Burning Choice (Trevor's Harem #3)

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Burning Choice (Trevor's Harem #3) Page 3

by Aubrey Parker


  She’s mine.

  I haven’t analyzed it. I haven’t felt it. It’s all biology.

  I feel it with an intensity strong enough to perpetuate the species, passed to me from father to son, even mother to son. I feel it with all the rush that life has required to push evolution forward — the unstoppable force it’s taken for this planet’s life to survive.

  I’m not a human being. With all that’s in my head, I’m closer to a wolf.

  Jessica being a woman is all that’s protecting her, as I sit in the chair, as my cock hardens with anticipation. If it were a man in Bridget’s bed, I’d break through this mirror with my fists, not caring that the sharp edges would make me bleed. I’d rip my rival apart with my bare hands, with my teeth. Then I’d look at Bridget on the bed beneath me, and I’d simply take her, no permission asked. I’d claim what was mine. I’d undo what the interloper had done, and guard her like a hoard of jewels and a pile of gold.

  I want to take my cock out and stroke it. The impulse is almost overwhelming.

  I think of Bridget’s face and her body and the way she moves, and as I do so my insidious imagination intrudes and shows me the way she’d move for another man — another mate with high genetic value, come to raid my lair.

  We’ve all deferred to Trevor because the experiment demands it. And that means that if he walked into her room right now and she chose to have sex with him, the rules say I’d have to let them fuck. I’d have to sit here and take it.

  The thought makes me want to rip things from the walls. It makes me want to storm in and wrap myself around her like a human shield against other dicks. The idea makes me harder by the second — not because I’m aroused by the thought of Bridget with someone else, but because that’s one way the human male fights: with his cock, if not with his fists. He who fucks best fucks last. He who fills his woman with superior sperm wins. Even our microscopic soldiers understand the importance of every battle.

  I want to charge into the room. Bend Bridget over the bed. Fuck her deep and hard to claim her as my own. I want to fuck her until she has nothing left for anyone else. I want to fill her with my seed and make Bridget Miller my possession.

  But I’m not a rat. I’m not a leech. I’m not a prairie vole in some experimenter’s cage. I can think, unfortunately, and that means I know I need to stay here, on this side of the mirror. I know the closest I can come to filling Bridget with my cock is to fill my fist, the closest I can come to fulfilling my mating destiny is to shoot my genetic legacy onto the floor.

  But just as I’m about to unzip, the girls shuffle under the sheets, presumably getting dressed after their little dalliance, if that’s what it was.

  Bridget gets out from under the sheets and says, “I’m going downstairs for something to eat.”

  And I think, I am, too.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bridget

  Jessica and I part ways at my door. We merely whispered into the pillows, hoping to divvy up the contest I have no way of advancing in. But a part of me is, shamefully, still turned on. It was the talk: Jessica’s unabashedly sexual mouth. And some of it was probably her inappropriate (if innocent) touching. Jessica wanted to make our decoy act convincing. And, whatever, I couldn’t help but respond. I’m human, if still decidedly heterosexual.

  I shake it off. I’m too hungry to be horny.

  Jessica and I figure we’ll do our best to make it to numbers one and two in the contest, with me diving at the last minute so she can take the big prize. I’ll walk away with a huge purse (enough to dig Linda out of her problem by hiring the man Jenny’s been forlornly suggesting), which is plenty in the way of winning for me.

  As if. Ha.

  But maybe I’m being too cynical. Maybe it is possible, unlikely as it seems.

  I’m still here after the first elimination. That must mean something, and it’s probably unrealistic to believe the something at play is Daniel somehow forcing a decision on Trevor — especially since he couldn’t give Trevor his real reason. Especially since the whole Caspian White espionage debacle, or whatever it was, casts as much doubt on Daniel as it does on me.

