Stolen Soulmate

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  She stared at me, lips slightly parted, bottom one wet and begging to be sucked and bruised.

  Fuck.

  She quickly shook out of it, finishing reading.

  “I have to do this until Christmas,” she finished. “So you can ruin my favorite holiday. Great. If I fail I don’t get the money and…what is this about property?”

  “Just another reminder that whatever you see, discover, find, or fucking hear on my property is mine.”

  “Terms to remain in effect in perpetuity. So even after Christmas?” Her eyes popped. “What the hell?”

  “Keep reading, Snitch. It’s only the NDA and the part about my property. You think I’m going to let you steal my shit and run your mouth once you run off with my money?”

  The furrow in her brow deepened. “This is an insane list of rules, and it doesn’t mention sex anywhere.”

  I grinned. “Doesn’t need to. You’ll give it up.”

  She scoffed. “Awfully confident.”

  “The only reason you haven’t given it up, Snitch, is because I haven’t wanted to take it.”

  “My mistake,” she grumbled. “Arrogant…” She whispered the last part so I couldn’t hear it, but I’m pretty certain it wasn’t kind.

  And shit.

  I really liked that.

  I needed to fuck this girl fast. Get her out of my veins.

  She lifted her head at the last item. “If I leave Crowne Point, this entire thing is void?”

  I smiled. “Except the parts that remain in perpetuity, yeah. Consider it your escape clause. You’re welcome.”

  She bit her bottom lip in what was probably frustration but just served as another fucking reminder to what that lip tasted like.

  “So…” she continued. “I just have to stay with you until Christmas and follow these rules? Even if I don’t sleep with you, you’ll give me ten million?” She narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

  “There you go again thinking we’ll be doing any sleeping,” I said.

  She met my eyes, raising her chin. “I’ve slept in your bed on and off for over a month. That’s all we’ve been doing.”

  I gripped her chin, dragging her lips a breeze away from mine. “The minute you sign those papers, you’re mine. All that legal jargon says one thing: I own you. Mind, body, what you eat for dinner, what you want for Christmas. You’re fucking mine.” The last bit came out on a growl. “I get to use you. Break you. Own you.”

  I could feel her suck in a breath. She practically stole my own. “You might own my body, you’ll never own my mind.”

  A slow grin spread. “Sign the papers, Snitch.”

  I held her a half second longer, then dropped her. She swallowed a shuddery breath, placed the papers on a nearby table, bending over to sign.

  “Before the fucking plane takes off would be nice.”

  “A plane?” she scrambled. “Why?” A second later she answered her own question. “The vacation…but I can’t leave. Not now.”

  I quirked my head. “Then stay. But if you sign the contract, Snitch, you do what I say. You go where I go.”

  She twisted her face in determination, and it was too fucking cute the way her brow furrowed. “Can I at least say goodbye?” she asked. “What about my clothes? I haven’t packed.”

  “I’ve got everything you need.”

  She was wearing another nun outfit. A simple white cotton dress with quilted flowers on the top.

  I wanted to get it fucked up, dirty.

  I came behind her, pushing aside her hair, leaning over so my lips brushed her ear.

  “The minute your name hits that paper, I’m going to make you come so hard your pussy will only ever come for me.”

  Her hand shook with the pen. “I want to add one.”

  I raised a brow.

  “No falling in love.”

  I grinned, running a hand down her spine. “Good luck with that, Snitch.”

  She scribbled No falling in love into the margins to be added later, then signed her initials on each page before doing a cute, loopy Story Hale on the last. “Done.”

  She hadn’t even set down the pen before I grasped her wrist, spinning her to me.

  “Now it’s inked in pen.” My voice didn’t sound like mine, warbled and raw. “You’re my girl, Story. I can do whatever the fuck I want to you.”

  Her breath was rocky, her breast straining against the white cotton she wore.

  I didn’t have long until I had to be outside for the trip, but fuck if I’m not going to touch her now. I might not be able to taste her lips, but I can taste every other fucking inch. And I will.

