Relinquish

by M. N. Forgy

  “Fuck,” I whisper. I know he witnessed me sending Hudson on his way and nearly dry-fucking Charlie on the dance floor.

  “Landon,” my father greets. He jerks his chin toward the patio, silently telling me to follow. I blow out a breath of annoyance and do as requested. Stepping outside, I hear the bugs of the night singing, and the heat instantly makes me sweat. “Why did Hudson leave, and where is Charlie going?” he questions, digging a hand in his pocket.

  I swallow hard, not sure if I should tell him the truth.

  “I don’t like the way you look at that girl. You know the rules. No sleeping with the girls. She needs to go,” he states sternly.

  My head whips in his direction. “That is for me to decide,” I inform him. “And why aren’t we allowed to be with the girls again? Oh, that’s right—”

  “This is my estate. I worked hard for it, and I will not watch it burn to the ground over some whore!” he yells, blood vessels protruding on his forehead. I grind my teeth, infuriated that he called Charlie a whore.

  “You worked hard for it? What exactly did you do?” I roar back, stepping up to him. He opens his mouth to speak but shuts it quickly.

  “You were just given the throne. Your father didn’t even test if you were worthy. Daddy’s little boy,” I sneer.

  “Have you been drinking, Landon?” He tries to change the subject.

  “But me, what did I do? What did I have to do to show I was worthy?” My hands are clenched with anger.

  “I needed to know that—”

  “That what? I was as fucked-up as you were?” I interrupt. His eyes go wide, and his chest lifts with a heavy breath.

  “What is going on out here? Everyone can hear everything you two are saying,” Roman explains, walking outside, Jayden by his side.

  “Party’s over,” I clip, pushing past my father. This, right here, between my father and I, couldn’t have made things clearer for me.

  CHARLIE

  I lie in bed watching rain splatter against the window as light thunder sounds from above. Huh. It’s the first time I’ve seen it rain since I’ve been here.

  My eyes become heavy as I watch the streams of rain cascade down the glass, taking me into a deep sleep.

  I hear my door click open and shut, waking me somewhat. I lazily look over my shoulder and see a big, black figure walk toward my bed. The smell of freshness and spice consumes me, telling me it’s Landon.

  “Landon?” I mumble, half-asleep.

  He pulls back the blanket, revealing me in nothing but a skimpy cami and panties.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  He doesn’t answer me, just swoops his arms under my frame and picks me up, placing me against his bare chest. His skin against mine is hard and warm.

  “Where are we going?” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck and inhaling a large whiff of his scent.

  “My room,” he finally responds. I want to go to Landon’s room, I do, but I can’t. I’m not strong enough to keep up with pretend and reality.

  “I can’t, Landon,” I admit, but my words don’t stop him. He strides out of my room and down the hall toward his.

  “Landon, I said I can’t,” I repeat, looking at his face. He keeps his stare forward, not giving in to my rejections. “Do you hear me?”

  He slowly turns his head, pinning me with those hunted eyes. “I heard you, and I’m not listening.” My mouth gapes open, and my heart stammers.

  He opens his door, the sound of Sam Smith’s “Lay Me Down” playing. I look around his room but can’t see anything it’s so dark. I see a balcony, curtains drifting in and out of the room with the storm, and a bed in front of that. With the moon hiding behind thick, thunderous clouds, there isn’t even a glow of moonlight to light the way. He shuts the door, slowly plants me on his bed, and places his hands on each side of my hips, his face level with mine.

  “Landon, please. I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper, closing my eyes. The proximity of his large frame is already making me doubt the words leaving my mouth.

  “Can’t do what?” he questions, his minty breath brushing against my face.

  I open my eyes, seeking his in the dark.

  “I can’t pretend.”

  Landon hangs his head and lets out a heavy breath. To be his one minute but not the next, I can’t do it. I’m not that strong.

  “Landon, what do you fear?” I ask, running my fingers along the scruff of his jaw. His head lifts in my palm and tilts to the side. Not containing my urges anymore, I run my nails through his hair, the feel of it sliding between my fingers making my body come alive.