  I wonder, as I walk toward the cafeteria, if Trevor might just like me enough to consider me a potential bride despite my lack of sexual proclivity, if that’s why I’m still around. My self-esteem has taken a beating throughout my life, but if I get out of my own way, I have to imagine it’s possible. Daniel can go on and on about how this is all mind games and that nothing Trevor says is true, but Trevor has talked to me more than many of the girls, and our encounters are different from the others’. I do like him. He seems too sweet for all of this, and more cursed by wealth than blessed with it. He takes my hands when we meet, and gazes deep into my eyes. It’s hard not to feel something for Trevor Stone, so maybe part of me is subconsciously bringing him closer, even as I try to push him away.

  But secrets appear to almost not matter. Kylie seems to have blabbed about my video diaries, meaning everyone probably knows Daniel and I have been hooking up just as they supposedly know that Kylie, not me, was behind what happened. But for some reason it’s all being ignored. Life here at Mansion Strange keeps ticking along. I know Daniel must be on probation. But his past actions — and mine — seem forgotten and ignored.

  If Daniel and I can just stay away from each other, maybe Jessica’s dream isn’t completely unrealistic after all. And if, by doing so, I could earn myself three million dollars?

  Well, then holy shit.

  I haven’t seen Kylie since the elimination. Ivy, either. And Roxy? She’s too odd for a friend, so I have to assume she’s on Team Kylie. Roxy looks at me in the oddest ways, like she doesn’t understand normal human behavior. As a rule, I try to steer clear of the sexfests, but with Roxy, they’re nearly impossible to avoid. I’m sure she’s dragged one of the studs ahead of me in the hallway a time or two then quickly dropped to her knees and swallowed cock just in time for me to round the corner and see it. She’ll stare at me with her mouth full of meat then maneuver so it’s hard for me to look away. It’s creepy.

  The way things ended up, we’re three against three. I guess that makes things even, since Kat is at least tentatively on my side. I like her, though much of that affection is only in retrospect. Kat was always cold to me, but she’s also Ukrainian — and, apparently, spent her girlhood as a sex slave. Now I can see her past coldness as calculating and cautious. Unless I’m imagining things, my hindsight can’t help but see many of her distant glances as looks of respect. I don’t think she sides with anyone by default. I think her loyalty must be earned — but once you have it, I get the feeling it’s a hell of an asset.

  I suppose we’ll find some whats — if not whys — soon enough. The next elimination is in a week, with four more to follow at one-week intervals. At each ceremony, only one of us will be dismissed. So the next time we see the selection roses, the balance will tip. It’ll be three against two, either in our favor or Kylie’s.

  I get this sense of a war on the verge of eruption. Lines are drawn, and the tension — the sense of pending detonation — is intense.

  There’s someone behind me.

  I turn and see nothing.

  This hallway, paneled in dark wood, is always dim. The walls are lined with sconces, but the hallway isn’t as wide as the others, and now that I’m noticing it, this part of the house is especially quiet. I don’t know the staff’s size, and therefore how many souls typically occupy the sprawling estate. But right now, I hear no one.

  After a few stopped seconds, I start moving again. This time, faster.

  Again I turn. And once more.

  I’m grabbed from the front, while looking back over my shoulder, then pulled into a small room I’ve never seen, with absolutely nothing inside. It almost seems to be part of an unfinished hallway. When the door I’ve been yanked through closes, I realize there was no door from the hallway, that this is a concealed room. The walls are made of four-inch-tall foundation blocks, sealed wi
th mortar, and the thought that flits through my mind before my eyes finally register my abductor is that in a room like this, no one would hear me scream.

  Daniel has grabbed me. I’m about to laugh and good-naturedly chastise him for frightening me, but I stop when I see the way he’s looking at me. Gone is the tenderness I’ve unearthed through one encounter after another. Gone is the concern for my well-being, for my mother, for my emotions. He looks like he might hurt me. He’s wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans with scuffed black boots. I wonder at the set of his shoulders, the way he’s holding his arms. He’s standing impossibly tall, impossibly broad. Like this is a fight in the making. Like he’s turned on me, and I’ve only made it this far to be betrayed.

  “Daniel?”

