by Ava Sinclair
“Fucking,” He puts his mouth to my ear, “will be like that, only more. Do you think you’ll like it?”
“More than anything,” I say. “Even more than cookies. I reach up, holding his face. You said you wanted to make me happy. Is it true?”
He nods.
“Then don’t make me wait. Please. Before coming here, I felt like my heart was an empty room. You’ve opened it and filled it with something I never knew existed. But it’s not enough. My body…”
I pause, unable to put my thoughts into words, unable to describe the ache between my legs, the need to be filled there, too.
“I need this.” My eyes meet his. “Don’t tell me no.”
Roman stands from the bed. He doesn’t say anything as he pushes off his robe and kicks off his slippers, and I feel suddenly shy and uncertain as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and pushes them down over his slim hips.
His body is firm, his chest broad, his strong arms corded with muscles. A v-shaped ridge points down to a nest of dark curls at the apex of his thighs. His cock juts from the hair. It’s long and ridged with veins, the slit on the flared head already extruding a pearlescent drop of fluid.
I know what happens between men and women. I’ve read about it. I know my body. Like other women of the Warrens, I grew up with natural urges which I satisfied myself. But it wasn’t until coming here that I burned for someone else to touch me, to take me.
Roman’s cups my chin in his hand. “Are you sure, little one?”
I’m sure. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life, although my heart flutters with apprehension when he puts his lips to mine and lowers me to the mattress and guides his hand to the fleshy spear that will soon impale me.
He is so big. I wonder if it will hurt, but the thought that it might excites me even more. Pain is a feeling, and I’m learning to love it. I’m learning to love anything that makes me laugh, cry, or scream.
“Get on your hands and knees.”
I thrill at the command in his voice, at how he guides me into place. His touch elicits a gasp, and I look back questioningly as he lowers my panties.
“Such a naughty little thing. These panties are soaked.”
I flush scarlet as he parts the halves of my bottom cheeks, then reflexively move my hand back when I feel his finger press against the tight asterisk of my bottom hole.
“Oh, no. You mustn’t stop me.” He smacks my bottom hard enough to cause a delicious sting that makes my drenched pussy quiver. “Soon enough, I’ll take you here.”
I gasp at this. “But first, I’ll take you here.”
He positions himself behind me. I feel the head of his cock rubbing nudging against my pussy. My heart is thudding. I want him, but I’m also afraid, but it’s a good kind of fear. I know what I’m afraid of won’t hurt me. Even when Roman thrusts his cock into me with one steady, determined stroke, when he stretches me that first time, the intense burn I expected gives way immediately to a hungry ache that can only be sated when he begins to move.
It’s just what I need, and my little girl whimper becomes a woman’s moan as my pussy begins to clench around the cock filling it. Roman leans over, whispering in my ear, telling me how good and tight and hot I feel, how he’s waited for this day, how much it means to him.
He asks me if I like it.
“Oh, yes. So much…”
He moves faster. My fists clench in the covers as my upper body lowers to the coverlet. He’s so deep within me, holding my hips as he moves in and out, his thrusts becoming harder until I go from feeling taken to feeling claimed. I love this, too. I want to be his—his woman, his little girl, his everything. The thought stirs something in me: submission. I sink into it as he sinks into me. When I come, I feel reborn as someone new, rocked gently in the loving arms of the man I know will protect me.
Seventeen
Roman
Today will mark another milestone for Kit. As I dress for our breakfast with Gavin and Trina, I am confident that it will be a happy reunion. After last night, I know my little one trusts me. And while the sight of her friend is sure to stir memories of the Warrens I will be there by her side to remind her of her new life.
Eventually, I will tell her the rest of my plan. I want the Paternas example to become the basis for the new normal that will change New Bethel from the inside out, to inspire unions where both the man and the woman can have the same happiness. Women coming through Paternas will have a chance at happy lives.
I think of my sister again. For days I’ve tried to reach her, but to no avail. I decide to try again, although at this early hour she probably isn’t up.
I punch in her home code. The communicator chimes pleasantly. When the answer comes, it’s not who I expect.
“Thane residence.” A new maid is staring at me through the screen. A young one.
“Hello,” I say. “Is Felicia home?”
“Felicia?” The maid seems slightly nervous. “Oh, you mean Mrs. Thane. I’m afraid she out.”
“Wait!” I cut the maid off as I catch a flash of movement in the background. I see enough to know it’s my sister.
“Do you know who you’re talking to? This is Mrs. Thane’s brother, Roman Daley. Senator Roman Daley. Put my sister on. Now!”
The maid is more rattled now, as if she doesn’t know what to do. It’s obvious that she’s been given the order not to let Felicia talk to me. Then I hear my sibling’s weary voice.
“It’s alright, Emma. I’ll speak to him.”
The screen pivots and Felicia comes into view as she sits down. Her blonde hair, usually pulled into a tidy bun, is down, half of it obscuring her face. She tilts her head downward rather than focusing directly on the screen.
“Felicia, I’ve been worried sick about you. Do you know how many times I’ve tried to call?”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.” She peeks up, forcing a smile I can only see half of because of how her hair is falling over her face. Her speech is slightly slurred, as if she’s taken something. I feel a sudden anxiety that only a twin can feel for his sibling.
