Taking Control

by Jen Frederick

  “That’s right.” Bending forward, I capture a jutting nipple in my mouth and am rewarded with an arched back and a breathy moan. With one arm, I gather her more closely to me so that she is nearly suspended, pinned to the bed by my rutting cock. “I’m obsessed with you,” I confess, panting slightly. The hold of her snug walls on my cock makes it hard to think. I want to just fall on her and plunge repeatedly into her soft core until my shaft explodes in a mania of pleasure. “I can’t stop thinking about you or wanting you. Everything I do now and forever will be for the sole purpose of making sure that you are fucking satisfied in every way.”

  My words are punctuated with increasingly harder thrusts. She meets them readily¸ swiveling her hips and using her feet and legs to meet every press.

  “I love your cock,” she moans. “And your mouth.”

  “They love you too, bunny.”

  Inside the slick recesses of her sex, that cock is pushing toward a finish, and as she begins to tremble around me, I realize I am not alone. Holding her firmly against me with one arm banded around her back, I slip my free hand between us to find her clit.

  With my erection hard inside her and rubbing her sensitive tissues with each stroke, she comes apart at the firm caress of my fingers on her delicate flesh.

  “Oh,” she gasps and then cries out, “Ian! Please. Now.”

  Her words release me, and I thrust inside her with jerky, uncoordinated movements as the orgasm rolls up the base of my balls. But I hold off because I want to her to come with me. I want to feel her milk me until I’m coming so hard that my brain detonates in my head.

  “I will want you forever,” I growl into the soft mounds of her breasts. Then, biting down on her tender skin and her plump curves, I mark her. She screams out in ecstasy, her head thrown back and the long line of her jaw exposed to my ravening mouth.

  As she shatters in my arms, I jet all the seed ever created into her body while she clings to me like I’m the only port in a storm.

  “I wish Mom had seen what happened at the Frick tonight,” Tiny sighs, curling into me. I roll over to fold my arms around her and tuck her into my body.

  “She’s here with us.” I stroke her damp back, lightly dusted with sweat from our bed play.

  “I hope not,” she jokes. “Like I hope when she’s watching me she takes a few breaks so she doesn’t see this.”

  “See what? Me fucking your brains out?”

  Tiny rises up on her knees and pushes me onto my back. “How about me fucking your brains out?”

  “Look away, Sophie,” I say. “Your daughter is about to defile me. Worse, I’m going to enjoy the hell out of it.”

  The entire weekend is spent in bed, exploring and making sure that baby gets made.

  ON MONDAY, I FEEL ENERGIZED. And I realize that for the first time, I’m not waking up with the bitter knowledge that my family’s destruction has gone unavenged. In my more rational moments, I acknowledge that letting go and moving on might have been the honorable things to do, but I doubt they would have been as satisfactory.

  Page Six is full of the weekend’s entertainment, but the front page is even better. Below the fold is an article mentioning the troubled fortunes of mayoral candidate Edward Howe and the speculation that he will be dropping out of the race.

  Kerr Inc. stock is up when news of the blocked takeover bid by disgruntled board members is leaked by Jake to a reporter friend. That’s all he had to leak to her. The rest of the information she was able to run down on her own.

  On the Arts page is a write-up of the gift to the Frick honoring Sophie Corielli. It’s all good today.

  The phone rings all morning with congratulations and thanks and innuendos about my mother. The rumors will always dog us, but at least most of the truth has been revealed. Because Kerr Inc. stock is high, I sell a portion of my shares before lunch to start shoring up Nessie’s fund. It saved my business having that fund, and I’d like to get it to solid levels again. It will take time to dig out of the financial hole I’m in, but it will happen.

  I’m dragged out of my office by Kaga for lunch at Morimoto.

  “It’s all Kerr, all the time in the New York papers. One would think you bought off the press.”

  “I did. I bought them with a salacious scandal full of sex, old rivalries, and doomed political futures,” I counter.

  “It was an expensive night,” he answers thoughtfully. He’s referring to the information Howe revealed about my mother.

