by Rina Kent
My lips tremble at the onslaught of everything. His words. His mouth. His fingers around my throat.
Everything is too much.
“Because I have.” He pushes his hips into me and an unmistakable bulge settles against my arse cheeks.
He’s hard.
Cole is hard for me.
“Ever since you fell apart around my fingers, I’ve been fantasising about taking you in every fucking position.”
I can feel myself falling. My walls crumbling and my beliefs scattering around me in shreds. All I’m itching for is a taste, a moment, a second of what happened back in my room.
No.
I can’t.
I elbow him hard enough that he backs up a little. I use the chance to get away from his hold, clutching the front of my chest so the dress doesn’t fall off. It has a built-in bra, so I’m only wearing knickers underneath it.
My breathing is high-pitched and loud like an animal’s as I stand by Papa’s conference table. Papa’s office. This is Papa’s office. What is wrong with me?
Reaching behind me, I zip up my dress and try to regulate my breathing.
Cole is still by the door, staring at me like a predator who can’t decide what to do with his prey. Although he already has.
He’s not the type of person who would start anything before figuring out the entire situation. He’s one of those who knows the ending before hitting Play.
It takes him one second, two…
He stalks towards me, slowly but surely.
“Stop right there, Cole.” I’m so glad my voice doesn’t shake.
“Why? Because you don’t want people to know you have the hots for your stepbrother?”
“I do not.” My words fracture at the end and I hate him.
I hate him so much.
“I have Aiden,” I challenge and then immediately regret it when the green of his eyes darkens to a frightening bottomless colour.
“Fuck him.”
“I-I hate you.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t fuck you.”
“You hate me.”
“I still don’t find the reason why that should get in the way.”
“Our parents are married.”
“So what?”
“We’re siblings to everyone!” I cry out, no idea if it’s at myself or him, because the closer he gets, the more I’m frozen in place.
One, I don’t want to run away like a coward, but also, I don’t want to move.
Ever.
He stops a small distance away and stares down at me. “So fucking what?”
My vision blurs as I peek up at him with the last pleading look I can manage. “W-we can’t do this.”
“And yet, you want to.”
“W-what?”
His voice drops. “I can smell your arousal, Butterfly.”
Before I can protest, he flips me over so my cheek and front are glued to the smooth surface of the table. His hand wraps around my nape, caging me in place.
“Cole, we can’t.”
“And yet, we will.” The finality of his words hit me.
We will.
The fact he’s taking it from me gives me some sort of peace.
I didn’t choose this.
I’m not ruining my principles.
He is.
He’s the one destroying every belief I had. It’s all his fault, not mine.
My heart skyrockets as he yanks up the tulle of my dress and bunches it around my waist. Cold air bathes my skin as he pulls down my underwear, letting it pool at my feet.
“Look at your cunt all soaked and ready for me,” he rasps as I hear the sound of his belt.
“It’s not.” I breathe against the wood, forming condensation on it.
“Do you think if you deny it, you’ll get away with wanting it? Is that it, Butterfly?”
Yes. But I won’t say that.
I won’t.
He slaps my arse cheek. Hard. The slap reverberates in the silence of the office and I gasp as the sting registers. But it’s not because of the pain. It’s because of the clenching of my thighs that came with the pain.
What in the actual hell? There’s definitely something wrong with me.
“Your habit of not answering my questions will have to change.” His cock meets my entrance and my hands grip the table.
This is happening.
This is happening.
I close my eyes, trying to think of important things like birth control. Okay, I’m on the pill. Phew.
No. I shouldn’t be happy that I’m on the pill. I should think of why this can’t happen and that I need to stop it.
Nothing comes to mind. Absolute desert.
“Anyone could walk in on us. Did you know that?” he murmurs in a sadistic tone.
My gaze snaps to the door. It’s not locked. Papa or Frederic or one of their friends could come in here to use the phone any second. They’ll see us like this.
Why doesn’t that terrify me as much as it should?
Cole tightens his hand around my nape. “Maybe that will ruin the wedding.”
“No, I don’t want that.”
“Oh, but you do. You’ve been wishing for it for weeks, Butterfly. You’re not as good a girl as you make everyone believe you are.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re fake, but not with me. Never with me.”
“Shut the fuck up, Cole.”
“Uh-oh, Miss Prim and Proper is cursing.”
“I hate you. I hate you so much.”
“You know, I was going to wait until they broke up to make you mine, but they made this decision.” He leans over so that he covers my back, then wraps his hand around my hair and fists it tightly. “And I made mine.”
He thrusts into me in one ruthless go.
I cry out, my eyes screwing shut as the pain stabs me.
Oh, God.
It doesn’t matter how wet I am. He’s big and I’m too tight. It hurts.
“Fuck.” He stops before I feel his warm breaths on my skin. “This is your first time?”
“Obviously, dickhead,” I strain, my voice trembling.
“Open your eyes.”