  I reached behind her, caging her with my arms, pressing her back against the table, and swiping the contract off it in one motion.

  She swallowed. “Now?”

  “Now.”

  “But—”

  “Starting today, I own you, Story Hale. What’s your safe word?”

  STORY

  * * *

  “What’s your safe word?” he asked, eyes dark.

  I paused, then said, “Mr. Crowne.” A wrinkle formed between his golden brows, and he leaned back a fraction.

  I chose the one word that wouldn’t only stop him, but myself. Put distance between us and remind me who I really was in this equation: just his servant, his nothing.

  “Come, Snitch.”

  His eyes burned, waiting for me to do as he said. My heart hammered. The ink was barely dry on the pages. I don’t know if I was ready for this. Somehow I felt like I was more of a virgin than Grayson. Nervous, skittish. He’d warned me when all of this began that the things he’d seen and done would wreck me.

  I should’ve believed him then.

  When I didn’t do anything for a minute, he arched a brow.

  Do whatever he says.

  I could use my safe word, but a twisted part of me liked doing what he told me to do. Liked the rush and the way his eyes hardened. It felt like power, power over one of the most powerful people in the world.

  I’d barely taken a step to him when he ripped me to him by the small of my waist. His other hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head to the side.

  “Fuck,” he said, lips at my neck. “Which part do I eat first.”

  Delicious tingles spread along my skin at his words. His nose ran along my neck, goose bumps following in his wake. His hands slid from my hair, to my waist, and along my body, feeling every inch of me, like he couldn’t do it fast enough, before tangling back in my curls.

  Deliriously, I found the zipper of my dress, but his hand overtook mine. Stopping me.

  “I’m going to ruin your white dress, Snitch. Ruin you. Until you’re all fucked up from me.”

  His words were a jagged growl, and my heart pounded and ached from them. I was drunk, I was needy. He vibrated in my soul and clouded the air.

  Grayson pushed up my dress and bruised the inside of my bare thigh. I thought he would rip at my panties, fuck me, and get it over with. My first time with West had been like that. Quick, dirty, efficient.

  All Gray did was rub my thighs. I wanted him inside, deeper, but he rubbed me over the fabric, an excruciatingly teasing rhythm. I tried to push myself into his hand, and he smiled against my neck.

  “Ask for it, Snitch,” he said, breath hot on my flesh. “Beg.”

  I wanted him to bite me like he did before, but I couldn’t be the one to say it, so I held on to him tighter. The coarse fabric of his jeans rubbed against my bare legs, his shirt silk beneath my nails.

  “Please,” I whispered.

  Grayson pushed aside my panties, swallowing what sounded like a groan. “You’re so fucking wet.”

  With two fingers he rubbed a delicious, aching friction that made me throb. I don’t know if I was breathing. I only knew him. Making me throb, ache. Up and down, but not going inside me.

  Then he gently spread me, and our eyes collided.

  A small sound escaped my lips, and I dug into his shoulders. His eyes blazed, his jaw fea
thered. Since that night, we’d skirted crossing the line. Tiptoeing up to it, stepping a little over, then always hopping back. With his fingers almost inside me and his eyes locked on mine, that thing between us more than popped.

  It exploded.

  This felt like something meaningful. Something important. Something more.

  “You are perfect,” he groaned. “Fucking divine.”

  This is why I can’t rip the tether out, why I can’t let this go. There’s more to him than cruelty. He uses it like armor. I’m addicted to these stolen moments. These gentle touches and soft words and softer moments.

  No…not addicted. I’m strung out.

  “You are mine,” his voice warbled, so low it was like chimney smoke. “Fuck. Say it.”

  He spread me further with his fingers, yet still not inside me, and I arched, begging him with my body for what I couldn’t with words, just to go deeper. Deeper, more, inside, please.

  “Say it,” he said, voice gravel. “Fucking say it.”

  I couldn’t say those words. Because even though they’re true, he would never be mine.

  With his free hand, he ripped my hands off his shoulder, holding them above my head.