  “That was merely the rantings of a madman.” Some people will believe it. Others won’t. I’ll have to live with that.

  Kaga dips his head slightly. He won’t ask any other questions. “I’ve been speaking to the director of the Frick about making a donation, but I’d like to tie a specific request to it.”

  Now it’s my turn to shake my head. “Sabrina isn’t interested in being a curator at a museum.”

  There’s hardly any change to his expression, but I sense his discomfort. I don’t know that anyone’s called him out on his obsession before.

  “And you know this, how?”

  “Because she wants to be a DJ. I believe she’s expressed that desire more than once to you and Jake.”

  He waves his hand. “That was a passing interest when she was a teenager. She’ll be graduating and wanting to enter the real world with a good career.”

  “I’m pretty sure that her answer to this will be ‘bullshit.’ Or something even more candid, if I recall Sabrina correctly.”

  Kaga narrows his eyes. “You know something. Tell me. Tell me right now, or I’ll be forced to kill you with my chopsticks.”

  I feel like living on the edge, so I just smile at Kaga, willing to suffer the consequences. Given that I walk out of Morimoto’s without harm, it seems like every bet I’m making is coming up aces.

  TWENTY-SIX

  TINY

  MARCIE AND I ARE WALKING down Amsterdam to pick up lunch at Grandaisy Bakery when I see it.

  “Marcie.” I shout, pointing toward the street. It’s unnecessary. She’s already off, halfway into the street. In the middle of the intersection between Broadway and Amsterdam there’s a baby carriage. Marcie leaps in front of a cab that’s screeching to a stop. Before she can get to the carriage, another car speeds through the intersection and strikes the carriage, sending it careening to the west side of the intersection.

  Another vehicle swerves to avoid striking it but hits another car instead. The sounds of horns, screeching brakes and crunching metal fill the air.

  I start toward the carriage, but before I can even take a step, a hand pulls me backward. Stumbling and off-balance with my arms wheeling in circles in the air, I’m pushed forward into the back seat of a black town car.

  Before I realize what’s happening, Cecilia Howe is shoving the rest of my body inside and closing the door.

  The car takes off immediately, positioned conveniently to head north on Amsterdam and away from the scene of the collision. Confused, I turn back to see if Marcie has saved the baby. Behind us I see cars stopped haphazardly, and toward the southwest corner, Marcie is standing at the side of the carriage, one hand holding a phone to her ear and one hand in her hair scanning the horizon. Scanning it for me. Shit. I scramble toward the door, but when I try the handle it’s locked.

  “Child safety locks.” Cecilia looks smugly at me. “The door can only be opened from the outside.”

  “Fuck this,” I say and press down the window button, but I’m defeated in that too. It’s either broken or some kind of child safety control prevents me from rolling it down. Finally I bang on the raised privacy screen, but there’s no response. “What the hell, Cecilia?”

  “It’s been a very bad few days for me,” she says. Holding out her hands, she displays her fingernails, some of which are broken and all have chipped polish. The skin of her hands looks particularly pale and thin.

  “This is a bad idea. You think Ian was mad before. He’ll be like an enraged bull; everything will g
et destroyed.”

  “You have so much. You should have just left us alone.” She folds her arms and looks out the window. We’re heading crosstown now toward the Upper East Side.

  I pull out my phone, but there’s no signal. She must have some blocking technology in the car. I debate my options. Until the vehicle stops and someone opens the door, I’m stuck in the car. I have to assume that the driver is in on this. Settling back against the seat, I start to plot. Fine. When the car stops, I’ll jump out and run away. I’m healthy, fit, and fast.

  Cecilia took me by surprise. That’s the only reason I’m sitting in the back of this car right now.

  “Did you set up the carriage thing? Was there even a baby in it?” I ask suddenly.

  “People are very easy to manipulate. A child in danger? That’s more important than anything, even you.”