“Felicia, look at me,” I order.
She keeps her head tilted down but raises her eyes reluctantly. They are red-rimmed, and beside one I catch the faint purple tint under her makeup.
“Push your hair back.”
“Roman…”
“Felicia. Push your hair back! Now!”
Her hand is shaking, and she does as I ask, and I am sick with rage. Her heavy makeup does little to hide the bruise. No wonder Marcus didn’t want to see me.
“He beat you.” My voice is shaking in anger.
My sister drops her hair. “Don’t be ridiculous, Roman. I fell.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember!” She puts her face in her hands. “Roman, don’t…”
“Don’t what? Don’t care? God, Felicia! What happened? I know he’s trying to force you to get fertility boosters.”
She begins to sob. “God, Roman. Just don’t. This isn’t your problem. It’s mine. Just stay out of it. He’s already so jealous of you. You know how he is. If he finds out we talked…As it is, the maid he just hired will tell him.
I stand up. “Felicia, you are not going to live in fear. I’m not going to let that happen. I’m going to hop a shuttle. I’ll be in tonight to sort this out.”
“No, Roman. You don’t have to.”
“Of course I do! You’re my sister!”
“But what about the…woman…the one there?”
“It’ll just be a day or two. She’ll be fine.” I put my hand to the screen. “Hang on, Felicia.” I pause. “Put that maid back on.”
“Roman, don’t…”
“Put her back on.”
My sister walks out of view. I wait for the maid to come back. I intend to tell her not to let my brother-in-law know I called. I intend to use whatever threat I must to keep that abusive bastard from justifying any further excuse for
hurting my sister.
As I wait, I feel an increased revulsion for a system that puts women like my sister in a state of silent suffering and fear.
Where is the maid? I wait. When the screen goes black, I know I won’t be speaking to her. And I know I have to leave immediately.
I pick up my CommuniPort and call the Head Matron. As distasteful as she is, she is the director and must be notified when someone leaves. I tell her I have to attend to a family emergency and leave instructions for my ward to be left exclusively in the care of Matron Lang until I return.
Eighteen
Kit
I awake to find Daddy is gone, but I’m not upset because I know I’ll see him soon enough. This is the first morning I’m up before Matron Lang brings me breakfast, and I smile to myself to think how surprised she’ll be to find me dressed.
I select the new dress that appeared in my closet yesterday. I know it was probably intended as a surprise, but I can’t wait to wear it. It’s the same shade of blue as the Morpho butterflies. There’s a matching butterfly barrette, and although I usually wear my hair down, today I pull the top back and affix the ornament with a smile.
I wonder how women dress on New Bethel. The outfits here are decidedly old-fashioned, like pictures from my book. But I have decided this will be my style, even after we leave.
My stomach growls. I’m hungry, and hope Matron Lang will arrive soon with breakfast. She told me yesterday that there would be fresh strawberries today. We’d grown strawberries in the Warrens, but they’d been small and flavorless. The ones here are grown in a greenhouse and half the size of my hand. My stomach growls again, and as if on cue, the door opens. Only it’s not Matron Lang who comes in.
It’s Matron Blunt.
“Where’s Matron Lang?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer as she shuts the door. When she turns back to me, she looks me up and down.
“Well, aren’t we a fancy little miss?”
I don’t reply. Something in her expression me leaves me cold, and I resist the urge to shudder when she walks over.
“I suppose you think you’re quite clever, wheedling pretty dresses out of a rich man like Senator Daley.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, please.” Her face contorts in a sneer. “Filthy little rebel. How long did it take you to discover the power you could exercise simply by spreading your legs like a common whore? Or are you going to tell me you haven’t offered up yourself like a bitch in heat? You’ve made a good show of being a submissive, too, playing him so he’d feel protective. And here you are, from filthy orphan to a pampered woman child. And just like a child, you let yourself believe the impossible.”
“What is that supposed to men?” I ask
She moves to stand in front of me, her heavy boots thudding on the floor. “Over thirty years of service to New Bethel, first at a girl’s academy and now here. I’ve always been lauded for my ability to keep order through discipline, and I’ve never been called on my techniques until you. Until a worthless little rebel bitch went whining to a senator.” Matron Blunt’s face is growing red. Her firsts are balled at her sides. “Your daddy threatened my job, simply because I showed you the drift fields.” She smirks. “Did you think something like that would go unanswered?”
Daddy! I cry the word in my head, but my daddy isn’t here. I have only myself to rely on. “If he cautioned you once over how I was treated, how do you think he’ll react when I tell him you’ve threatened me again?” My tone sounds far braver than I feel. “He won’t be gone long.”
Matron Blunt laugh’s now. It’s a mean laugh. “Oh, my dear. That’s where you are wrong. You think your precious daddy is going to return, like some hero to save you from the evil villain? That’s how it happens in fairy tales, but real life is so much harsher. In fairy tales, the hero never returns to the kingdom after he’s gotten what he wanted in the first place.”