  “Don’t touch me,” he said, eyes going dark. “Don’t fucking look at me, Snitch. Nothing’s changed.”

  And then he finally thrust his fingers inside me.

  I gasped at the intrusion. Grayson Crowne was inside me. Was this what it felt like to be touched by a god? A lightning strike of pain shot through me at the same time a bolt of pleasure wove its way through my body.

  Don’t look at him.

  Nothing’s changed, he said.

  Except he’s inside me. Pleasing me. Paying attention to what I like, what I need. Any slight change in breath he followed, chased, trapped, and captured.

  I don’t want to enjoy this.

  Don’t enjoy this.

  “More,” I breathed.

  “More?” His soft lips quirked to the side, making his jaw that much sharper. He pressed lightly on my clit, and pleasure fluttered from the tips of my toes to tingles in my teeth. I was melting. Aching. Jagged pleasure cut me.

  Stop.

  Don’t stop.

  Something wicked was happening, twisting and growing. I was almost at the brink, but he’s back to being a blurry Polaroid. He slid another finger inside me, and I bowed.

  “Should I fuck you now, Snitch?” Grayson asked, voice cutting and low. “Would you like that? Will you take my cock as eagerly as you do my fingers?”

  I get to use you, he’d said. Break you. Own you.

  You’ve been doing that.

  My lids burned as pleasure climbed and climbed inside me. With sadness? With pleasure? I clawed at the wall, trying not to come, as he still kept my wrists in a vise.

  I couldn’t come this way.

  But my abdomen muscles hurt with the force of me trying to push the orgasm back.

  “Did you forget your first day of training, Snitch?” he growled.

  My eyes found his, and my breath left me.

  Was this why I can’t meet Gray in the eyes? I’d read a story about a mythological creature that killed with a single look. It was said if you looked into their eyes, you would see the soul, and knowing such dark secrets was a death sentence.

  Gray’s blue eyes pinched, and for a moment, I thought maybe I can see into his soul. My teeth ache and knees go weak when he looks at me like that. I forget everything. Forget the pain. The heartache.

  Then anger flashed.

  He gripped my chin and forced my head away, to stare at the door.

  “When I say come, you come.” He breathed his words against my cheek, his words a possessive, hot kiss. Then he pressed down on my clit and I arched my back, bit my lip to keep from crying out.

  I came.

  I wondered if I’d ever come before. I came with his grip on my jaw so tight I wondered if I’d bruise. I came with his lips on my cheek, not kissing but searing his possession. I came with the look in his eyes still blazing in my mind, setting fire to the pleasure coursing through my body, until I was left ashes.

  I fell apart.

  I absolutely fell apart.

  His name a whisper on my lips.

  My insides ripped and shredded, floating in the wind like ash.

  The moment I finished, he tore his fingers from my body, as if he couldn’t wait to be done with me.

  “I, um…” I blinked. Blinked away the tears. Quickly swiping my face so he couldn’t see. Except the feeling lingered, in my chest, and in the warbled way I spoke. “I thought that you wanted to…you know…”

  I couldn’t look at him.

  I stared at the door.

  I was in so over my head.

  I don’t understand how someone could hate me so much, but also look at me like I’m the answer to all his problems. I want to be his answer. For a moment, I swear he looked like he wanted me to be it too.

  “I’m Grayson Crowne,” he said. “I’m not taking your V-card. You’re going to give it to me. Beg me to take it.”

  Oh, right, he still thinks I’m a virgin. That lie between us, growing like an untamable weed.

  “I’ll never do that,” I rasped, staring at the door.

  He grasped my chin, ripping open my mouth, thrusting his fingers into it. Forcing me to taste them.

  With his fingers gagging me, breath hot against my ear, he said, “You’re a pretty good beggar, Snitch.” Then he dropped me, my head banging against the floor.

  Twenty-Nine

  STORY

  * * *

  No falling in love.

  I repeated it to myself, a mantra I tried to wrap around myself like steel, as we made our way to the Crowne family jet. Grayson was a few steps ahead and hadn’t said a word since he’d obliterated me. It meant nothing to him.