  Ian and I are so dumb, so shortsighted. We’ve never viewed Cecilia as anything more than a flighty society wife, but she obviously knew about Richard’s activities. And here she created a stupid but clever diversion that separated me from Marcie and got me into the car with no violence at all. I view her with respectful wariness. Maybe jumping out and running won’t be enough. I feel like I’m stronger than her. My job was one of physical exertion, cycling up and down the streets of Manhattan. Surely I could subdue her in the car.

  “I wouldn’t try,” she says, with a slight nod downward. A small, round barrel is pointed directly at my belly. At this close range, she could hit me without even trying. I haven’t ever handled a gun before. Or driven a car. Or been kidnapped. Holy Christ. I kind of want to laugh. This is all so ludicrous.

  “Do you think you can shoot me and all your troubles will magically disappear? Newsflash, I don’t have any money, and I highly doubt that Ian is going to give you any if you kill me.”

  “Of course I’m not going to kill you. Killing is very thuggish. I’m going to hurt you, Miss Corielli. And I’ll continue to hurt you until Mr. Kerr provides me the means to start anew somewhere else.” She smiles as if quite pleased with herself. “I only need Ian to believe that I will if he doesn’t do what I ask. Oh, and when we come to a stop, Travis will also have a gun. We’ll both shoot you in the leg or arm, something not terribly vital. Who knows. It’ll be like a carnival game or something. Take your chances.”

  “I thought you needed me alive to lure Ian to do your bidding.” I try to be upbeat, but Cecilia has been planning this for a few days and I’m winging it. I never thought I’d need a getaway plan for a crazy lady kidnapping at gunpoint.

  “You only have to be alive for as long as it takes him to wire me the money I’m going to be asking for.”

  “You’ll need to send proof of life.” I’ve watched movies, and kidnappers always send those.

  “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. I have that all planned out,” Cecilia answers and then laughs, a note of hysteria detectable in her high-pitched cackle. I take a little comfort in that. She’s not completely in control. Of course, that could mean she shoots me sooner rather than later.

  “This is the twenty-first century. Don’t you think this will follow you? You can’t just start a new life.”

  “Part of the condition of your safety and wellbeing will be to keep quiet. I have people in the city who will enforce these rules when I’m gone. Besides, your Ian, for all his ruthless ways, has far too many morals. He’s held the means to ruin Richard for years but held back. Because of me, you know.” She sounds so proud of herself. “I’d seen some irregularities in our bills. I take care of all of that. Richard is too dumb. So I planted a few seeds.” She smiles cruelly. “Ian loved his mother. Adored her really, and I made sure to mention how much I adored her as well. And how I was doing all this charitable work to save women’s lives. Ian was too wrapped up in his grief over his mother—grief and guilt—to want to hurt me.”

  “You manipulated him for years.”

  “I did.” She’s so proud, and I want nothing more than to smack that smile off her fucking face.

  Instead, I praise the crazy lady so she doesn’t shoot me in the car. “You should have taken that to the craps table. You’re smart, Cecilia. Smarter than Richard. Why didn’t you cut your losses and take off?”

  She scoffs. “You know why. We have no money. We live the way we do on credit, and now that Richard is humiliated and ruined the credit won’t be extended. I’m not cut out for a life of menial shop girl labor.”

  “With your connections, you could probably have run a charitable organization. That’s hardly menial shop girl work.”

  Before she has time to answer, we pull up to a five-story limestone townhome. The Howe residence, I presume. “Nice place you have here.”

  It’s the wrong thing to say because Cecilia reaches out and slaps me across the face with the gun in her hand. My head hits the window. My vision is blurred, and when the door opens and Travis, a big brute, pulls me out, I’m not ready. I struggle, but Travis is too big for me. His arms band around my side, and I’m carried down into the basement.

  I catch glimpses of shelving, carpet, and then I’m shoved into a wine cellar. Travis drops me into the corner, and Cecilia follows behind. The door shuts and it’s just Cecilia and me. In my struggle with Travis, I still manage to dial Ian’s phone. I don’t know if I still have a signal down here. I can only pray it connects.

  IAN

  WHEN I STEP INTO MY office suite, Malcolm Hedder is sitting in the waiting area looking like he went a few rounds down at the gym with some bruiser and lost. Rose raises both eyebrows in helpless chagrin.