  But Daniel isn’t there behind those hard eyes. He’s staring at me like something he intends to devour. I involuntarily fall a step back, finding the wall behind me. I can feel my heart slamming against my ribs. I swallow, knowing at the top of my head that my reaction is ridiculous. But it doesn’t go down easy, and I can feel my pulse throbbing in my neck, quickening my shallow breath.

  Instead of responding, Daniel crosses his arms over his broad chest and grabs the bottom of his shirt. He pulls it up and off. With the sharp onyxes shown by the singular light, his visage and size are terrifying.

  “Daniel?” I repeat.

  “Take off your dress.”

  “Daniel, what’s — ?”

  “Take off your fucking dress!”

  I want to bite back at him. Nobody talks to me that way. I’m my own woman; I took control a long time ago; I don’t need Daniel or anyone else to be whole. But even as my lips part to tell him off, the force of his stare pushes against me like a hard hand. I watch his eyes and can’t help but swallow again, feeling deep down that I’d defy him at my own righteous peril. That this is in no way a request, and that this is a side of Daniel I’ve not yet seen.

  I can practically smell his animal hunger, and the outdent in his jeans where his thick cock is pressing against the denim. I see the way he’s barely holding himself back. It shuts my mouth, floods my body with adrenaline. And as upset and indignant as part of me wants to be with him right now, the earlier tingle is reasserting itself between my legs. His one shout has turned on a faucet, and my panties feel like they’re fresh from the wash.

  I’m wearing a little sundress I found in the closet. I look down at myself, wondering if I should refuse. But Daniel is waiting, and the door in this soundproofed chamber is closed behind me.

  I take the bottom hem. I look up at Daniel, hoping for a smile. I get nothing other than a stirring in his pants, where I actually see his cock throb and cause the bulge to swell.

  I lift the sundress over my head. All I have on is panties beneath.

  “Kneel.”

  His hands go to his black leather belt, and he slowly unfastens it, watching me comply. The ground is bare concrete, and I can feel minuscule grit pressing into my knees. I’m wearing sandals. When the bands start cutting into my ankles as I kneel, I reach back and slip them off, too.

  I feel so strange, on my knees in this room, naked save a pair of plain cotton panties. I’d swear he should be able to see my racing heart, in the swells of my naked breasts. The air is cool, and gooseflesh prickles me. But of all the sensations, the fullness in my sopping panties is most present. Of all my urges, the one to slip my hand inside them and caress my clit is hardest to resist.

  I watch his pants unzip. I watch his cock come out, already full and heavy and stiff.

  He closes the distance between us. He reaches down to take my chin in one hand, and I look up a little when he does. My jaw opens, and he enters me. His hardness fills my mouth, weighing on my tongue.

  “Make me come,” he growls.

  I wrap my hand around his root, my lips surrounding his hot shaft and head. I roll my eyes to look up at him, and he’s still boring into me with that almost-sinister gaze. His hand moves around to the back of my head, gathering my loose hair into a ponytail. I can feel the tension in his arm and fist. I know he wants to pull me roughly forward and make me choke. So I move first, sucking his cock, rolling my hand around it below my lips in big, wet, saliva-slicked circles.

  “Touch yourself, Bridget,” he commands.

  So I put my hand inside my panties, relieved that I’ve finally been given permission. My own touch is electric, so relieving. I almost come on the spot.

  “Not like that. I want to see your fingers on your pussy.”

  His words are too much. So is his cock in my mouth. I picture him coming, filling my throat. And in that moment, I lose control, all at once, with almost no warning. I let it happen with his shaft in my mouth, bucking with the waves, my eyes closing, feeling my pulsing body move on him, making him fuck my mouth.

  When I look up, he shakes his head as if disgusted. But he can’t stop his hips from moving, and I can tell any control he feigns is a farce. He’s moving himself in and out, begging for my grip, for my suction. His hand on the back of my head presses harder. I feel his tip balloon between my lips — one pulse, like a hard throb.

  “Do it again,” he says. “Do it right.”