  “What is your biggest fear? What do you fear in life, Landon?” I repeat. He doesn’t respond, just stares at me. I take the opportunity to open myself up a little. I shouldn’t, I know that, but what do I have to lose?

  “Mine. My fear…” My bottom lip trembles with nerves for what I’m about to say, what I’m going to admit to. I know if he wants to, he could use it against me. “I’m scared of not feeling the things I feel when I’m with you ever again.”

  Landon lifts his hand and grabs the nape of my neck, pulling my forehead to his.

  “No more pretending,” he mutters, his voice deep and raw. My breath hitches, and a tight knot forms in my stomach. What I’m feeling right now could be compared to someone who has gone their whole life looking for a cure to some intense sickness… and they just stumbled upon the remedy.

  Our lips find each other in the dark, greedily seeking the other’s as he lays me flat on the bed. His eyes hold a raw hunger as he looks upon me sprawled along his bed.

  He dips his hand between my legs, his fingertips lazily trailing the inside of my thigh and awakening a dozen nerves.

  “Tell me you’re not done.” My eyes lazily open as my fingers grasp his long hair. “Tell me you’re not finished with me, Charlie,” he rasps. His tongue tastes the skin along my inner neck, and my eyes flutter from the incredible sensation. I can hear the hurt in his voice. When I told him I was walking away, it bothered him.

  I close my eyes and whisper. “Not done.”

  “All in,” he mutters. “Remember?”

  I nod and bite my bottom lip. “All in,” I repeat.

  “Do you want this? Do you want me?” he questions. I can’t see his face, but I’m sure he has an arrogant smirk curling his lips. He moves his hand toward my apex, causing my body to hum with anticipation. He skids the pad of his finger along my wetness, causing me to bite my lip with the agonizing torture he’s causing.

  “Yes!” I moan deeply. I’d agree to anything I’m so wound up.

  He slowly slides a finger into my heat, the feeling divine, causing my mouth to gape open as my eyes clench shut. He hooks his finger, caressing the bundle of nerves that make me feel like I just came on the spot. An erotic mewl escapes my mouth, catching me by surprise.

  “I can feel your greedy little pussy clenching my finger,” he states, his voice husky. He slowly slips his finger out and I open my eyes, finding heavy-lidded ones pinning me where I lie.

  He parts his lips, his eyes never leaving mine, and darts his finger into his mouth, sucking it clean of my juices.

  I can’t move. I can’t respond. I just pant, watching him.

  “You are the sweetest damn thing,” he whispers.

  His hands slide up the side of my body, taking my top with them. He hisses between his teeth and grabs one of my breasts with his large palm. He darts his head down and slips a nipple into his mouth. With the warmth from his mouth on my skin, my body arches against his and my core clenches.

  I run my fingers through his hair as he places tender kisses along my tits and down my rib cage. He dips his nose into my belly button and chills race up my spine. My body twists and curves with his. Our bodies respond to one another like they’ve silently been talking to each other the whole time Landon and I have been denying our attraction. The respect he’s showing me, the care he’s showcasing has my heart and mind ra
cing all over the place.

  He grabs me by the upper arms and pulls my body up, turning me and laying my chest on his bed, my back facing him. He runs his hand down my spine, making me sigh loudly and arch my head backwards, my hair spreading across my back. He caresses my ass cheeks, his fingers so close to my heat but not close enough.

  Nudging my legs apart, Landon places himself between my thighs. I look over my shoulder and see him sitting on his knees, his cock in his hand, sliding it up and down. He glides the head of his dick against my leg, leaving a trail of wetness behind. He centers himself at my opening and in one quick move, he thrusts in. My hips meet his mid-thrust, and I moan loudly as he stretches me. He lowers his body, his hard chest lying on my back as he thrusts in and out slowly, his weight nearly crushing me into the mattress. He brushes my hair to one side before he grabs both my hands and places them above my head, his sweaty palms never leaving mine as he fucks me while tenderly kissing along the nape of my neck. His lips make love to my skin as his length pounds into me, causing me to moan against the mattress.