  “He wouldn’t leave.”

  “Of course not.” I open the door to the inner sanctum. “Come on, then.”

  He walks gingerly toward me. The surface bruises must be matched by others less visible. Or maybe he’s faking to make me feel sympathetic.

  I drop into my chair and gesture for him to take a seat. He does, lowering himself slowly into the chair that I fucked Tiny on. I get a juvenile sense of satisfaction over that.

  “Are you here to beg for mercy? You’ve timed it right.” I spread my arms wide. “I’m feeling benevolent.”

  Malcolm scowls at me. “He’s is gone. I told him to leave.”

  “Him being Mitch?” I ask, lowering my arms to the desk.

  “Who else?”

  “Was it you or your father who hired the attack on me?”

  “Neither.” He looks at me with undisguised surprise. I figured it was Richard, but it didn’t hurt to ask questions when the opportunity arose. “Why would you suspect me?”

  “I could say because it’s in your nature to want dangerous things. Like your sister. You did try to obtain my signature on an unsavory and unenforceable contract for services in the hopes of blackmail. But the real reason I suspected you is because you love her and you didn’t realize this until she fell in love with me. Pretty clichéd,” I mock. “Wanting what you can’t have.”

  He laughs then, a hollow, aching sound, and I feel almost sorry for him. Almost. “Yeah, like a sister.”

  “You love her,” I repeat.

  His face falls, and as if the effort of denying himself is too strong or he’s just relieved to finally say it, he admits, “I love her.”

  “I’m not unsympathetic. I’m sure I would be a broken and angry man if I had as many opportunities as you did to share this with her and didn’t, but she’s mine now. And I’ll do everything I can to protect her, even if that means limiting your contact with her. Tell me why you believe your father is gone?”

  “Because I told him to go. There wasn’t any point in him hanging around.”

  “I’m sorry you have shitty parents. It happens to the best of us.” It’s the most comfort I can offer.

  “Maybe. Anyway, I’ll keep him out of your hair as much as I can.”

  “Are you blackmailing him?” Because if he pays his father off once, he’ll have to continue to pay, and the price will go up until Malcolm can’t meet it. So clearly, Malc
olm must have something to hold over his father’s head that’s more powerful than money. I can’t imagine—no, I don’t want to imagine—what that might be.

  He gives me a short nod. “But I’m not telling you what I’m holding over his head, and you won’t find out—not with an army of investigators.”

  “Fair enough. But if he comes calling again, all bets are off.” There’s never any peaceful end to blackmail. Why Malcolm hasn’t learned this yet is a surprise to me. In some ways, he’s almost as innocent as his sister, despite his criminal activities and propensity to fuck his stable of hookers.

  “Did you get Sophie’s things from him? Tiny will want them.”

  “There isn’t anything. It was all a story designed to lure Tiny into his web and then get money from you.”

  “Goddammit.” I sigh. The last thing I want to do is inflict more pain on Tiny as a result of her mother’s death.

  “I’ll tell her, though,” Malcolm so generously offers.

  “With me.”

  “What is this? Fucking supervised visitation?” he scoffs.

  “Call it whatever you want, but you don’t get to see her without me being present. Ever,” I reply evenly.

  “She’s my sister,” he protests.

  “Stepsister,” I correct. “And you don’t have brotherly feelings toward her.” At his mulish expression, I continue, “Look at it from my point of view. Would you ever permit a man who loved your woman within ten feet of her alone? No. I can see by your face you wouldn’t. She was never a Hedder. She belonged to Sophie and now me. She’ll be a Kerr soon, and you can either be part of that world where she stands beside me and sleeps with me, or you can be on the outside. Take whatever path you want.”

  I stand up. Our meeting is over. Hedder rises and lumbers after me to the door. As he exits, I call after him. “She cares for you. Don’t shut her out. You’ll regret that.”

  He shakes his head but doesn’t respond.

  “No more phone calls,” I instruct Rose. “I’m not getting anything done.”

  “Yes, sir.” She mock salutes me.