by Layla Frost
“I’m not coming home.”
My dad kept talking as though I hadn’t. “You can enroll in school there if it means that much to you to have a degree. Your mother has openings on many of the boards she chairs, so you’ll have your pick. You and she can discuss it later.”
Later being when he wasn’t around because it had nothing to do with him, and therefore was uninteresting.
“I’m not coming home,” I repeated, louder this time.
“Quiet,” he hissed, shaking his head. “You’ve clearly only thought about yourself. We’ve been patient all your life, but especially these past few years. It’s time for you to grow up and come home before people start talking.”
“Talking about what? That I’m a capable adult who can live on her own?”
His eyes cut to me, cold and calculating. “Voters will wonder why our only child has abandoned us to live states away.”
Voters.
Next year is an election year.
Sadness filled me, but not for the reason it should’ve. I wasn’t sad I was a pawn in his political games. That I was a prop, and the only reason my parents wanted me home was so I could smile and wave as they pulled me along the campaign trail.
I was sad because I wasn’t. I wasn’t surprised. That part of me, the one who’d wanted our happy family image to be real, was long dead.
My mom smiled at me, reaching over to pat my hand. “You’ll come home. Matthew Davis is still unmarried. I think he’s engaged, but that’s easy enough to fix. You can get married and live in the house next to us, having lots of babies. And you can volunteer with me in between. It’ll be the perfect life.”
Maybe for some that was the perfect life, and I didn’t fault them. With the right man, parts of that didn’t sound so bad.
But it wasn’t what I wanted, and Matthew Davis damn sure wasn’t the right man. He was the son of the senator, and our marriage wouldn’t be anything more than a political move in an unending game of chess.
I glared at my father. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Language.” He leaned forward, a smile on his face when his tone was anything but happy. “We’re a good, churchgoing family, and you’d be smart to remember that. You may have lived like a woman with loose morals here, but that ends. Now. I won’t have you bringing shame to this family because you’re acting out like an attention...”
When his sentence trailed off, I gave a bitter laugh. “Whore? Is that what you were going to say? Well, if the forced marriage fits.”
My mom had the good grace to look ashamed, although that could’ve been the wine flush. My dad looked indignant on his high horse.
“You’re being dramatic,” he dismissed.
Yup, that sounds about right. Any disagreement. Any show of true emotion. Any hint of humanity, and I’m being dramatic. Hysterical. It’s my time of the month or my hormones or my silly female brain.
My dad smiled, playing his trump card. “We’ve found you, Eden. We’ll do it again if we must and next time might not be so pleasant. Strings could be pulled and enrollment could be revoked. Jobs could be lost. You can’t run from where you belong.”
I thought about my plans to move to South Carolina. To be in the wind, hiding from my family and my memories. Finally being free.
But I wouldn’t be free. Every time I let them control where I moved and what I did, I gave them power. That was fine enough before, but not anymore.
As I sat across from them, I saw who they really were.
A drunk and a blowhard.
I leaned forward, my expression so cold, my mom leaned away, clutching her drink to her chest. My voice was low and even when I said, “I’m not going home because I am home. I love it here. I’m happy here, not that it seems to matter to you.”
“Think carefully about this,” my dad said. For a moment, he almost looked concerned had it not been for the calculating gleam in his eyes. “We just want what’s best for you, Eden. You’ve always been so much like your mother—troubled. Weak. And when you realize how badly you need me, it’ll be too late. Because if you stay, you’re telling us you have no intention of fulfilling your obligations to this family and no longer want to be part of it. You will be disowned.”
“Noah,” my mom whispered, blinking away the booze for a moment of clarity, “she’s our daughter.”
“If that’s true, she’ll come home. Otherwise she’s no one.”
“You can’t—”
He gave Mom a vicious glare. “I can. And if you feel so strongly about it, you’re welcome to stay with her and face the same fate.”
Her lips pressed together so tight, they turned white before she averted her eyes and checked out of the conversation.
I may be her daughter, but I can’t compete with the Governor’s Mansion, a full staff, dinner invites, and a spending account.
Grabbing my bag, I stood. “Then we’re done here.”
My dad’s hand wrapped around my wrist. “Be very, very sure, Eden. Because if you walk out the door, it’s done. It doesn’t matter if your hissy fit is finished and you regret it. I’ll be on the phone with my lawyer while we wait for our flight.”
I paused for a moment, just long enough to see his victory smirk. “Goodbye, Governor Wilkes.”
Turning on my heel, I walked proudly from the restaurant.
Okay, that was an awesome mic-drop exit…
But I have no clue where the hell I am or how the hell I’m gonna get home.
Shit.
I’ll just walk until I find a subway or bus.
Annnnnd hope that the three dollars of cash I have on me is enough.
“Miss Wilder?” a man called.
Great, what now?
I contemplated pretending I didn’t hear him until he said, “I’m here to give you a ride.”
Turning, I took in the smartly dressed man standing in front of the luxury car.
