Beautifully Mine

by Tara Lee

  I chuckle and slam into her hard. She falls back on my desk and whimpers.

  “Oh God, oh God Bishop, fuck me.,” she cries out.

  I pull out and slam back inside her just as hard. I grip her thighs violently, knowing my fingers will leave bruises as my cock goes in and out.

  “Fuuuuccckkk.” I squeeze my eyes shut and dip my head back, all while her pussy tightens around me.

  I pick up the pace, eager to let go.

  I clench my butt and I let go, emptying inside her with a caveman-like growl.

  I hold still, every drop filling her just like hers filled my mouth moments ago.

  “Remind me why I let you go.” I catch my breath.

  “Cause you're an idiot.” Callie gets up, places a kiss on the corner of my mouth, and licks my lip. She walks to the bathroom to clean up and leaves me panting, dick glistening and heart pounding.

  Fuck, what have I done.

  I have been staying with Bishop since that night, and even I know I can’t stay with him forever. My apartment’s lease is still paid for another three months, so at least if I need an escape I have somewhere to go. I never in a million years expected him to suggest that I stay with him because of what happened with Eric.

  But I could sense Bishop wasn’t taking no for an answer. He can be a little controlling and overbearing when he wants to be. My body is never sated around him, he has this control over my body like no one else, and it doesn’t matter that I know it can’t last.

  My stupid heart wants in, anyway she can.

  I look for Eric around every corner. Bishop wanted me to go nowhere without him, but he doesn’t understand doing that will only provoke Eric more. He believes I belong to him, that even though I hate him with every ounce of my being, I’m his to do with as he pleases.

  Our fathers had made a deal, one I was supposed to fulfil, but the thought of marrying Eric made my skin crawl.

  Bishop is covered in tattoos and has that brooding dark persona that should probably scare the life out of me, but I never feel like that whenever he’s near. Should I be worried he makes me feel safe instead of frightened?

  I want so desperately to ask Bishop about his life, why he chose to run a tattoo shop, why he’s in his thirties and hasn’t settled down yet. Has he ever been married? God, even in love? Bishop holds his secrets close to his chest, and I know even with time I will never get them out of him. Bishop isn't much of a talker unless he’s ordering you around in the bedroom.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love that side of him, but sometimes I wish he would talk to me. Am I asking too much? Probably. Getting him to open up is like pulling teeth.

  I’m this young naive brat to Bishop who doesn’t know the first thing about life, so why do I think he’ll open up to me and pour out his life story to a girl he’s just fucking?

  If my father ever finds out I’ve slept with a man who isn't my future husband, he’ll lock me away and never let me see the light of day again. The thought has a shiver running down my spine. The mere thought of my father punishing me for being a normal twenty-year-old woman has bile coating my throat.

  I walk along the street to head into work after classes today. I just needed a distraction. My mind has been on Bishop all day, when I see the black town car pulled over on the curb.

  Drake, my father's driver, steps out and opens the door for me. A sigh leaves me with so much contempt.

  “Miss Eaton.” He holds his hand toward the door, asking me politely to get in.

  I groan, knowing after this I will probably be fired because not showing up for a shift means I don’t give a shit. But I do. I need to prove I don’t need my father’s money or his lifestyle to enjoy the little things.

  I stare down Drake, and his pleading eyes are telling me; It’s an order, miss, get in.

  Even though sliding into the back makes my blood run cold, I know the moment I’m seated and Drake begins to drive, all bets are off, because no matter what, when my father beckons, you come.

  “How has he been?” I ask Drake as he pulls out onto the road.

  “Very well, Miss Eaton.”

  “Drake, you know I prefer Callie.”

  “Yes, Miss Callie.”

  I sigh and give up. No point in arguing with the man, he’s been with my father for as long as I can remember and has always treated me with respect.

  After what seems like hours, even though I know it hasn’t been that long, we finally arrive in The Hamptons at my parents' mansion.

  I stare up at the stone-brick house I grew up in after we moved here when I was younger. It never really felt like home. Maybe because I was forced to leave Luna, my best friend, behind, or maybe it was the fact I was raised by nannies and hardly ever see my parents.

  Whatever the reason, I resented this place and all it stood for.

