by Nikki Sloane
Meaning I couldn’t move it because it’d expose my king to check. “What? Where?” I scoured the board and found his bishop in position. “Shit.”
Macalister’s eyebrow arched. “You should find better language to express yourself.”
My brain was no longer functioning at full capacity. It had to be the reason I was dumb enough to challenge him right now. “Well, I read that cursing is actually a sign of intelligence.”
“Yes,” he said. “Fluency in swearing can demonstrate a mastery of the English language, but just because you have a skill, doesn’t mean you always have to fucking use it.”
Stunned wasn’t a strong enough word. I was glued to my chair. “I’ve never heard you swear before.” My voice fell to a hush. “I . . . didn’t think you knew how.”
He looked dubious, and then something even more shocking happened.
Macalister laughed.
“I’m no saint, Marist. I was just like you when I was your age.” He sobered. “But since then, I’ve become much more selective with the words I use. Language is a tool, and I prefer a scalpel to a hammer.”
This side of him was disorienting. I’d been flipped upside-down, and he shook the idiotic thought from my head. “But I like using the hammer.”
He gave an amused smile. “Sometimes it’s the right tool.” His focus shifted back to the game between us. “Check.”
With two more moves, the game ended and he won again, but this time he seemed satisfied with his victory. Now was as good a time as any.
I went with the sincerest tone I possessed. “I was hoping you’d consider giving me back my Porsche.”
His movements didn’t slow or miss a beat. “No.”
Frustration forced a sigh from my lips. I’d been perfect since I moved into the house, following every command like a trained pet. “I’ve done everything you asked.”
He stopped, and his icy gaze zeroed in on me, like he was evaluating me from top to bottom. “You haven’t earned it yet.”
Royce’s warning drifted through my mind. He doesn’t ever give people what they want. I straightened my posture, trying to exude confidence. We were about to negotiate. “What do I have to do to earn it?”
He leaned on the armrest of the chair, looking regal and powerful and very much in control. “You’re not ready.”
I shook my head. “Try me. Royce had to call for the car today, and it made me feel powerless.”
If ever there was something Macalister could respect, it was that. He tilted his head, made his final decision, and rose from the desk. I watched with cautious eyes as he shifted a stack of books to the side on the top shelf of the bookcase and retrieved a black box from behind them. Eagerness fluttered in my stomach. He’d kept my car keys in here this whole time?
He turned, set the box down beside the chess set, and my excitement crashed, plummeting into apprehension.
The box was laced shut with a black satin bow.
Like a gift.
A cold draft rolled down my back, causing the hairs on my arms to stand on edge. One thing was certain; fear was inside the box. He had no reason to give me a gift. If it was, it’d come with ulterior motives. Was his goal to tangle me in all his strings, like a spider’s web?
I hesitantly reached for the box, but Macalister put his spread fingertips on the lid, stopping me. “Not yet.” He lowered deliberately into his chair, pulled the box back toward him, and steepled his fingers together. “Do you like chess?”
I took a breath and considered my answer. The game we’d played with the marble pieces was over, but now a different, more strategic and dangerous one had begun, and I needed to make my moves carefully.
At least it wasn’t a lie. “Yes.”
His blue eyes warmed a single degree. “Good. I thought so. I’ve enjoyed teaching it to you immensely. So much so, I’d like to play a new game.”
My pulse kicked as a warning. “What kind of game?”
He paused to either drag it out or let the silence build my anticipation. “I want to teach you about pleasure.”
EIGHT
EVERYTHING IN ME went white and still. “I’m sorry, what?”
When Macalister leaned over the desk, I could practically taste his excitement. It was dark and wicked.
“We’re not supposed to speak about the initiation, and we won’t, other than to say it was clear that night my son had done you a . . . disservice.”
His eyes were electric. I couldn’t look away, like a person who’d touched a power line and the current kept them holding on, no matter how badly they wanted to let go.
