Burning Rivalry (Trevor's Harem #2)

by Aubrey Parker

  “It’s so easy to dislike you, Bridget.”

  “Fuck you very much.”

  “It’s so easy; I don’t understand why I can’t.”

  In one smooth motion, Daniel pulls the laptop away, as if he’s simply removed it from a shelf. My best efforts to snatch it away don’t even register.

  He points at one of the monitors, and on it, I see the group of Ones. But they’re not having the orgy I expected. They’re not even naked. Instead, they’re filling out paperwork. Tony and Logan hold papers up intermittently, and I’d swear they’re polling responses to follow. I see Trevor there, but only barely. He’s sitting to one side, kicked back, legs crossed. A few of the girls keep looking over at him. Trevor, like Daniel, has dressed down for the day. My potential husband, by the rules of this freak show, dressed in jeans and an untucked button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up, bare arms crossed over a broad chest. I have to admit, he looks hot as hell.

  “In a bit, the groups will switch. You’ll go in with Tony and Logan to be tested — the mundane nature of which will take most of your number by surprise, because they’ve spent the last half hour mentally preparing to impress Trevor with some sort of glamour, charisma, or most likely sexual display. Frankly, some of them will be disappointed when they see it’s all flash cards and schoolwork. That changes conditions between the halves. In this first rotation, it’s your group, not that one there, that’s mostly being tested. But after the switch, behavior in both groups will be of interest. Specifically, we expect some in each group to make a few comparisons between their circumstances in the sessions that will blow the experiment’s cover.”

  “What experiment?” My eye keeps wandering to the laptop, and it’s difficult to keep myself from being distracted from the reason I came here in the first place.

  “All that you need to understand, Bridget, is that the true competition is about to begin. Not because of anything we’re doing, but because of what the girls probably will. That group has spent a half hour following instructions, unsure why they’re doing any of it. Yours has spent a half hour waiting and mentally preparing for something that, as you see, isn’t actually scintillating at all. It’s not an elegant group date. It’s not skydiving or hiking. It’s not a bunch of screwing. It’s the dead opposite of stimulating or pleasurable.”

  “And that means — ”

  “This is the most clinical, most frustrating form of foreplay, but it still contains foreplay’s secret ingredient: anticipation. After all this annoying waffling following last night’s expectations, the wait for what they’re sure must be coming eventually is just turning up the heat.”

  “I don’t see your point.”

  “They’re going to be horny. Like you.”

  “I’m not horny.”

  “Normal social rules don’t apply. We’ve made it clear that this is a morally loose atmosphere. They’re free to do what they want when they want. The whole place is designed to be subtly charged, but seldom overtly. We don’t want any of you compelled. It’s exactly the opposite. My goal, in observing, is always to determine what any of you will do on your own, without us telling you to. This group has been thoroughly screened. They’re not the types to hang back for long. And once one of them crosses a line in either group, the normal competitive urge in the others, combined with their arousal, will quickly escalate the situation. I know you don’t think you’re like them, Bridget. But you’re not immune, either.”

  “I said, I’m not horny.”

  “Your pupils are dilated. I can see the pulse in your throat, and you can’t keep your lips together.”

  Holy shit. He’s right. I thought I was just pissed off and annoyed, but I’m totally fucking wet. Back in the room, with nothing going on, keeping my distance from Kylie, I could only think about what the Ones must be doing. I distinctly remember wondering how Logan and Tony, if they were servicing the other girls, would be able to service my group when it was time. I wondered if, after enough time of waiting, Richard would start trying to warm us up. Maybe take some of the pressure off. I’d keep my distance from him, too, but the thought still infiltrated my mind. I pictured things ramping up, clothes coming off. I’d have to sit and watch, like I sat and watched with Erin and Tony back in my room. And then that image was in my head. God help me, I found seeing them fuck right in front of me hot as shit. I’ve thought of it and touched myself, subtly and more overtly, since.

  “No matter what happens,” Daniel says, “you have to resist. Do you hear me? Don’t join in, no matter what the other girls do.”