  “You’re mine, and I’m yours. I’m your client now, forever. You hooked me from the day you ran into me, Charlie,” he whispers into my ear. My only response is a whimper. “Now you’re stuck with me, and I can promise you that you’ll never feel alone again.” He nips my ear, and I sag into him like a cat seeking attention from its owner.

  My core pulses with pleasure. I’m not ready to come, not ready for this to be over, but my body has other plans. He untangles one of his hands from mine and slides it down my arm. Pushing it between me and the mattress, he grabs my breast while he picks up the pace. I hear his teeth grind as he rests his sweaty forehead on my shoulder, the sweet tempo of his hips recklessly pumping into me, finding its ecstasy.

  The storm once building in my core fires back with a force so strong I can’t breathe. I clench my eyes and my mouth falls open as I moan with my climax. Landon roars as he pounds relentlessly, spilling into me.

  He pants hard, his breath tickling my face. My chest heaving as I try to catch my breath, my body is nothing but a mess from Landon devouring my senses.

  “You asked what I’m afraid of. What I fear.” He pants and I nod, my body sweaty and sticking to his.

  “I’m afraid of becoming my father,” he mumbles, his deep voice vibrating against my back. “Ruthless, arrogant, no respect for women,” he admits. “I’m afraid of letting my mother down.”

  “Why don’t you just leave the estate?” I question.

  “I want to, but I can’t.”

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “When my mother was sick, she was sent away because my father couldn’t bear to watch her die. When I went to see her one weekend, she said I’d changed. I told her I was fine, but she insisted that she knew me, and knew there was something wrong. I told her I wasn’t interested in working the estate. She then grabbed my hand and made me promise to take the throne next. She said my father ruined the credibility of the estate, made a mockery out of the Blackwell name.”

  “You said she was sick? What was wrong?”

  “She had cancer.” His tone is grave, and I touch his arm for comfort.

  “My mother loved the estate. She was truly the Madam of the place. Before my father inherited everything, working at the estate was only for those who were skilled, and our clients felt privileged to be on our list. Pimps around Vegas feared us and cursed our name. But my father used our girls, put them against each other, had parties to the point we had more than several girls overdose on many occasions. We had cracked-out escorts with STDs spreading around the estate and to our clients.” Landon looks at me, his face hard. “I’ve worked very hard to bring our estate and the Blackwell name back to its rightful worth.”

  “So you were telling me the truth. You took me to show the pimps around Vegas that you meant business?” I question, everything beginning to make sense.

  “At first, yes, but then when I saw it was you… I knew I couldn’t make you a working girl.” He cups my chin and pulls me close, our lips almost touching. I was right; Landon isn’t the dark asshole he tries to make himself out to be. He’s actually endearing, and holding a promise to his mother. I don’t think a man could be any more loyal.

  “From the moment you ran into me in Vegas, I’ve been drawn to you,” he whispers against my lips.

  “I hated you for taking me away from Jayden, but how can I now?” I brush my lips against his, my eyes staring at his with a raw emotion.

  “You couldn’t stay mad at me,” he replies arrogantly as he presses his lips to mine, rolling me on top of him.

  “What about us?” I mumble against his mouth, nipping his bottom lip

  “I’ll figure it out.” He moans, grabbing my hips and pulling me on top of his length. My head falls back, and I groan with satisfaction as Landon takes me for another round.

  TWENTY

  CHARLIE

  I wake to the sun shining brightly and my body sore. Sitting up, I look for Landon, and discover I’m back in my room, naked and in my bed. I smirk, thinking about last night. Happiness is gluing my cold heart into something warm and whole this morning. I crawl out of bed, the ache between my legs reminding me of him, the things he said to me, what he said to me. I want to believe that we can make us work, that there might be something there, but from what Landon says about his father, I’m not sure if that will happen.