“You’re young. There’s so much more to pleasure than you’ve been shown,” he said. “Young men are fools. They believe the point of intimacy is to rush to an orgasm—their orgasm. Older men have patience, both in and out of the bedroom. I’ve learned how to wait, how to control my body. I know how to take my time and appreciate every moment.”
“Uh—” Every muscle in me clenched, and I went rigid, but Macalister didn’t care how uncomfortable I’d become. He just pressed on.
“Foreplay doesn’t start when I have a woman beneath me. It begins hours before, or days.” His voice dripped with seduction. “Weeks, even.”
My chest heaved as I couldn’t catch my breath. Everything was spinning out of control. I wanted him to stop talking, but a sick part of me didn’t mind it so much.
“So, I’ll make my desires perfectly clear,” he said. “I’ll teach you, Marist. I have enjoyed being your instructor these past few weeks, and this would be satisfying for both of us. I have far more skill and experience than a man half my age. I’ll work to master your orgasms.”
“Oh, my God,” I breathed.
“I’ll enjoy watching what each one does to you, the way I make your body flinch, how I’ll leave you breathless and trembling. I’ll give you so many, I’ll savor it when you can’t keep count.” His smile was loaded with sin. “Yes. I will require that you count them.”
“Oh, my God,” I repeated in a rush. My mind was blank with shock, and I gripped the armrests of my chair, desperate to flee. But his voice was so powerful, it chained me to my seat. There was no other noise, not even the beating of my own heart. Macalister’s words were the only sound left on earth.
“Older men understand the way the world works. We know how to dress. What to eat.” His expression was beautifully perverse. “How to fuck.”
It was scary, what he’d said, but far more terrifying was the way my traitorous body responded to it. Heat pooled in unwanted places.
He put his fingers on the top of the box and inched it forward. “Open it.”
I used the last scrap of power left in me to speak, and it came out as a plea. “I don’t want to.”
One of the most famous Greek myths was Pandora’s Box. Pandora had been a mortal given a gift from the gods but told not to open it. Unable to keep her curiosity in check, she disobeyed them, and from the box sprang all the evils of the world, like death and sickness.
Whatever was inside the box before me, I was sure as soon as I opened it, I’d wished I hadn’t.
His look said I’d just turned down a once-in-a-lifetime offer, and I had better reconsider. “I’m giving you a gift.”
My hand trembled as I reached forward and tugged at the satin ribbon. The knot slipped free, and the ribbon unthreaded as I lifted the lid. The interior was black velvet with a gold fabric insert, and in the center was a black, U-shaped object accented in shining gold. The packaging was sexy and luxurious, filling me with heat and leaving me cold in the same instant.
“What is it?” I whispered.
His eyes were liquid. “Pick it up.”
I unseated the thing, which was smooth, flexible, and covered in slippery soft silicone. One side of the U was longer and much wider than the other end. I turned it over in my hands like examining it would help. Was the band actual gold?
When the thing hummed to life, the powerful vibrations nearly made me drop it, and
once I realized what it was, I did. It stopped buzzing immediately after, and as I lifted my accusing gaze to Macalister, he set his phone down on the desktop.
He’d given me a vibrator.
And he had control of it.
“This is . . .” I started, not able to find a word that could encompass the way I felt. In the end, I went with one that worked, but was much too simple. “Inappropriate.”
He had the audacity to look confused. “Why?”
Had he lost his mind? “Because you’re married. Because I’m engaged to your son.”
“As I’m the one who orchestrated all of that, do you think I’m unaware?” He gave me a direct look, pinning me further to my seat. “What I’m offering tonight isn’t physical. There are different kinds of pleasure, just as there are different forms of sex. Some don’t require contact, or even a partner. Before you came here, you said you masturbate nearly every day, so am I safe to assume you have done so while in my home?”
Oh, my fucking God.
My mouth dropped open all the way to my toes.
