Wearing Him Down

by Jessa Kane

  “No. I just don’t like disappointing him. He’s done so much for me.”

  Ophelia hums. “There are rumors going around school that, um…” She stops herself with a head shake. “Never mind, it’s really none of anyone’s business.”

  “No, tell me. Please?” I turn in the chair to face her. “I’m the girl with twelve bodyguards. No one can get close enough to talk to me. What rumors are going around?”

  “No one talks to me either,” Ophelia says quietly. “Every student here passed a test to get accepted. My daddy just has a lot of clout.” She gives me a half smile. “You’re not the only loner around these parts.” We share a quiet moment, before she continues. “So, okay. I might have overheard some girls in the bathroom saying you and your stepbrother have a…relationship. Of the Biblical persuasion. Although that’s not the term they used.”

  I’m positive my face is beet red. “It’s not true.”

  She nods. “I believe you.”

  What I tell her next jumps to my lips, unexpected. I’m not sure what possesses me to confide in Ophelia. Maybe it’s my sixth sense telling me she’s trustworthy. Maybe I just need another girl to talk to. Whatever the reason, I find myself whispering, “I wish it was true. I’m in love with him.”

  Her dark brows arch and I can see the wheels turning in her head.

  “No guts no glory. You should do something about it.”

  “About what?”

  “You’re in love with him and he should love you back.”

  I sit up straighter. “Yeah.”

  Something important passes between us and intuition tells me I’ve found a lifelong friend in Ophelia. “I need to wear him down,” I whisper.

  Before she can respond, I hear the familiar sound of my stepbrother’s footsteps coming down the hallway toward the main office. No one approaches like Grant. He walks with commanding confidence. As if oceans would part for him, straight down the middle. “That’s him,” I murmur, my heart lurching in my chest. “I’ve never been in trouble before. I have no idea what’s going to happen.”

  Ophelia squeezes my hand. “Be strong.”

  In a panic-induced daze, I nod. When Grant walks into the office, a flutter of joy passes through me. He looks even more powerful outside of our home, walking among the common man. His blue gaze sweeps the room and lands on me, so intense it turns me to vapor where I sit. His expression is strained, irritated, but I detect a note of relief, too.

  The administrator behind the front desk shoots to her feet, stammering a greeting. “M-Mister Foster. It’s so nice to see—”

  “Who am I to speak with about my sister?” he growls without taking his attention off me.

  Turning the color of whipped cream, the administrator picks up the phone and hits a button. “Headmistress Lancaster? Mister Foster has arrived—”

  To my left, the headmistress’s office door bursts open and a polished, middle-aged Mrs. Lancaster emerges with a hand extended. “It’s such a pleasure, Mister Foster. I-I’m so sorry you had to take time out of your—”

  “Not sorry enough, apparently,” he says, bypassing her into the office.

  With an embarrassed look in our direction, the headmistress follows Grant inside and closes the door. Ophelia and I exchange a nervous glance and she squeezes my hand harder.

  “We need to hear what they’re saying,” Ophelia whispers out of the side of her mouth.

  “How?” I ask, nodding at the front desk lady. “She’ll see us.”

  Ophelia’s leg bounces a moment, then she draws out a cell phone, hitting one of the speed dial numbers. Behind the school’s front desk, the phone rings. I’m just realizing it’s not a coincidence when Ophelia cups her hand around the cell receiver and says—in a man’s voice—“Yeah, we’ve got a drifter peeing in the pool. Someone needs to come handle this ASAP.”

  The administrator gasps, hangs up the phone and sprints from the office, shouting into a state-of-the-art walkie-talkie as she goes. I only waste a second gaping in astonished pride at Ophelia, before we both spring up and press our ears to the headmistress’s door.

  Grant is talking, his voice in a low rasp.

  “Do you recall why I had this finishing school built, Mrs. Lancaster? Why I brought the best instructors in from all over the world to teach within these walls?”

  “Well, yes—”

  “To give my stepsister the best social education possible. In a place I knew she would be safe and happy.” He pauses. “If she ceases to be satisfied, I will shut this school down overnight.”