  My eyes widen when a thought hits me. The folder with Evans written on it. I forgot all about it. I run to the clothes thrown on the floor, shimmying on some short-shorts and a white shirt that hangs off the shoulder. I open the door, looking both ways before racing toward the pot in the hallway. My heart pounds in my ears that I may get caught. When I reach it, I look around, making sure nobody is near before I grab the folder. I hide it under my shirt and run back to my room quickly, my heart slamming so hard against my chest I can barely breathe. I shut my door slowly, making sure not to make any noise. Once closed, I slide against it, falling to the floor with the folder.

  I bite my lip nervously, scared of what is in it. It could be nothing; it could be some other woman named Evans. I let out a nervous breath and open it, lifting it upside-down and letting the contents fall to the floor. There are a bunch of pictures and some papers. I pick up a piece of paper and see men’s names and figures. It’s a client list, and payments. I frown. It can’t be me; I haven’t had but one client so far. I toss it to the side and grab the picture. Surveying the photo, I see Miller, but he looks much younger, and a woman. A woman who looks just like me. I frown and flip the photo over, my heart a painful ache against my chest. ‘Gala of 2005, Miller and Maria Evans.’ My mother. I drop the photo, my breathing becoming chaotic. I grab another picture and see more of my mother and Miller. Tears drip from my eyes and fall along the photos.

  I clutch the piece of paper that was in the folder and look it over, searching for her name somewhere. There it is, at the bottom. Maria Evans. My mother was an escort. My chest heaves. I’m sucking in large amounts of air, but I’m still not catching my breath. I grab another piece of paper on the floor and look it over.

  It looks to be some kind of doctor form. My eyes trail along the information of white female, age, hair color, and cause of death is a gunshot wound to the head. My nose flares. It’s a coroner’s report. How did Miller get this? He’s powerful, and he has connections. Did he have something to do with my mother’s death? Why would he hide these in the back of his desk if he didn’t?

  I let out a loud cry and kick the pictures and papers, trying to crawl up the door to get away from all the evidence linking my mother’s death to the estate.

  I close my eyes and rock back and forth. How? Why? My mother is dead. My lips tremble with sorrow as the news of my mother permanently being gone hits my soul. I used to curse her for being absent when things were rough in foster care, but she didn’t leave me. She didn’t kill herself, and Miller knows something. The way my body reacts in fear when he’s around
me, it’s alerting me of danger, even if I didn’t know it.

  I stand on shaky legs and grab the photo of my mother. She was so beautiful. I look almost identical to her. It’s no wonder Miller looks at me the way he does.

  My legs make their way down the stairs on their own accord, as if my journey to Landon’s office is on autopilot. Tears still stream down my face as I stare at the photo. I push Landon’s office door open and head toward his desk mindlessly. Laughter comes from a room adjoining his office and echoes. I pull open the drawer and my eyes land on the gun. I reach in with a trembling hand, gripping the heavy metal. The office door swings open, but I don’t look away from the weapon resting in my palm.

  “Charlie.” I slowly take my gaze from my hand toward the voice, finding none other than Miller.

  “Whoa, what are you doing with that?” he questions warily.

  “Admit it,” I seethe, rounding the desk on shaky legs.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Admit you killed her!” I scream, tossing the photo at him.

  He leans down slowly and picks the photo up. Inhaling, his head tilted down, his eyes trail from the photo to me, looking vindictive.

  “So, it was you who was in my desk,” he states, his tone of fear gone.

  “Admit it,” I repeat.

  “It’s a small world, isn’t it?” He chuckles. I lift my head with his comment. He admits he knows her, but did Miller kill her? The only thing I can remember from that day is that tattoo of wings. My eyes dart to Miller. He has a tattoo on his back; I remember seeing a piece of it.

  “Take your shirt off,” I demand, aiming the gun at him.

  “Now, why would I do that?” He raises an eyebrow.

  “I need to see it. I need to know it was you before I kill you,” I threaten, thrusting the gun toward him.

  The side door that contained the laughter opens, but I don’t look away from Miller.

  “Charlie!” Landon hollers.

  “Oh, fuck!” Roman shouts.

  “What are you doing, Charlie?” Landon questions cautiously.