The answer was yes, of course. I’d told Royce he wasn’t allowed to touch me, but the weeks had worn on me. Night after night I’d squirmed and writhed under my own hands as I thought about the man in the next room over. I’d had to keep my moans quiet so he wouldn’t hear what he was doing to me.
These days, the lock on my door wasn’t keeping him out. It was holding me back from caving and going to him.
I treated Macalister’s question like it had been rhetorical. If I said yes, it gave him even more power, and if I said no, he’d know I was lying. The guilty expression on my face gave it all away.
His knowing smile was sinister.
“The game is simple,” he said. “Every night at ten-thirty, wherever you are, you’ll turn the device on and use it. There are instructions in the box. I control the speed and tempo, and the session will last as long as I think it needs to. When it’s over, you’ll text me the number of orgasms you received.”
My eyes were so wide they had to be as big as dinner plates. “No.”
He ignored me. “These are the only orgasms you’re allowed. If you need an additional session outside of our regular time, I will do my best to accommodate that. But from now on, it will be my responsibility to provide you with pleasure, and you will give me absolute command over your experience.”
This time it was harsh and firm from me. “No.”
Displeasure flared in his eyes. “I own you, Marist. You want your independence with your car, then you will surrender a freedom to me in exchange. What I’m asking for is not challenging, and we both know how far you’re willing to go to get what you want.”
It was like he’d slapped me. His cruel, true words forced tears into my eyes, but I blinked them away.
His tone softened. “It’s just like we’ve done with chess. Play the game every night and earn what you want. I wouldn’t even be in the room.”
“That isn’t a game,” I spat out, “it’s extortion—not to mention—super fucked up.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “That is my offer.”
I finally found freedom from the chair and stood so fast the legs scraped loudly across the hardwood. “My answer is no.”
“I told you that you weren’t ready.” He reached across the desk to collect the vibrator and put it back in the box. “Let me know when you are.”
The restaurant at the country club had ocean views and a great seafood menu, and they embraced the aquatic theme. It was maritime chic. The modern pendant lights over every table were designed to look like schools of white fish swimming with the current.
Sophia Alby was already seated when I arrived, and she brightened as soon as she spotted me.
Nerves rattled in my stomach as I made my approach. One off-handed comment from Royce to Sophia about how I was a nobody, and the next five years of my life had been irrevocably altered. Her whispered rumors were all-powerful and far-reaching.
But high school was over. Did she still have that kind of pull in her social circles?
I was banking on it.
“I was excited when you messaged,” she said, flipping her phone over so it was face down on the tabletop beside her menu.
I squeezed out a smile and tried to be the manufactured, Instagram version of myself as I sat across from her in the booth. “I’m glad this worked out. Thanks for meeting me.”
“Of course.” She leaned over the table that was uneven planks fashioned to look like a deck. “How’s your sister? I heard she’s in the hospital.”
Cape Hill was small, but it still amazed me how fast news could travel. It seemed like all roads of information flowed toward Sophia, though.
“She’s doing better,” I said. “They sent her home this morning.”
“Oh, good.” She took a sip of her water. “Nothing serious, then?”
At least she didn’t know why Emily had gone to the hospital. My sister had just started her second trimester, wasn’t showing yet, and wasn’t ready to announce her pregnancy. “No, nothing serious.”
The waiter came by, took our lunch orders, and once he was gone, Sophia couldn’t contain her curiosity another second. “What did you want to ask me?”
As she stared at me with her big doe eyes, perfectly sculpted nose, and gorgeous blonde hair, I couldn’t help but flash back to high school. She’d been Aphrodite. The most beautiful girl at Cape Hill Prep, queen of society and decider of who was popular and cool.
The girl I’d been five years ago was now pissed at what I was about to do, but it was necessary. Win at all costs.