“No.”
“Silver, open your fucking eyes.”
“Just get it over with.”
“Silver,” he warns.
I know he doesn’t use that tone a lot, if ever, so I slowly peel my lids open. My breathing cracks when I find him staring down at me.
If I expected pity, there’s none. Instead, there’s a hint of concern, but most of all, his eyes shine with a possessiveness so tangible, I can taste it on my tongue.
“I’m your first,” he says with what seems like awe.
I nod, even though he didn’t ask a question.
“Why am I your first?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Liar.” He starts moving inside me and I grip the edge of the table tighter as he rocks his hips gently.
He’s letting me get used to his size and to his rhythm. Oh, wow. I never thought there would be this side to Cole.
Soon enough, the initial sensation goes away and it’s almost…pleasurable.
A whimper falls from my lips when Cole releases my hair, then massages my clit. The pain vanishes, and a wave pulls me under.
His pace picks up with every stroke of his fingers. A loud sob tears through the air, and I realise it’s mine as I fall apart.
I didn’t even last a minute.
My orgasm engulfs me until all I can recognise is him at my back, in me, all around me.
Cole holds my nape to the table and fucks me hard and wild. He fucks me like he’s taking all the previous years out on me with each of his ruthless thrusts.
I fall again, or maybe it’s the first fall bleeding into the second one. I can’t see straight, let alone think right now.
All I can do is feel him — his power, his presence, his need for more that mirrors mine.
He doesn’t stop.
Not when I’m moaning or whimpering or sobbing my orgasm. It’s not until I can’t stand and am nearly ready to collapse that he pulls out of me. A hot liquid drips between my legs, and I close my eyes, soaking in the sensation.
Still holding me by the neck, Cole gathers the cum that’s dripped from me and fucks it inside me with two surprisingly gentle fingers until I’m nearly begging for another orgasm.
I’m sore and feel used, but at the same time, I still want more.
So much more.
The realisation of what I’ve done hits me right there with my head against Papa’s conference table.
I betrayed my own principles. My beliefs. My parents.
And it’s all because of him.
Cole.
He used me and ruined me beyond repair.
And I know, I just know, that from now on, nothing will ever be the same.
“Happy birthday, Butterfly,” he whispers against my ear. “You’re now mine.”
14
Doll Master
My little doll has turned into a woman.
The way her body contracted and her blood trickled down her thighs mixed with cum is a sight I’ll never forget.
It’s art at its truest form.
It’s a masterpiece.
And I’ll have it unfold over and over again.
Blood looks exquisite on her porcelain skin. Almost like it’s made to smother her flesh, bathe it, creep over it instead of underneath it.
My Barbie doll doesn’t realise how beautiful she is. How exquisite. She has a smile to die for, lips to devour, and eyes to stare at for eternity.
People at school call her a bitch, but they’re just jealous of her beauty, her grace, and her mind. Her intelligent, bright mind. It’s the reason why her beauty is enhanced. She’s not one of those bimbo dolls I get tired of after one glance.
She’s not shallow like them, stupid like them, hollow like them.
She’s the whole package.
She’s what I’ve been searching for my entire life while I kept myself busy with their forgettable bodies.
I spent years being patient, slowly creeping under her skin, but not too obviously.
You can’t be obvious with dolls. People say they don’t see, but they have eyes. They say they don’t feel, but they have skin. They can bleed too if you run a knife over their bodies.
Dolls need to be treated carefully, dressed carefully, washed carefully.
Watched carefully.
You can’t let them suspect you. Instead, you have to be the most important part of their lives. Their doll master.
The one who dresses them, washes them, does their hair.
I stare at a picture of her asleep on her side in only her T-shirt and no underwear. I groan as my release comes in waves.
I retrieve my spare phone, coat her pictures with my release, then type with the same fingers.
Unknown Number: You look beautiful today, like a rose finally deflowered. Happy eighteenth birthday. You’re a woman now.
My doll.
My masterpiece.
Now, she’ll never get away from me.
Part II
15
Silver
When I go to school the following day, I’m not focused.
Everything seems to be out of control. Everything.
One, Mum got drunk at the end of the reception and she kept asking what Papa sees in Helen anyway. Is she prettier than her? Better accomplished? She said even her books seem like they’re written by a psychopath.
I told her that all crime thriller books need to be frightening in some way. Helen’s books always give me a chill and that’s why they’re so successful.
I had to ask Derek to help me drive her home. We’d barely gotten her in the car and she had a fight with Papa — again. Thankfully, it was away from the reporters or their other party members.
They screamed at each other and it was like a flashback from the divorce time.
After I tucked Mum safely in her bed, she hugged me, kissed me, and told me she was sad and that she didn’t want to be sad. So I stayed with her until she drifted off to sleep.
By the time I returned home, the reception was over. Papa and Helen had already retreated to their room. They decided against a honeymoon because of how busy they both are.