  I want to issue something on the spectrum of Of course not; what kind of slut do you think I am?, but now there’s a porno playing in my mind, and part of me wants what I’d normally deny. Part of me wants to hear those sounds. See those sights. And, if it has to happen, maybe feel those sensations. Even if it’s my own hand doing the wandering, I somehow doubt — after a few days in hedonist’s paradise — that I’ll feel the need to sit upright and play the good girl to the bitter end.

  “Why not?” I say instead.

  “The first reason is that if you don’t want to be thrown out for real this time, you need to prove you’re not some sort of a plant. Trevor already suspects I wasn’t as thorough with you as I was with the others, and if he can confirm it, we’ll both be in trouble. But I know how you are, and so does Trevor, from the profile I already showed him. If you let yourself go too fast, he’ll suspect you’ve been tampered with. He’ll assume you would only turn contrary to your normal tendencies that quickly if something outside of himself and the other men has been stimulating you, away from the cameras.” He hesitates. “Or erased from them.”

  He means himself. He means the stimulation he’s given me, both directly that first day in my room and later, without so much as touching me. He means our special, unique circumstances. His saving me, shoving me back into this competition, paying off my mother’s medical needs. Maybe the live-action foreplay we had before arriving, outside the club and in the limo. He’s not supposed to do any of that. He’s supposed to be off limits and objective. He’s not supposed to coach, or play favorites.

  “Okay. I’ll stay out.” A prissy voice in my head tells me that this is hardly a concession, since I’d never have done anything anyway. I’m not that kind of person. Except that in the past few days, I’ve learned that maybe I’m not who I thought I was after all.

  “But the second reason matters much more than whatever Trevor thinks.”

  I swallow, feeling the arousal I didn’t even know was there throb like a giant heart inside me.

  “What’s that?”

  “Because I don’t want you to.” He levels a hard stare in my direction. “Because you’re mine.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Daniel

  I shouldn’t have said that.

  But it’s true.

  Bridget’s always been mine. She was mine all those years ago, just in a totally different way. She was my choice then, mine to obsess over, then later hate. Mine to follow, mine to seek. My choice to come here, against Trevor and the board’s wishes. Mine to defend, mine to hide. Mine to call, when I discovered her secret, and then mine to seduce with only my voice. It was easy. I’d done my research; I knew her triggers. And then she was mine. At the club. Through our interview and beyond. Because it turns out, her triggers match me, and she matches all of mine. I’ve loathed her, and now that feeling has become something else. Something worse than hate. But through it all, Bridget’s been mine. And nobody else is allowed to touch her.

  But I’m being stupid. What I warned Bridget against — strange temptations that come in the heat of the moment? That’s exactly what I should warn myself against, too.

  Her beauty intoxicates me. She doesn’t know she’s beautiful, and would never think of herself as sexy. She barely thinks of herself as feminine, and usually acts like she’s not. But I see the curve of her neck. The shape of her back and hips when she wears the dresses we provide. The effortless len
gth of her legs. My constant, never-ending preoccupation with what lies between them, wet for me. Her intense, nothing-can-hurt-me attitude. The guilty compulsion I feel to hurt her just a little, so I can see the loss of control when she’s vulnerable.

  In this small room, I can smell her. Every ounce. Her presence is too close. Her motions too seductive, even though she’s trying to be the opposite. Her anger makes me hard. The way she talks, the sound of her voice. It swells my cock. The way she distrusts me, resents me, hates the way I keep my secrets. And the way, despite it all, she keeps bravely coming back.

  But it’d be stupid to surrender. Just as it’d be stupid for Bridget, when she returns, to give in.

  And suddenly, I need her to leave. To get away from me. It’s not just Trevor and my position that bothers me. It’s not even Bridget’s perilous situation — and the idea that she might be cut off from the money required to solve it — that bothers me. It’s all of those things, yes. But I’m terrible for her. I’d ruin her, even more than she’s already ruined. Temptation lasts only minutes. I won’t ruin it all for lust.