  “I brought you here out of concern for Sienna, Mister Foster. She fell asleep in her Time Management class and I wondered if there was something at home—”

  “Listen very carefully. If she ever falls asleep in class again, bring her a fucking blanket,” he says, precisely. “Every brick in every wall was put there for her. I’ll happily take a wrecking ball to this institution and build another one to ensure my stepsister’s happiness. I’ll build a hundred schools and let Sienna take her pick, if it makes her smile. She. Stays. Happy. And safe. Every moment of every day. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I’d like to speak with Sienna alone now.”

  Ophelia and I leap away from the door and deposit our backsides into the seats once again, trying our best to look innocent. But on the inside, my pulse is racing at a thousand miles an hour and my body is betraying my utter bliss, turning my panties damp, my nipples painfully erect. I knew Grant liked seeing me happy, but I didn’t know to what degree. No one has ever cared about me like he does. My heart could soar to the clouds if my ribcage wasn’t keeping it in place.

  “Uh, I don’t think you’ll have a problem wearing him down,” Ophelia says, earnestly.

  I’m not given a chance to respond because the headmistress exits, her face flushed, demeanor harried. “Miss Foster.” She helps me to my feet and guides me like an invalid to the office. “Please. Use my office to speak with your brother. Take all the time you need.”

  “Thank you.”

  She closes the door behind her and I’m left alone with Grant. He faces away, standing at the window overlooking Lower Manhattan, arms crossed over his chest. “You looked nervous when I came in. Why?”

  “You’ve given me everything,” I manage. “I shouldn’t be a burden in return.”

  Grant turns slowly with a brow raised, crossing the office—one measured step after the other—to stand in front of me. His scent is so masculine and heady, it makes my thighs quake, but I do nothing but tilt my head back and wait. My stepbrother’s hands lift, settling on my waist and I battle a whimper. I have the fantastic fantasy that he’s going to kiss me, but he picks me up instead, setting me down on the edge of the headmistress’s desk.

  His big hands linger on my waist. “My princess thinks she’s a burden.” He laughs without humor and I think I hear a tiny groan escape when his attention locks on my hard nipples. “Life was a burden before you showed up, Sienna. Crushing anything that gives you displeasure is not a chore. It’s a privilege.” His thumbs rub circles on either side of my belly button and it’s everything I can do to keep from squirming closer to his big, strong body. “I’m sorry you were nervous, princess.”

  “It’s okay,” I whisper shakily.

  “No. You being anything less than happy is never okay.” His touch leaves me and I almost cry out in dismay but bite my lip in time to keep the sound trapped. I watch as Grant takes something out of his pants pocket. A jewelry case? Yes. It’s long and rectangular—the kind that holds a necklace, and I’m still reeling over the possibilities of what could be inside when he snaps the black velvet box open and reveals a diamond necklace.

  Seemingly hundreds of stones wink back at me in a platinum setting and it’s so elaborate, my hands fly to my flushed cheeks. “Oh my gosh. Grant. You just gave me a diamond tiara for my birthday last week.” I shake my head vigorously. “That can’t be for me. I get in trouble and you bring me jewel
ry?” I lower my voice to a hushed tone and run a finger over the splendor within the case. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

  “You don’t get in trouble. And spoiling you is how I work.” He takes out the necklace and fastens it around my neck, settling his hands back on my hips. “You’re too goddamn beautiful. It doesn’t do you justice.”

  “This necklace is really mine?”

  Grant’s eyes flash with amusement over my question. “Of course it is, Sienna. And the matching earrings are on your bed at home.” His humor fades, replaced with concern. “Why did you fall asleep in class? You were tired yesterday, too, when I came to your room.” I watch his burgundy tie rise and fall on a heavy breath, feel his hands knead my hips in a delicious rhythm. “Is something keeping you awake at night, princess?”

  Unable to lie to Grant, I bite my lip and nod. “Yes. But I don’t really understand it.”

  He steps between my thighs and inhales deeply at the crook of my neck, his grip tugging me closer to the edge of the desk, up against that big, swollen part of him, grinding it there gently. Almost as if by accident. “Tell me and I’ll fix it.”