I’ve seen enough Dateline to know better. For all I know, this is a kidnapping plot by my… by Governor Wilkes. It wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s done.
“Sorry, I didn’t order a car,” I said as I started walking.
“The, uhh, Joker sent me.”
Damien.
I spun back to the man. “Okay.”
“Okay?” He opened the car door. “I mean, yes. Okay.”
Sitting in the back of the beautiful car, my thoughts raced. Not because of the family I’d just left behind—I’d never been more confident about a decision in my life. It was Damien who I thought about.
Will Joker still want his Harley Quinn when he finds out she’s more dysfunctional than he is?
*******
I’d assumed the driver had been hired to take me back to school. By the time I’d realized he hadn’t, we’d been more than halfway to Damien’s. I could’ve pitched a fit or run into the middle of traffic, but both had seemed like overkill at the time. In my anxious mood, I’d been grateful for suburban silence instead of the slamming doors and raucous talking of the apartment. I’d tried to utilize that quiet to get schoolwork done, but my focus had been the equivalent of a hyper puppy watching a field of squirrels.
As I saw Damien’s car pull into the driveway, I regretted my decision… I really should’ve fled like a madwoman.
This is good.
Like a band-aid. Just rip it off and get it over with.
My eyes went to the clock for the fiftieth time that hour. It was late. Much later than he usually got home.
Maybe he picked up dinner.
Or got caught at work.
Or maybe he’s pissed about the lies and thinks I’m totally fucked-up and not worth the effort.
I paced until I heard his key in the lock then flopped down on the couch, trying to look nonchalant.
He walked in and dropped a couple bags at his feet before heading over to me.
My breath burned in my lungs as I waited to see what he’d do.
It’d never even occurred to me he’d kneel in front of me
, concern clear on his face as he searched mine. “You okay?”
I nodded.
“Must’ve been a shock to see your parents, what with them being dead and all.”
I gave a small huff of a laugh. “I know you think I lie all the time, but that was the truth… kinda. My parents have been dead to me since the moment I left home. Before actually.” I shrugged. “Now it’s a mutual thing.”
“Shit.”
“No, no. This is a good thing. I just want to put it all behind me and forget today happened.”
Damien studied me for moment, likely trying to gauge how on fire my liar pants were. Deducing I wasn’t on the verge of a meltdown, he moved on. “You didn’t return my texts.”
“Sorry, my phone was on silent.”
“I was worried,” he whispered as he cupped my cheek.
“You were?”
“Of course I was. It’s my job to take care of you.” He half-smiled. “Sometimes that means spanking your ass and other times that means worrying.”
Caught off-guard by the burning in my eyes, I closed them, unwilling to let any tears fall. I leaned into his touch. “You probably have a lot of questions.”
“Your dad is the governor of Iowa. Your mom is an alcoholic. He’s misogynistic and she’s checked out, so you took off to live your own life. Got all that. I just wanted to know what flavor ice cream you like and what you wanted for dinner. I went with cookie dough and sushi.”
My eyes flew open, my brows practically in my hairline. “How’d you know?”
“You had me pick up a log of cookie dough last week. It’s gone, yet you never actually baked any cookies. Sushi was just a shot in the dark.”
“Not about that. About my parents.”
He lifted a brow, and his tone held more than a hint of duh. “I’m a Political Theory professor. I already knew the facts and filled in the rest.”
There were details I could share to really paint a picture, but I didn’t want to get into them right then… or ever. Him knowing the basics was enough to let me breathe a little easier. I wanted to forget my past, and if I was always lying about it, I’d never be able to.
“Well, FYI,” I said, “I didn’t bake the cookies because I’d set your kitchen on fire. Just fixing a bowl of cereal can be a fire hazard where I’m concerned. I’m not much of a chef.”
He kissed me lightly. “Lucky for you, I am. Especially if it involves ordering delivery that should be here in,” he stood and looked at his watch, “ten minutes or so. Don’t move.”
Ten minutes isn’t really enough time to get filthy, but okay. I’m game.
My anticipation turned into curiosity as he jogged up the stairs. He came back down a minute later, grabbing the bags he’d left by the door before moving to stand behind the couch.
I craned my neck to look back at him, but he wouldn’t let me see what he held.
A bundle of fabric landed on the couch next to me. “My sweats and a tee for you to change into.” Another rolled bundle was dropped into my lap. “New blanket.” Two bottles of wine, a pack of pretty coasters, artisan chocolate, and a bag of ruffled chips were set on the small end table next to me. Fluffy slippers were added to the clothing pile, along with a holy grail item—a brand new strip of hair elastics.
All of that would’ve been more than enough, but not for Damien.
No, Damien Caine needed to ruin me.
Three books were passed to me one at a time, each more shirtless torso-y than the last. “I asked the woman at the bookstore for the raunchiest romance books they had. There was a fair amount of debate, but after an extensive process of elimination, these were the winners.” He grabbed the wine back up. “I’m going to put this and the ice cream in the freezer.”
I stared down at the books.
Not library books.