  I try anew to hate her. To remember what she did to me. To remember how she was, how she is.

  But it’s impossible. The hard, rude, asshole kid she used to be, I now only see as a front. She was always this soft underneath. This beautiful, in all beauty’s forms.

  She comes too close, and her hair swings against me, filling my nose with her. She tries to take the laptop where I’ve been monitoring her email, to be sure my payment to Jenny arrived. To be sure the problem is at least temporarily solved.

  But I didn’t anticipate Brandon.

  I didn’t stop to consider what a powder keg Bridget’s situation was and remains, and how at any moment, it could get so much worse.

  “Give it to me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I’m not yours, no matter what you think. I don’t need your help.”

  “You are. And you do.”

  She swings to hit me, but we’ve been through this all before. Frankly, I’m tired of her posturing. I brought Bridget here to break her, but now I mostly want to kill her self-deception. She’s not self-aware. Bridget’s spent so much time lying to herself, she doesn’t even know who she is, or what she needs and wants.

  I think I’ve won the confrontation, but she grabs the laptop in the moment of distraction. Her hand leaves mine, and she’s turning away — not for the other end of the small control room, but for the short hallway that leads to the main one. The hallway I followed her into, so I could frighten her in the dark.

  I move faster, blocking Bridget’s way.

  “Let me out.”

  “I’m doing what’s best for you. You have to trust me.”

  “What possible reason do I have to trust you?”

  “I let you stay. I sent money to — ”

  “I’m not for sale, Daniel! I’m not your possession!”

  She opens the laptop, balancing it with one hand and levering with the other. Her chin is down toward the screen, her eyes rolled up as if daring me to stop her. We’re a kid and a parent in a standoff, me telling her not to take another step or else — and her doing it anyway, to test me. I hate the way she’s only making me like her more. I hate the way that disobedient little expression makes me want to kiss her, to fuck her, to show her who should listen to whom.

  “Fine. It’s Brandon,” I say.

  She nods, as if she knew that much. Probably from Erin, who caught an accidental eyeful. “What about him?”

  “He’s worried. And not just him. His wife, too. And someone named Grady. And Mary.”

  “Maya,” Bridget corrects.

  I nod. Yes. Grady and Maya. Names I should know but don’t. Usually, these profiles are extensive, and I know everything about the candidates and the worlds they live in. With Bridget, I skipped steps. I figured I knew her well enough, and what I didn’t yet know, I snooped and sussed out. But her friends and family got only the most passing glances. It didn’t occur to me that she’s changed, like any normal human. That who she is today is shaped by people I never bothered to meet. I knew I was being rash. But only now, too late, is it dawning on me just how sloppy I’ve been, and how much it’s going to cost me.

  “Maybe they took offense at your policy of me not telling anyone where I went.”

  That’s not our standard policy. With due diligence, we have time to fabricate excuses and lies that let the girls come to places like this without others knowing exactly where or why or what. Things were rushed with Bridget. I made a judgment call, and judged wrong.

  “It’s more than that. It’s Jenny.”

  Bridget looks down at the computer, panicked. I put a hand on the lid and close it. Not enough to force my will, but enough to underscore my opinion. I won’t push this now. But it’s unspooling, and I don’t like the tangled web being woven.

  “Not Linda, Bridget. Just Jenny. You aren’t answering your emails, and after you Skyped her … ”

  “What?”

  “I meant to answer some of them for you. As you.”

  She gives me a look of loathing.

  “But she’s more impulsive than I thought. Worried. Neurotic, really.”

  “That happens when you grow up the way she did.” Bridget puts her hand on her chest. Atop breasts that, despite all of this, are full with nipples erect. “Me? If you think I have it bad, think again. I’m the lucky one compared to Jenny.”

  “She’s been emailing Brandon.”

  Bridget’s mouth comes a bit farther open. At least we can both agree that Brandon getting involved is a horrible idea. He’s got a savior complex. He’ll rush in to save the day if Jenny tells him too much, and if he does that, things will get very bad very fast. Brandon will use money and, if necessary, his fists to solve the problem. But Nicholas Kidd will use guns — and lots of them.