  Oh, I would love him to fix what’s wrong with me, because I suspect he’s the only one who can. Giving my explanation out loud is embarrassing, though, and my face burns as a result. “It’s um…my body,” I whisper, watching his midnight blue eyes sharpen. “I feel achy sometimes. And hot. It gets so bad I can’t sleep.”

  Grant’s voice is a deep thrum when he responds. “Poor princess. Where are you achy?”

  I clamp my mouth shut, refusing to answer. I’ve already said enough.

  “If I guess correctly…” he asks against my ear. “Will you nod?”

  “Yes.”

  In a move I never could have expected, Grant’s hands close over my breasts, massaging me through my blouse. “Here?”

  My breath leaves me in a sob and my thighs open wider on the desk. Involuntarily. His thumbs tease my nipples and I arch my back, pinpricks of light flashing in front of my eyes. Oh God. Oh God. It feels so good. Remembering I’m supposed to nod, I bob my head up and down.

  “Is this the only place?” Grant asks hoarsely.

  “N-no.”

  The tiny muscles between my legs spasm when Grant’s hands rake down my front, gathering the hem of my skirt, his chest starting to heave faster, faster, faster. “I’m going to lift this and check your panties. If they’re wet, we’ll know the source of the ache.”

  Already knowing what he’s going to find—and suddenly needing my stepbrother to know how I’ve been suffering—I scoot my legs wider and lean back on the desk. My nipples jut out indecently beneath my blouse, diamonds twinkle up at me and Grant is touching me. Life can’t get much better than this, but I wish the constant throb inside me would stop.

  It’s too much to bear.

  Grant wipes away the sweat on his upper lip with a swipe of his wrist, then he lifts the hem of my skirt, his usually stoic face contorting with pain. “Fucking Christ.”

  “A-are they wet?”

  Grant licks his lower lip. “They’re saturated, Sienna.”

  I try to draw my knees closed, but he blocks me with his hips. “Is that bad?”

  “God, no. You’ve just started to crave a man sooner than I expected. Six days too soon,” I think I hear him mutter. His open mouth traces a line up the side of my neck, his fingers toying with the edge of my panties, making my writhe on the hard wood desk. “Trust me, I’ll make sure you sleep very well tonight, princess.”

  My eyes almost cross at the implication. “You will?”

  His jaw flexes. “Don’t I always take care of you?”

  “Yes, Grant. Always. In every way.”

  He makes a harsh sound. “Seeing you in this kind of need is torture.”

  This kind of need. I’m not even sure what he means, only that he knows more details and I want them discussed. Want the mysterious hunger taken away.

  Lord, I want him to touch my breasts again. I want him to kiss me. And what does it mean that he’s touching me in ways he never has before? Is Grant just helping me figure out what’s wrong with my body, or does my stepbrother…want me? It seems impossible. He could have any woman he wanted. A woman who isn’t related to him. Couldn’t being with me hurt his reputation? I would rather die than cause him more problems.

  I’m distracted from my troubled thoughts when Grant tugs me off the desk, using his body to keep me steady. Heat radiates off him, and I still feel the thick line of his erection against my tummy, but his movements are turning more purposeful. “We can’t have you wearing dripping wet panties all day long,” he says briskly, reaching beneath my skirt—and pulling down my underwear, letting it drop to the ground.

  What happens next blows my mind.

  My stepbrother reaches into his jacket pocket and removes a pair of my panties. Clean ones that I recognize from my drawer at home. With his jaw on the verge of shattering, he motions for me to step into the new pair of underwear, then slides them up my legs, grazing my sex and bottom with his fingers while putting them in place.

  I’m sucking in gulps of air by the time he finishes, the yearning for relief intensifying inside me when Grant presses the wet pair to his mouth, smelling them, before tucking the damp undergarment into his pocket.

  He takes me by the chin and runs his thumb along the seam of my lips, looking at my face as if memorizing it. “Straight home after school, princess.”

  “Yes, Grant.”

  With a low curse, he’s gone, leaving me shaken where I stand.