“You’re lying.” I say the words with a conviction I don’t feel. We spent the night together. This morning he is gone. But why would he leave without telling me?
“Believe what you want. It makes no difference to me. Senator Daley wanted the experience of personally breaking a rebel. A smart man knows that it takes more than just breaking her physically. To fully achieve the objective, he had to break you mentally. Mission accomplished. And now he’s gone home.
“Daddy,” I say, and taste blood in my mouth as she slaps me.
“Don’t call him that,” she hisses. “You don’t have a daddy. You never did.”
She turns and walks to the door, looking back before opening it. “Rebels. You foul this place with your presence. Your kind can never change. You don’t deserve a daddy. I suppose you enjoyed yourself while it lasted.” As she leaves, she locks the door behind her as, helpless, I sink to the floor in despair.
Nineteen
Roman
I’ve taken the fastest shuttle, but it doesn’t feel fast enough. The closer I get to Earth, the more I regret not confronting Marcus for his arrogance before now. I never liked him, but he seemed to have charmed Felicia. I know he charmed our father. Marcus Thane said all the right things when they met. Before he married my sister, Marcus was a frequent guest in our home, where he would spend more time with my father than with the woman he was supposed to marry.
Looking back on it, so much of what he did was political. Whenever I sought to nudge my father towards progress, Marcus was waiting in the wings to assure my father that New Bethel was perfect the way it was.
Marcus is and was a jealous, covetous man. He cloaks his jealousy as ambition, when in reality he cannot abide competition for anything he wants, be it power, the affection of the family he married into, or the attention of his wife.
Docking. Docking. Docking. The disembodied voice of the autopilot begins to drone as the vessel drifts towards the private government bay.
Does Marcus know I’m coming? Is that why Felicia didn’t answer when I tried to call back after we were disconnected? I decide it doesn’t matter. While husbands are the authority in New Bethel, battery of a spouse is still a crime. It’s statistically rare, but after seeing Felicia, I wonder if I’m not wrong about that. Perhaps women just hide it, because they already feel so hopeless and afraid.
“1412 Sunset Way.” I give my sister’s address to the autopilot and settle into my seat, typing a message as soon as I’m settled.
Meet me at Marcus’ house. Urgent.
What’s wrong? I thought you were off-planet.
I’ll fill you in when you get here. Meet me here.
I click off the CommuniPort, turning my attention to the view as the shuttle moves through the gate. All senators live in the same gated neighborhood, and as the shuttle speeds along, I stare out at the houses. They are all carefully designed based on the ideal upper-class neighborhoods of the past. The green lawns are courtesy of artificial turf. We’ve not yet transplanted grass from Paternas here, and I note the difference. For the first time, can see how fake the lawns look here. Perfect homes, fake on the outside and —if my own sister is any indication—fake on the inside, too.
We pull up to the Georgian-style house my sister shares with her husband. She’d preferred a smaller house a street over, one with window boxes and access to walking trails. But Marcus had overruled her. He’d wanted the largest house in the neighborhood. He could not abide anyone having a house finer than his.
I knock on the door with all the urgency I feel before pressing the door buzzer one, two, three times. When the door opens, I am face to face with my brother-in-law, who appears relaxed as he stands there with a drink in his hand.
“Roman. What a surprise.” His casual tone makes it quite clear that my arrival was expected. He moves aside, sweeping his hand towards the foyer with a confident gesture. I walk past him.
“Where’s my sister?”
“In the sitting room.” He grins and walks past. I follow as we pass through a long hallway filled with exp
ensive artwork. I know my way. The sitting room is the third door down, and when I enter there she is.
Felicia is sitting on the sofa, reading a magazine. She seems stiff, posed. When she looks up at me, she smiles.
“Roman.” She puts the magazine down and rises from her seat, walking over with her hands outstretched. She kisses me gently on the cheek and steps back, obviously fearful that this contact with me will displease Marcus. But he just nods and smiles.
“Felicia.” I take her chin in my hand, turning her face left and right as I examine her.
“Looking for something, Roman?” He turns to my sister. “Felicia, you seem tired. I know how the fertility boosters wear you out. Remember, you have the last treatment tomorrow. Why don’t you go lie down?”
“Of course.” She glances at me briefly, her eyes brimming with fear and tears. “It’s nice to see you, brother.”
As she leaves the room, I turn back to Marcus.
“You hit her. Don’t lie to me.”
“Why wouldn’t I? I’m the master of my house. She defied me. It’s my right to correct her.”
“Within reason,” I say through gritted teeth. “You battered her. It’s not the first time, is it?”
“It’s the first time she got sloppy with her makeup until she could get to the doctor for a Quick Heal.” He goes over to the cabinet and refills his drink. “You came all the way here for this? What did you think, Roman, that you’d make trouble for me? Rest assured, she won’t be sloppy again. And you have no proof.” He refills his glass and walks back over. His expression is smug. He thinks he’s gotten away with it.
It feels good to hit him. It feels good to feel my fist impact his face. Marcus goes down hard, his drink glass shattering as it flies from his hand. I grab him before he can recover. He raises his hand to his face, where a bruise similar to the one he gave my sister is already forming.