by Nina Lane
And yet she still could not stop the plea breaking from her throat, the whispered, “Please, Preston…”
Surely he wouldn’t go, wouldn’t leave her like this…
He crouched in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet. His aristocratic features were still flushed, but the heat had drained from his eyes, replaced by chilly calculation.
Lydia became acutely aware that her naked body was smeared, not only with dirt and sweat, but also the sticky fluids of Preston’s emission. She reached a tentative hand out for her sweatshirt, but Preston snapped the shirt away from her with a hiss of annoyance.
For God’s sake. Lydia pressed a hand to her pounding heart. A realization hit her with the force of a blow.
She was not at the plantation any longer. She did not belong to Preston or La Nouvelle Vie. No, she hadn’t made the choice to leave, and yes, she had some twisted sensibility and misplaced loyalty that had kept her bound to the ramshackle old house and the men who inhabited it.
But she no longer had to do what Preston demanded of her. She was no longer beholden to him and his base desires. She no longer had to hide… at least, not in the manner she’d been compelled to at La Nouvelle Vie.
She leaned forward, her gaze clashing with Preston’s. She latched her hand around her sweatshirt. One of his eyebrows rose ever so slightly, and a faint smile played upon his beautifully shaped mouth.
Lydia tightened her fist on the shirt and yanked it toward herself, pulling it quickly over her head. Her breath came in rapid gasps as she smoothed the material over her naked breasts and lifted her head to meet Preston’s gaze again.
He was watching her, his eyes twin blue flames that seared right to the middle of her soul. He put his hand against her cheek, rubbing his thumb against her lips again. Though his touch was gentle, it contained that air of possessiveness, ownership. Warning.
Lydia trembled.
Preston’s mouth twisted. “You forget,” he said.
She shook her head.
“Your father does not know the extent of our arrangement at La Nouvelle Vie,” Preston continued softly. “No one does. I daresay it would be quite a catastrophic blow to his campaign, to your family’s reputation, if anyone were to discover exactly what the noble Jane Worthington had engaged in.”
A burn rose in Lydia’s chest. She shook her head again, but her words came out in a choked whisper. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
“I could just as easily implicate you.”
Preston laughed with genuine amusement, his eyes twinkling. “Oh yes, my dear. Go ahead and ruin my reputation, such as it is, with slanderous accusations about depraved sex acts and coercion. When you do, I’ll be more than delighted to tell people exactly how Jane Worthington looks when she’s bent naked over the back of a chair or when she’s riding my stiff prick with her breasts bouncing and her skin flushed pink.”
He leaned forward and placed his mouth against hers, his tongue darting out to lick her lower lip. Lydia shuddered.
“I’ll tell them how your moans grow louder as your excitement builds,” Preston whispered. “And how your pretty cunt feels clenched around my cock, how your bottom springs back from the lash of the cane, how you wiggle your hips to indicate you want more even as you scream in protest. I’ll tell them exactly how uncontrollable your pleasure is.”
He pulled away from her and stood, his expression hardening. He straightened his clothes and looked down at her. “Think about it, Lydia. I’ll be in touch.”
With that, he strode from the greenhouse, the door clicking shut behind him with a noise that sounded like the firing of a bullet.
First, there came an email instructing her how to access a separate private account. When she did, she was greeted with a message informing her that she would receive a twenty-four-hour notice of the time and place where she was to meet Preston.
Lydia stared at the message, not quite able to process all the implications of it. He wanted to extend the boundaries of their arrangement—only this time, he was not giving her a choice. She’d always had the choice to leave La Nouvelle Vie if she wished, but now she no longer had anywhere else to go. Did this mean she would be beholden to Preston Severine forever?
A hard shudder coursed through her. As conflicted as she had been in the weeks since leaving the plantation, she’d never imagined she would be back under Preston’s control through outright coercion and while living in her parents’ house.
She closed the laptop and paced to the windows. Were Kruin and Gabriel still at the plantation? If so, did they know about this? Would she see them again too, or was this arrangement all Preston’s doing? If it was, how would she ever find out?
She had no idea how to return to the plantation, no way to contact the other two men. Her only recourse was to obey Preston’s dictates for now, in the hopes that she could extract information from him about Kruin and Gabriel.
Her breath escaped on a heavy sigh. She could do it. She’d become accustomed to Preston’s cruelty—indeed, even craved it at times, much to her confusion—and some dark part of her could not deny the flare of anticipation at the thought of obeying his commands again.
Over the next week, Lydia found herself accessing the private email box several times a day. The inbox remained frustratingly empty, and Lydia didn’t dare send her own message for fear she would be breaking the rules.
She forced herself back into her Perfect Daughter role. Her clothing was impeccable, her makeup flawless, her demeanor polite and respectable. She attended an awards luncheon with her mother, accompanied her father on photo ops to a soup kitchen, a children’s museum, and a town hall meeting at a local college. She escaped to the greenhouse when she could, always breathless at the idea that Preston might show up unexpectedly again.