  I traverse the rest of the day in a haze and I’m ashamed to admit, I soak through a second pair of panties replaying over and over again what happened in the headmistress’s office. How my stepbrother touched me, how he promised to ease my ache tonight. How will he do it? Will he show me what it’s like to have sex? The act is unknown to me, but it gives relief to the people who engage in it. That much I know. Not to mention, it requires nudity and touching. I want to experience that for the first time with Grant.

  Tonight. Every single night after that, too. Not to be greedy.

  Also…I don’t know if it’s right or wrong, but I have a secret fantasy where Grant walks me to my lecture in the morning, carrying my book bag on his strong shoulder for me. When we reach the classroom door, he kisses my forehead and tells me to be a good girl. Like he’s my…Daddy. I don’t know what it means, but that fantasy alone can inundate me with heat.

  Speaking of which, all of my nerve endings are buzzing when I bounce into my bedroom, tossing my book bag on the floor. I’m expecting the diamond earrings on my bed, but I frown when I see another package beside it. I sit down with it in my lap and unwrap…a wand of some kind. It’s gold and there’s a little switch on the side.

  There is no note attached, so I reach back into the box for instructions.

  After the first paragraph, my mouth is on the floor.

  Grant bought me a vibrator? To pleasure myself?

  All at once, his words from earlier this afternoon come back to me. Trust me, I’ll make sure you sleep very well tonight, princess.

  No. This is not what I needed. I need Grant. Doesn’t he know I’m aching for so much more than a quick fix? I’m aching for his touch, his attention, his…love.

  I flop back on the bed, the vibrator forgotten in my hand.

  Next, I hear Ophelia’s words in my head.

  Uh, I don’t think you’ll have a problem wearing him down.

  I study the vibrator with renewed determination.

  Maybe it is time to start wearing my stepbrother down.

  From now on, it’s no more Mrs. Nice Girl.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Grant doesn’t come to my room for his hug that night.

  A dinner tray arrives at my door at six p.m. sharp, along with a note.

  It reads, Join me in the living room at seven. G

  Maybe I was wrong about my stepbrother’s intention in buy
ing me the little gold wand. Maybe Grant bought me the vibrator for some added fun, in addition to what we’re going to do together? Why is the man so mysterious?

  Every inch of my body is still on fire from his touch this afternoon—and I need more—so I rush through my dinner, clumsily spilling butternut squash soup on my shirt. Forced to change, I pull on a white nightshirt and comb out my hair, leaving it loose. On my way out of the room, I stop and pick up the box containing the vibrator, bringing it with me. If Grant has no plans to touch me again, I’ll have to put my Big Important Plan into effect.

  I stop short at the edge of the living room when I hear a woman’s voice. She’s speaking in a businesslike French accent and when I turn the corner, I see the voice is coming from a very fashionable woman in her sixties. She’s dressed in a smart, purple pantsuit and is separating what looks like garment bags into piles.

  Confused, I look around the living room for Grant and find him on the balcony, talking on his cell phone, Manhattan a glittering backdrop around him. Not wanting him to see me with the vibrator just yet, I hide it behind a heavy tome on the bookshelf.

  “Um…” I tuck my hair behind my ear and advance into the huge living space, my feet sinking into sumptuously soft carpet, which is white and gray, like almost everything else in the penthouse—besides my room. “Hi, I’m Sienna.” I sense, rather than see, Grant ending his call on the balcony and glance over, finding him watching me from the shadows. I turn my attention back to the woman in purple. “What’s going on?”

  “Ah, my love. I am Janice! I’ve come all the way from Paris!” the woman crows, taking my hand and turning me in a circle. “Let me get a look at you. Such a beauty! I was informed by Mister Foster that you looked best in pastels and I have to agree with this assessment.” She claps her hands together. “I’m here to dress you, darling.”

  “You need summer clothes,” Grant rumbles, coming in from outside. There’s a drizzling of rain on the shoulders of his white button-down shirt. On his way toward us, he rolls up the sleeves to reveal his corded forearms and I try not to drool. When Grant reaches us, he and I stare at each other for a heavy moment, his expression revealing nothing. “She’ll have whatever she wants.” He flicks a glance at Janice. “Don’t let her tell you she doesn’t need something. I want her to have it all.”