  It couldn’t mean a thing to me.

  In fitted dark-blue jeans, blond hair whipping his cheekbones as we got closer to the jet, he looked like something out of a high-fashion magazine. He threw a look over his shoulder, and I glanced down.

  The Crowne jet was more famous than Air Force One, and bigger than it too. I’ve packed many things for Crownes who go on the family trip, but of course I’d never been on the jet. My experience with it was through gilded windows and itemized lists. Now I was staring up at the doors as a salty sea breeze whipped tendrils of hair around my forehead.

  Tansy Crowne stood next to the stairs leading up to the open plane door. Grayson said nothing, taking the stairs, as Tansy spoke.

  “Oh, dear, you know we have all the help we need on these trips.”

  I froze, stuck on the stair directly parallel to her. Despite her carefully manufactured neutral tone, tension hung in the air.

  “The help needs all the help they can get,” Grayson said.

  He kept walking and I scurried after him. Though she spoke kindly with her son, her displeasure was like rotten food.

  “I think this is a bad idea,” I whispered. “Your mom—”

  I stopped, freezing on my words, staring into the jet. It was bigger than the whole servants’ quarters. Luxurious, as I would expect. With hallways leading into more rooms. Multiple televisions, a fucking fireplace.

  Grayson plopped down on a couch, turning on the TV, bored as always.

  “Sit, Snitch.”

  I did.

  I looked around the plane. It had freshly cut flowers, multiple couches, and a bar. That was just what I could see.

  “Close your mouth,” Gray said.

  I did, feeling caught.

  Gemma stumbled in a few minutes after us, looking hungover from the night before, her fiancé, Horace, at her heels. The rumble of the plane engine starting up vibrated, but still no Abigail. Gray kicked up his feet, playing some kind of video game.

  Abigail barely made it on the plane, her bodyguard Theo with her. Tansy followed after, looking pissed. Well, as mad as Tansy could look.

  We lifted off.

&nb
sp; My mind wouldn’t shut up.

  I’d be gone from Uncle, and during that time he’d be getting cancer treatment. And what would my uncle think of me if he knew what I was doing?

  I swallowed, glancing at Grayson from the corner of my eye. If what we’d done earlier had affected him, he didn’t show it.

  Grayson Crowne is the harmless crush you know you can never have. It doesn’t matter if he’s wrong for you in every way, because he’s unobtainable. Rock stars, book boyfriends, and movie villains all fall into the same category.

  So what happens when the unobtainable becomes in reach?

  How do you deal with that?

  How do you stop looking at him?

  “I heard you say I love you!” Abigail yelled, pulling me out of my internal monologue. “You can’t trick me on this, Theo.”

  Both Gray and I paused, looking in their direction. Was something going on with Abigail and her bodyguard? Gray threw his remote, and it landed on my lap with a thud.

  “Okay, this is way more interesting than demolishing eleven-year-olds,” he said, crossing his arms overhead.

  The remote vibrated in my lap and kept vibrating. I shifted, but that made it worse, igniting that forbidden and wrong need inside me. I shifted. Did he know? With his arms still over his head, he shot me a clandestine look. Tongue at his canine, eyes hooded. All male satisfaction.

  Oh, he knew.

  Abigail left.

  “Stop, no, come back,” Gray said lazily, and he took the remote from my lap. He ever so slightly squeezed the inside of my thigh. I sucked in a breath, and just like that, I couldn’t think. Remembering the way he touched me. The promise he made. My thighs still vibrating.

  Whatever was happening between Abigail and her bodyguard had me hooked. They were on the other side of the plane, whispering furiously.

  Abigail brought Theo into Crowne Hall. He was never a servant, but he’d lived in the servants’ quarters with us. He was always just Abigail’s. Then one day he was gone, a bodyguard for Mr. Beryl Crowne.

  It had been everyone’s favorite rumor. We all knew Abigail Crowne had no future with some random street orphan, so who was he to her? I swallowed, forcing myself not to look at Gray. Maybe Theo had been nothing at all.