“So,” I started, “this is kind of embarrassing. You might not remember much about me in high school.” It was likely the only thing she remembered was not to bother remembering a nobody like me. “But I wasn’t close with a lot of people. I’ve been so busy, I didn’t make many new friends at Etonsons either.” I paused, playing up my nerves, which wasn’t a stretch by any means. “At Royce’s party, you asked to take a picture and said . . . we were friends.”
Her smile froze and unease clouded her eyes. Did she think awkward Marist Northcott was going to ask to be her new best friend? I wanted to laugh when her gaze instinctively flicked toward the exit. She was thinking about running before I got clingy.
“Royce has a ton of friends,” I continued, “which means he’ll want a big bridal party.”
When it clicked, her gaze snapped back to me, and suddenly she very much wanted to be Marist Northcott’s new best friend. “Yeah,” she said enthusiastically, “he’s a great guy.”
I tried to keep my eye from twitching. “Right. So, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m hoping I can talk you into being one of my bridesmaids.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God, yes! Of course, yes.” She pressed her palm flat to her chest like she’d just accepted an Academy Award. “I’m so honored, Marist.”
“Awesome.” It came out overly bright, not that she noticed.
Her excitement was so big, she nearly vibrated out of the booth. “I mean, it’s going to be the wedding of the century. The Northcotts and the Hales. Who do you think I’d be partnered with?” She gave me a hopeful look. “Tate?”
“Tate . . . Isaacs?” I hadn’t thought about him in forever. He’d gone to Cape Hill Prep and, like Sophia, was two years older than I was. If she’d been the queen, he’d been the king, once the mantle had been passed down from Royce. My eyebrows pulled together. “I didn’t know Royce was even friends with Tate.”
Sophia peered dubiously at me. “Seriously? Did they have a falling out? I thought they were best friends.”
“Oh.” I bit my bottom lip. “No, I’m sure everything’s fine.” There was still so much about Royce I didn’t know.
“You should have seen him at the fundraiser thing the other night.” She pretended to fan herself. “Sweet baby Jesus, I swear Tate is Cape Hill’s very own Michael B. Jordan.” Realizing she’d gotten sidetracked, she refocused. “I as
sume Vance is the best man?”
“Yeah,” I said with faked confidence. I assumed as well, not knowing if it was true.
“And Emily will be your maid of honor, so they’ll be partnered together. Not that I’d complain about being paired with Vance. He’s so cute, but he makes me feel like a dirty old woman.”
I blinked. “You’re a year older than him.”
“Exactly. Women are at least five years ahead of men in maturity, so it’s like he’s not even legal yet. And I’ve always been into older men, anyway.”
Macalister’s words from last night echoed in my mind, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
“Okay, so I’ve got to ask.” Sophia’s voice dropped low and she turned serious. “What’s it like living there?”
“With the Hales?”
“I’d die. I wouldn’t be able to function around all those hot men.”
I gave a strained smile. “I survive. I’ve gotten used to Royce,” I lied, “and Vance is hardly ever there.”
She seemed to be waiting for more, and when it didn’t come, “And Macalister?”
“What about him?” My mouth went dry as I understood what she was asking. She thought Macalister was hot. “Really?”
“Are you kidding?” She stared at me like I was crazy. “He’s the best one out of the bunch. I mean, you have seen him, right? Or how when he walks into a room, everyone just . . . stops.”
They did that out of fear, not his looks. “Because he owns Cape Hill.”
My statement was ignored. “And those blue eyes he has.” She closed hers, and a dramatic shiver shook her shoulders. “They’re gorgeous. Plus, he’s so powerful and, like, bossy. I know it’s wrong and he’s the same age as our dads, but fuck. Macalister can get it.”
It was perfect role reversal how I now eyed the exit, wondering if I could extract myself from the situation. But I’d come with a mission, and I wasn’t leaving until it was accomplished.
“He’s good looking,” I agreed. “But I can’t think about him like that. He’s going to be my father-in-law.” I swallowed a breath. “You remember he’s married, right?”