I was all alone with the catering staff, and Ronan and Xander, who didn’t leave my side. I was thankful to them in a way words can’t express, so I let them have all the food and alcohol they liked.
Cole just sat there, reading from his book as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t broken my world to pieces and made me walk unevenly all night. I had to feign spraining my ankle — to which he smirked at, the bastard.
This morning, Papa’s party friends and political life has returned at full force. Helen prepared them tea and told me to go ahead to school and not worry about anything.
Then there’s the damn text I received yesterday from the unknown number.
A rose deflowered.
He watched me. He saw me do it with Cole.
What if he tells Papa, or worse, the media? That would screw up everything.
Everything.
Since I received the text, I’ve been watching my surroundings as if he’ll come up from the shadows and attack me.
When I was younger, his texts were non-harmful ones, just compliments, like any comment on my social media posts, but a year or so ago, I finally started to see them as disturbing.
No one should know so much about me. My morning routines, from my favourite Chanel perfume down to the type of shampoo I use.
But the last text pushed every boundary I could’ve had. The fact that he was there, in Papa’s wedding, and possibly saw me coming out of his office is more than disturbing.
The reason why I feel like I’m suffocating is because I can’t show this to Papa anymore, or even to Mum. She’ll kill me if she knows I slept with my stepbrother.
And Papa will give me that disappointed look he saves for his party members who act like brats and cause a media ruckus.
Even Frederic is out. He’ll immediately tell Papa about it.
It’s all because of him. Cole. The bastard.
Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to make us fall into a hole of no return?
If I tell him about it, maybe he’ll —
No.
This stalker — or whatever — won’t get to me. Papa once taught me a trick that should exist up every politician’s sleeve — doubt.
If someone makes you doubt yourself and your core principles, they can easily destroy you. They’re using you to ruin you. It’s like when the body self-destructs.
That’s what the stalker is doing. He’s trying to make me panic, and as a result, I’ll make a mistake that he’ll use to his advantage.
You’ve got the wrong person for that, arsehole.
I’m the daughter of Sebastian Queens and Cynthia Davis. It takes more than stupid texts to scare me.
Lifting my head, I walk through Royal Elite School’s hallway. RES goes way back to medieval times. Its ten towers show the majestic power of this place, and to what levels it can take you.
Papa, Mum, and even Helen walked the halls of this school. It’s where they met the first time. After that, Papa and Mum studied at the same university and got engaged. Unlike what the media said about them, it wasn’t an arranged marriage between two powerful families. For one, apparently Mum’s family, which has a long chain of secretaries of state, wasn’t good enough for Papa’s parents.
They already had power, so they wanted nobility. Papa chose her over some noble family’s daughter, and although Mum smiles when she retells that part of their story, she follows it with a scowl and says they chose that misery willingly.
That’s what she calls their marriage, by the way. Misery.
Now, it’s my turn to make the right decisions and take the most advantage of the school. It’s the beginning of our last year and I know exactly where I�
��ll be at the end of it.
In Oxford, studying politics and international relations. For that, I’ll be at the top of the class. Screw Cole if he thinks he can take that away from me.
Near the seventh tower, I spot Aiden cornering Elsa, better known as Frozen. I glare at them.
Since the start of the year, Aiden has been obsessed with her. Okay, maybe his obsession started two years ago when she first came into RES. However, he never acted on it. He just watched from afar like a psycho.
But something happened this year, and he’s been gravitating towards her like a magnet to steel.
I can’t let that happen.
Aiden is one of my cards against Cole. Scratch that. He’s my only card against Cole.
I need the engagement to push my bastard of a stepbrother away, and that girl is ruining my plan.
She’s always shoving Aiden away anyhow, so I’ve been doing her a favour by keeping his psychotic claws off her.
She’ll thank me for it later.
Okay, maybe she won’t, but hey, the sentiment is there.
I’m about to go and break them off when a sinister presence appears by my side. Cole smirks down at me as he clutches his books. He’s been in an awfully good mood since yesterday.
“I could’ve driven you to school, Butterfly. You know, with how you sprained your ankle and all.”
“Screw. You,” I hiss under my breath.
He laughs, the sound echoing around us like a halo.
I can only stop and stare when he laughs. He doesn’t do it so often, and when he does, I want to catch it and tuck it away for safekeeping.
Snap out of it, Silver.
“Your compliments are music to my ears, even better than your piano playing.” His lips brush against the shell of my ear. “And I love your piano playing.”
My heart beats so loud, it’s about to burst free of its confinements. It’s the first time he’s said that.
“Then why do you always make me lose in competitions?” I whisper.
“Because you act like a bitch.”
I wish I could punch him right now, but since countless students are buzzing around us, I can’t.
Cole must realise that, too, because his lips lift in an infuriating smirk. No, he didn’t only realise it, but he planned it all along. He loves taunting me in public, knowing that I can’t react to it. I swear he lives to torment my existence.