thing.” I tug the blanket off of her and pull her to her feet. Grabbing her arse cheeks, I pull her closer and kiss her softly. “That was bloody disturbing. I don’t know how you can watch these things and sleep. Worse, I have a Tamara that works at DevCo. I’ll never be able to speak with her again.” I kiss her again and give her a good slap. She has nothing under my shirt, so my hands start to roam on their own. “We should have gone with my idea instead.”

  “What was your idea?” She twitches under my exploration; nipples already erect and begging for attention.

  “Well, I have approximately thirteen different seating areas down here. I think we should see how many of them I can fuck you on until you beg me to stop.” Her beautiful eyes widen, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.

  “I’m always up for a mathematical challenge.”

  Cassidy

  [Xe] 6s² 4f¹⁴ 5d⁴ electron configuration

  Them

  “Who was your first kiss?” His face is calm-looking, but he has a weirdly ferocious look in his eyes.

  “Um, Chase Fredericks- seventh grade. We were at Science Camp, and he sneezed in my face right before he planted one on me. He had terrible eyesight and missed my lips and slurped my nostrils instead. I think he got part of the top, though, so that counts as a first kiss, right?” I shrug and grin at his revolted expression. “What about you?”

  A smug smirk stretches across his perfect face. “Year Seven, Niamh Jones. She was two years ahead of me. And she didn’t miss my mouth or tongue.” He leans back on the bed, arms bent behind his head, picture of an arrogant ass.

  My eyes narrow. “How nice for you. I’m sure that Little Miss Cradle-Robber didn’t consider your age when she was orally groping you.” What grade was that again? Fifth? Sixth?

  “No, she knew how old I was. I was always a bit…mature for my age.” The smirk gets wider. “You’re a better kisser if that helps.” He taps my mouth with an elegant finger.

  “Better than a twelve-year-old? Gee, thanks.”

  * * *

  “What’s your favorite dessert?” I ask as I pop yet another macaroon in my mouth. “Or are you one of those weirdos, who doesn’t like sweets?” He snatches the best flavor- blackcurrant violet- out of the box and takes a civilized bite. I growl at him and try to wrestle the other piece out of his hand, but damn his long bones, he holds it out of my reach.

  “I do like desserts- Bash and I used to fight over pastries and biscuits when we were children. As far as my favorite- I have to say nothing beats Jaffa cakes.” He manages to eat the rest of the macaroon while mushing my face with his other hand. I snarl and attempt to jump off the bed with the box, but he quickly snatches me back. He plucks the box out of my arms and dumps it on the bedside table. His hard body presses into mine, and I get the impression, a rather long impression, that our wrestling has um, excited him. He grinds into me with a long swivel, and I lose my breath.

  “What’s a Jaffa cake?”

  * * *

  “Do you want children?” I can only imagine Cassidy with a herd of dimpled little nerds behind her, calculators in hand and glasses on their tiny noses. I chuckle at the thought, but then sober. Her with children means a husband. And I don’t like to think about that.

  Her adorable face scrunches up and tilts to the side. “Sometimes, I think I do. But other times, I’m scared that I would be terrible at it. Plus, I don’t ever want to get married, so maybe I’ll be a kick-ass aunt instead.” She adjusts the pillow and settles in on her side. Her full, luscious breasts are pushing into my arm, and it’s taking everything in me not to flip her over and fuck her again.

  “What about you?” She rubs her small hand around my stomach, tracing the muscles. I flex them a bit, and she pinches me.

  “No, I don’t. My father died when I was small; Bash was just a baby. He doesn’t remember anything, but my mum was a mess. She couldn’t get out of bed for months, and my grandfather had to step in to help. There was one point where I didn’t see her for three weeks- though she was only upstairs. I only have vague memories of him, but I know he was always laughing and happy. I don’t ever want to put my wife and children through something that. Bash is chomping at the bit to be a father and settle down, so I’ll let him carry on the family name, so to speak. I guess I’ll be a kick-ass uncle instead.” I lean down and kiss the tip of her pert nose.

  “Bet I’ll be a better aunt than you’ll be an uncle.” I feel a small nip on my arm. I tug her until she’s on top of me, and she sits up. Her warm body undulates, and I forget what we were talking about.

  * * *

  “Favorite movie-don’t say Poltergeist.”

  “Fucking hell, not that. I don’t know— I’m not too much of a telly person. You?”

  “Favorite? Raiders Of The Lost Ark- I love that he was a college professor who moonlighted as a badass tomb raider. What did you do as a kid if you didn’t watch movies?”

  “Rode horses, rowing club, traveled, avoided Sebastian. I oddly wasn’t home much. I’m still not- this is the most time I’ve spent in this flat since I’ve bought it. ”

  “Huh. I’ve never rowed before. I’ve never ridden a horse before, either.”

  “Are you certain? Be
cause last night…”

  “Don’t finish that sentence!”

  * * *

  “Who was you first… you know,” Her voice is low since Clayton is in the driver’s seat a few feet away.