He didn’t. Lydia knew this was his way of keeping her on edge, off-balance, and it was working. He invaded her every thought, both waking and sleeping, and she found herself in a constant state of suspended arousal. Exactly as she had been at the plantation.
Her sex pulsed every time she pressed her thighs together, and even as she sat listening to her father give a speech about economic reform or when she attended a tea with a group of well-dressed ladies, Lydia fantasized about Preston ordering her to strip, his gaze raking hungrily over her naked body, the sting of his hand against her buttocks, even the dreaded lash of a whip.
Finally, an email arrived one morning as she was getting ready to go shopping with her sister. The instructions were to be prepared the following evening, as a car would await her on the corner of the street just past her parents’ house.
A heady mixture of fear and anticipation filled Lydia for the entire next day. She spent hours preparing herself, shaving, moisturizing, plucking, filing, but she didn’t apply any cosmetics and kept her hair loose around her shoulders. She pulled on a plain cotton bra and panties, then dressed in one of her flowing flower-print dresses from the plantation.
Something settled inside her as she hurried quietly down the stairs. Voices rose from behind the closed doors of the parlor, but she’d already told her parents that she was retiring for the night due to a headache.
Once outside, she raced down the front steps and over the drive to the street.
A town car was parked at the end of the block, a driver lounging against the hood.
“Miss Lydia?” he asked.
She came to a halt, her breath fast as she nodded.
He turned to open the door. “Mr. Severine asked me to pick you up.”
Lydia slid into the cool, dark interior. Her heart pounded. She peered out at the night, trying to determine exactly where the driver was going, but she lost track of the direction after several turns.
He pulled up in front of a row of dilapidated buildings perforated with old balconies. It was a squalid, busy street with people wandering in and out of bars and strip clubs, conversation and drunken laughter loud in the warm night air.
&nbs
p; At the driver’s instruction, Lydia went into a green-shuttered building and took the narrow, rickety stairs to the third floor. She reached a small landing and a door marked by peeling paint. Her hand trembled as she knocked.
Preston opened the door and smiled at her.
“Hello, my dear,” he said. “Welcome home.”
CHAPTER SIX
AH, YES. YES.
Preston Severine licked his lips wolfishly. He gazed at Lydia’s body, prone and spread-eagled on the bed. He’d lashed her wrists and ankles to the bedpost, and now she lay on her belly with her breasts pillowed beneath her and her trembling buttocks upthrust most enticingly, the creamy globes still covered by her tight cotton panties. He could almost feel her begging for his touch… or the lash of a whip.
Preston rubbed the front of his trousers fitfully. His erection was already wet and pulsing, and he’d not even gotten started yet. Lydia gave a little moan and squirmed, a movement, which spread her legs a bit wider.
Preston reached over and trailed his finger across the stretched cotton to the elastic tucked against the crease of her inner thigh. Lydia wiggled again, and he pulled the elastic aside so he could admire her pretty, pink slit spread open like the throat of a fleshy orchid. A groan rumbled from his chest as he squeezed his aching prick with his other hand.
This, again, was exactly where he wanted his proud, haughty Lydia. Stripped and helpless before him. The only element of the current scenario he disliked was being forced to entertain Lydia in this decrepit little hovel of a room. The paint was peeling, the air was stifling, and the noise from the street crashed against his ears. Mildew crept into the corners of the cracked plaster walls.
It reminded him, hideously, of the apartment he’d once shared with his mother. A horrible, dirty place infested by cockroaches of both the insect and human variety. Stained, torn rugs, broken faucets, walls so thin that not a whisper of his mother’s buttery voice escaped Preston’s burning ears.
“You like that, you little cunt-sucker?” she’d murmur to whatever helpless bastard she had lashed to the bed or bent over a chair. “What do you say to me? What do you say to your mistress?”
God, how the pathetic men would grovel, begging her for anything, licking her boots and any other part of her body she commanded. And she loved it, the beautiful bitch, loved squeezing her voluptuous body into leather corsets and painting her face with heavy cosmetics. Sometimes she’d even make Preston brush out her long blonde hair while she prepared herself for her men. No, her slaves.
Even now, the scent of her perfume lingered in his nose, sparking unwanted memories of the men’s cries and the cruel, lovely smile that lingered upon his mother’s lipstick-red mouth.
Revulsion crawled up Preston’s throat. He shoved the filthy memories aside and refocused on the here-and-now. Though he much preferred the romanticism and expanse of the old plantation, he reminded himself that he needed to keep things discreet and untraceable these days. And it shouldn’t matter, really, not if he had Lydia all to himself.
Which he did.
He released the elastic band of her panties, and it snapped back against Lydia’s thigh, causing her to squeak with surprise. She turned her head, trying to look for him over her shoulder. Her face was flushed, her mouth open, her eyes already heavy-lidded. Preston considered mounting her from behind, yanking her panties aside and thrusting into her like an animal, but he wanted more from her at the moment than just the use of her body.
He moved to the side and arranged himself cross-legged on the bed. He leaned forward and looked into Lydia’s dark eyes, wondering if he would ever be able to read all that she kept hidden there. If not, it certainly wouldn’t be for lack of trying.