Not borrowed ones that no matter how much I loved, I’d have to say goodbye to and hope that next time I checked them out, the pages wouldn’t be folded or torn or written on.
These were my books.
My smutty books that I could read in comfy clothes with a glass or six of wine because I’d had a really shitty day.
Because Damien took care of me.
“I quit.”
Damien’s voice was rough and on edge. “There’s no quitting this, angel. You know that.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I shook my head and tried to find my voice past the lump in my throat. “Sinners. I quit Sinners.”
“When?”
“Does it matter?”
His thick fingers wrapped around my throat and pushed against my chin so I was looking up at him. “When did you quit?”
“This morning,” I whispered.
“After we talked?”
I shook my head. “When I went home to change before school.”
“So all that shit you gave me after class?”
Shrugging, I gave him a sheepish smile. “You were being bossy.”
Wicked heat filled his gaze. “I’ll show you bossy.”
He did. A lot. For a long time, multiple times, pausing only so he could snatch the sushi from the relentlessly knocking delivery guy.
And when he was done, I settled in to read my book and eat my melted ice cream on the lap of a man who could destroy me.
Chapter Twenty-five
* * *
Filthy-Sweet
Eden
DC: Stop by my office before class.
Me: No.
DC: You do seem to love that word.
Me: And you seem to love hearing it.
I tried focusing on my work, but my damn curiosity got the better of me.
Me: Why do you want me to stop by?
DC: I have coffee for you.
A stupid smile pulled at my lips. Since the hoopla a couple days before, he’d been extra sweet. I’d never experienced that kind of thoughtfulness before.
A girl could get used to it.
Me: I’ll be there in ten.
The last five minutes of class dragged, and then I took the long way to Damien’s office, trying not to look conspicuous in my inconspicuousness. I didn’t even have the chance to knock on the door when it swung open.
Oh.
Shit.
“What happened?” I asked, practically panting.
Every nerve in my body thrummed alive, stealing my breath and soaking my panties.
Damien was pissed.
No, that wasn’t right.
Professor Caine was pissed.
His arms were crossed, his muscles tight and flexing. His jaw clenched as he stared down at me with fire in his eyes. “In.”
I scurried in, my stomach twisting until I thought I’d lose the breakfast he’d so nicely cooked while I’d burned the toast. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he bit out, closing the door.
“Something is.”
He shook his head, but his dangerous vibe emanating in the air and the coldness in his eyes belied his words. Sitting behind his desk, he pushed his chair back a little and patted his thigh. “Come here.”
As soon as I was within reach, he pulled me down so my ass was on his lap and my legs were slung over one of the arms of the chair. His hardness pressed against my ass, twitching and jerking as I shifted to get comfortable.
I was about to ask again about his mercurial mood when his lips crashed down on mine, his tongue pressing into my mouth. Invading it. Taking it and me.
He tore away like ending the kiss was physically painful. “Been thinking about your mouth.”
“Yeah?”
“On your knees, Eden.”
My mouth—and other parts of me—watered at his order. I slid off his lap slowly, loving the feel of him against me.
“Fucking tease,” he murmured.
Partially under his desk, I kneeled between his spread legs and waited for him to tell me to undo his pants.
He didn’t.
Freeing himself, he stroked the long length, bringing the head to my lips before
pulling away.
On the third time, I whimpered, glaring up at him.
“My girl’s feeling greedy,” he rumbled.
“Your girl thinks you’re the fucking tease,” I snapped.
He smirked. “Attitude, Eden. Or maybe I’ll decide not to give it to you. Maybe I’ll just stroke my dick until I come all over your pretty face. You want to walk around like that?”
Yes.
Like he knew my thought, the heat in his hooded eyes erupted into an inferno.
“No. Sorry, Professor Caine,” I whispered, my eyes locked on his fist moving steadily on his cock.
He pressed the head against my lips, but I knew better than to go for it.
No matter how much I needed to taste him.
“My girl want it?”
I nodded.
“How bad?” he asked. “My girl gonna let me fuck her face? Slam deep in her throat until I come down it? My girl gonna let me do whatever I want to her?”
Something was wrong.
Damien was king of dirty talk, but his words held the same edge his demeanor did.
It didn’t matter, though. Not right then.
Because he was right.
I’d let him do all of that and more.
My expression must’ve made my feelings known, because he slid his cock along my bottom lip, coating it with precome. “Ask me for it, Eden.”
“Will you please fuck my throat, Professor Caine?”
His fingers fisted into my hair as he fed me his cock, his first few thrusts shallow as I adjusted to having my mouth full. Breathing through my nose, I fought against the panic and relaxed, letting him control the speed and depth.
It was messy.
It was loud.
It was strenuous.
It was so damn hot, I could’ve come right then and there.
The dull ache from his hold on me became a sharp pain as he tangled more of my hair in his fist. His tempo slowed until he was almost leisurely sliding my head up and down his length, my sloppy noises embarrassing if I weren’t past the point of caring. I knew he was close, his hardness throbbing each time I sucked him deeper.