  Careful to keep his cock in my mouth, I kneel high enough to pull my panties down. I spread my knees as far as my lowered panties allow and touch my pussy, spreading it for him. My fingers move. Diving in a little, missing my vibrator, which can hit my G-spot. I focus on my clit, which has barely refracted and is begging for another orgasm. It hits as Daniel unloads in my mouth, surprising me and leaving me fighting to swallow in the grips of my tremors.

  I take what I can, but some dribbles out. I meet his eyes as I lick the rest off, seeing how it makes him thrust anew, as if meaning to come again.

  “Stand up and bend over,” he says.

  “I thought men couldn’t come again that fast,” I say, finally finding my voice as I obey.

  “With you,” he says, “I can.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Daniel

  I don’t know what comes over me. I’m smarter than this. I’ve dodged two bullets for sure, and everyone knows that you’re out after the third strike. When we were at twelve contestants, there was room for me to fuck around, just as there was room for Bridget — not strictly ever in contention — to occupy a spot. According to the board, they even knew what I was up to. I had my issues. I had a girl I wanted to teach a lesson, so they let me have her while pretending to look the other way. But now that things have changed — now that I want her as more than a hate fuck — the stakes are higher. We’re down to a half dozen, and each of those six spots is worth more than a bag of diamonds. I can get us out of this … if I can keep my cool, and not make waves. I can do what must be done, if I can just keep it in my pants.

  I repeat I’m smarter than this to myself as Bridget bends over in front of me, showing me her tight pink pussy. But I shut myself out. And with my cock entirely undiminished and still dripping, I take fistfuls of her skin at her hips and press my tip against her wet slit. I pause. But with Bridget, my lip service at restraint seems to barely ever last a moment.

  I’m an intelligent person. I’m risking everything.

  I think this as I watch my cock slide in and out, as I feel Bridget’s tunnel grip my dick like a tight fist. Watching her pussy lick my shaft with each thrust, feeling as if my actions don’t truly belong to me.

  It’s not just you you’re hurting. It’s Bridget, too.

  Which is true. The board said Bridget has to be the next to go. I can’t let that happen, no matter what I must do to keep her around. For several reasons, each laid atop the others like the last precarious layer on a house of cards. And fucking her in this blind spot Jessica helped me create is helping nothing.

  I think this as Bridget’s little moans assail my ears, making me crazy. I don’t know how I’m still hard, and feeling inches from orgasm. I’m not a fucking kid anymore, and even when I was eighteen it took a while to load another bullet in the chamb
er. I swear, girls think we can fuck and fuck and fuck, when any biochemist could tell you exactly why that can’t practically happen. Except with Bridget. Less than sixty seconds from filling her mouth, I still feel like I’ve been celibate for a year.

  You’re being too rough. You’re solving nothing. You don’t hate this woman anymore, and yet what you’re doing is neither-nor. The grudge is in the past, but this isn’t making love.

  Self-sabotage. Me desiring my own destruction.

  I should turn her around. Kiss her. But right now, there is only need.

  I think this as I pull out then watch my cock slide back inside her. I think a thousand filthy things. Euphemisms escape me. I want to shout the worst words. I want to do the most horrible things. I know better than all of this. But I’m out of control.

  I slam against her ass again and again, describing it all to myself as it happens using the dirtiest words, feeling my balls smack her pussy, watching her tits sway with every thrust, recalling the way she sucked me dry. The way she licked herself clean, and then me.

  It’s too much. I come inside her, just as hard as the first time. Then I sag to the side, sliding down the brick wall, falling to rest beside her with my cock still a pillar of marble, pointing at the ceiling.

  Bridget rolls down and sits beside me. She looks at my cock, but I’m pretty sure she won’t try for thirds. She’s finished now. As I was coming, I’m pretty sure I felt the grip tighten as she came again, too.

  Her eyes go from my dick to my face. Her gaze destroys me. This was wrong. I’m ruining our chances; I’m ruining her potential future and her mother’s; I’m going to hurt her now that I no longer want to, and damage myself in the process. This does nothing to keep the board off my back or help Bridget proceed through the competition, earning the money she desperately needs. It does nothing to help my final aim — the solution I’ve decided might save this months-long travesty, if it doesn’t crash and burn us all.

 

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