“So, Lydia,” he began conversationally. “I lost track of you during your college days, didn’t I? You went to that exclusive women’s college in New York. Though I shuddered at the thought of you moving so far away, I admit I was pleased that you would be somewhat removed from the temptations of the opposite sex.”
Lydia sighed. “Preston…”
“Hmm? You mean, you weren’t removed from such temptations?” He pretended to be shocked as he trailed his finger down the length of her spine. “Don’t tell me you found ways to indulge your sensual nature?”
“It was a women’s college, not a boarding school.” Her voice contained a sudden bite of irritation that roused Preston’s ire.
He gave her a smack on the behind as a warning. “Where did you find your men, then, Lydia dear?”
A soft groan escaped her throat. She writhed against the ropes lashing her to the bed. “Preston, I don’t—”
“Mmm, good. Protest. You know how much that excites me.”
“You are one sick bastard, you know that?”
“I’ve been told, yes.” He tucked his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and down into the warmth of her succulent bottom. “Funny how you seem to enjoy that aspect of me so much. Now tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
He gave one of her cheeks a hard pinch. Lydia squirmed, which caused her lovely body to arch and twist most delightfully.
Preston suppressed a groan and squeezed his erection through his trousers again.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
Lydia turned her face into the pillow. “It was no different from most other colleges. We went into town, to bars, parties. There was a university not far away, and the other girls usually knew about frat parties or something else going on.”
“Mmm.” Preston eased Lydia’s panties down over her rear and tucked the elastic band beneath her rounded cheeks. He sat back for a moment and admired the full, perfect curves of her bottom arching upward, her pale skin gleaming in the faint light of the streetlamps coming through the shuttered window.
“You went to such parties often, did you?” he asked.
“Sometimes.”
“How often?”
“Preston, I don’t know. It… it was so long ago. I can’t remember.”
He gave her a little stinging spank again, delighting in the way her taut buttocks sprang back from the pressure of his hand.
Lydia buried her face in the pillow again.
Preston tugged her head back and bent to lick her lips. “Come on then, precious. Tell me what you can remember.”
“Stupid parties, Preston. Drinking, loud music, grabby boys. I probably went once a week.”
“You must have liked it, then.” He ran his hand down her back to her naked behind again and began rubbing her in slow circles.
Lydia sighed and wiggled a little. “Preston, could you… my arms are aching.”
Preston paused to loosen the ropes a little, but didn’t unfasten them completely. Lydia flexed her arms, tossing her head against the pillow.
“Continue,” Preston murmured, resuming his stroking of her derriere. “You went up to the boys’ rooms with them, didn’t you? You liked the way they looked at you, and you let them convince you to go upstairs to talk.”
She didn’t respond, but a red flush began to creep up her lovely, elegant neck.
Anger clenched in Preston’s gut. He gave her another spank, this time hard enough to make her gasp.
“Tell me!” he ordered, even as rage flashed through him at the thought of some perverted frat boy putting his hands all over Lydia. “What did you let those fuckers do to you?”
“Preston, I was… I was in college. We were just… I don’t know. Experimenting.”
He pinched her again. “You’d done enough experimenting. This was about getting yourself off and feeling powerful, wasn’t it? About liking the way those frat boys would grovel at your feet and get hard just looking at you.”
An unpleasant thought occurred to him. He grabbed Lydia’s chin and forced her to look at him again.
“You didn’t let two of them have you at once, did you? Was that part of your college experience, you little slut?”
He saw the flash of fear in her eyes the instant before resignat
ion set in, and a combination of excitement, anger, and jealousy rose in him like a flash flood. He gripped her harder, his eyes boring into hers, his cock so stiff it threatened to erupt inside his pants. He bent to close his teeth around the tender flesh of Lydia’s lower lip.
“Tell me,” he hissed, biting hard enough to make her moan. “When did you let two filthy boys fuck you at the same time? Or was it more than two?”
She shook her head. “Just… just two.”
“Tell me.”
He saw her surrender in the instant before she lowered her cheek to the pillow. Her breath was coming faster, her eyes darkening as they always did when he forced her to divulge her most salacious memories. The ones she tried to keep buried, the secrets that exposed his noble Lydia for the person she really was.
“Riley and Sam, I think the other boy’s name was,” she whispered. “Riley was the big one, loud and kind of obnoxious. I think he played baseball or something. Sam was quieter, tall and kind of lanky, but very handsome. The girls really liked him.”
Preston tamped down another rush of resentment. “Including you.”
“Mmm. Sam looked right at me when I was talking. Made me feel special, of course. He and Riley had been friends for ages, though I didn’t realize until later that they’d had some sort of collusion going on. Sam was the one who asked me to go up to his room, and I did.”
“And what did you do when you got there?” Preston murmured.
“We sat on the bed and talked for a while. Then kissed. We both knew why we were there.”
“Of course you did. How quickly did you let him take off your clothes?”
“I… I can’t remember. Fifteen minutes, maybe.”
“What were you wearing?”
“A T-shirt. Mini skirt.”
“Stockings?”
“No. It was close to summer, almost hot.”