  “She hasn’t told him anything yet, at least since his last email to you,” I say, raising my hand. “Just that she’s a friend and is having trouble getting in touch with you, and — ”

  Bridget snaps the computer shut and tries again to get past me. Her body presses into mine. I’m so hard just being here with her, and she’s proving impossible to resist. I want her to go, to rejoin the competition before anyone notices how long she’s been gone. If Kylie suspects anything, which she will, we’ll have a problem. And if Trevor has reason to suspect, the problem might be unsolvable.

  But I don’t want her to go with the computer.

  I want her to leave.

  And I want her just the same.

  “You can’t keep me prisoner.”

  “I’m not keeping you prisoner,” I say.

  “You’re blocking me in. You’re cutting me off. You say I can go, but every time I try, something conveniently stops me. I can’t have a phone. I can’t use a phone. I couldn’t tell anyone where I was going. Now you tell me that the only family I’ve ever known is about to fall apart and I’m supposed to go back into the big room and wait for an orgy! Fuck you, Daniel!”

  I meet her eyes. Her blue-green eyes with their dilated pupils. Her nipples hard atop her full breasts. Her breathing shallow, her skin blushed. All over, surely — disparate sources of alarm coalescing into a knot of undifferentiated arousal.

  I gently take the computer then set it on the table and open the screen. I open Skype, enter Brandon Grant’s handle, and hit Connect. Then I move to the side, sitting out of the camera’s view while Bridget stands in its middle.

  “I’m not keeping you here. Say whatever you must to your brother. Tell him to come save you, if you want.”

  The shrill ring fills the control room. But instead of watching the screen, Bridget’s watching me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Bridget

  It’s a bluff.

  I don’t know how Daniel is screwing with me, but I know that he is. Everything out of his mouth is doubletalk or psychobabble. Everything he does is a game. He’ll be irresistible to me as if he’s
able to reach inside my head, and then turn repugnant. When he does things that at first seem to be kind, I soon realize there must be an angle waiting to be played. He kept me in the game; he sent money to Jenny for Linda. But am I a fool to think he did those things for altruistic reasons? Maybe he did them to keep me here … while I paw over him, feeling indebted. What I took for kindness might be yet another mindfuck.

  He won’t even let me reply to emails, so he definitely won’t let me talk to Brandon.

  I look over. He’s beside the computer, the screen facing me. Daniel is sitting; I’m standing. He’s placidly watching. And insult against insults; I can actually see a long, cylinder-shaped outline in his tight jeans. The motherfucker has a hard-on. Toying with me is turning him on. Worse, he seems able to read me, and knows that I’m turned on, too.

  But not for him.

  Just because I’m human, and this is all … well … a bit much for a person to take without flinching.

  “I guess he’s not in,” Daniel says.

  I watch the screen. I see Brandon’s face. His avatar, as the connection keeps ringing.

  “I guess you’ll need to try later.”

  He’s right. Why would Brandon just be sitting there waiting for a call? Jenny has Skype on her phone and is nervous enough to sit by it, waiting, after sending panicked emails. Not Brandon. He’s probably out on site, surveying new land acquisition for Life of Riley.

  Which is good, now that I think about it.

  Because what will I tell him if he answers?

  My eyes flick to Daniel.

  “Go ahead and hang up,” he says.

  I almost laugh.

  Now I see it.

  This is all a scam. It seemed ridiculous that Daniel, after cutting me off from the outside world, would break Trevor’s rules and roll out the red carpet to the one man able to cause them the most trouble. That’s because it’s ridiculous. Somehow, Daniel got Brandon’s avatar image and set this computer up to look like it’s calling Brandon when it’s actually not. Then he gets credit for letting me call. Not his fault that Brandon wasn’t there … and later, when I ask if I can try calling again, there will always be some reason it’s impossible. There will always be something that —