  My father only ever cared about money and entertaining his social circle, and my mother, well she was too busy getting the latest Botox or going to all-day spas to worry about who their daughter was becoming.

  I had to fake it while I grew up, had to be who my parents expected me to be, but once I moved in with Luna I found the old me, the one I loved pushing through those privileged walls.

  I wasn’t stuck up per say, but I had become accustomed to the lifestyle my parents lead, even though I tried not to.

  I walk up the steps, regretting getting in the car with Drake because my father will have some big news to tell me I won’t like, and my mother will fuss over the fact that I don’t look prim and proper in my jeans and simple black top and leather jacket and have my nails done instead of the total disaster they are now.

  The door opens before I even step on the last step, and Kat the in-house maid smiles at me brightly as she welcomes me in.

  “Miss Callie, so nice to see you again, dear.”

  Yeah, she knows the rules.

  “You, too, Kat. Where can I find them?”

  “They are in the sitting room.” She smiles again.

  I walk past her to the sitting room, a room that is so perfect I was never allowed to sit in here when I was younger.

  I almost turn back around and walk out when I see who else is sitting in there.

  I internally groan. Eric stands and walks toward me.

  “Sweetheart,” he purrs and it's like nails on a chalkboard.

  Someone kill me now, please.

  “Eric.” I fake a smile as he pulls me in for a hug. Sweat beads over my skin at his vile touch.

  I almost kick him in the balls. Almost. I somehow control myself.

  “Callie, darling.” My mother stands in the most ridiculous dress and heels for the afternoon and holds out her arms for me to hug her.

  “Hi, Mother.” I smile.

  She stares down at my wardrobe choice in disgust.

  “Darling, could you not have dressed a little nicer.”

  “I was on my way to work when Drake picked me up and I couldn't exactly wear an evening dress and heels to serve coffee.” I force another smile.

  Mother waves her hand like I spoke another language.

  “I have told you to quit working at that dreadful place, it’s beneath you.”

  “But I like working there.” I refrain from cursing.

  “I have told you I’d take care of you, sweetheart,” Eric says with a wink.

  I groan out loud this time unable to hold it in.

  “No, thank you.” I give him a sassy smile.

  Bishop would be proud, I think, as my father gives me that look.

  The one that says ‘enough.’

  “Callie, sweetheart, please sit, we have a lot to discuss,” my father says without a greeting or even a hug hello.

  “Always down to business first, Father.”

  He clearly isn’t happy with the little attitude I give him because he stands, straightening out his jacket.

  “I will not be disrespected in my own home, Calista.” His tone is hard and void of any emotion except anger.

  “My nam
e is Callie,” I spit back.

  “Not according to the birth certificate we have,” my father states as he sits.

  My mother gives me a judged look of her own and mouths ‘behave’ at me.

  I roll my eyes and sigh.

  My father shuffles some papers around in front of him and then glances up at me with that stone-cold stare of his he uses for business meetings when he’s trying to wrangle a deal.

  My heart pounds and I am pretty sure my ears have filled with blood.

  “Eric told me how he went to see you the other day and you attacked him.”

  My eyes just about fall out of my head. I spin and glare at Eric.

  “Excuse me?” I turn my glare toward my father.

  “There will be none of that,Calista, you know the deal. You two are to wed at—”

  “I don’t think so.” I stand and consider if I should bolt,

  My father clears his throat.

  “This meeting is not over, missy, sit down now,” he bellows.

  For some reason I become that scared little girl, the one I used to become when my father disapproved of my behavior.

  “You will sit and listen because we made a deal with Eric, and even though you seem to have forgotten your upbringing and manners, young lady, he still has accepted to make you his wife, even after you publicly attacked him and forced his hand.”

  I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, fighting tooth and nail not to call Eric on his bullshit because I know no matter what I say, my father won’t believe a word that I spill.

  “You will marry Eric, Calista, just like our agreement states, and you will not come into my house with this attitude. You are lucky I let you attend college as long as you have.

  “You have no need for an education as Eric will be more than welcome to take care of you, just like he has stated many times.”

  My father and Eric share a knowing look.

  “So you want me to be a Stepford wife, is that it?” I can’t help but push it just a little further.

  “Careful, darling daughter.” His voice is strained like he’s holding back.

  “I am not marrying Eric and becoming his wife. I don’t care what deal you made or what shit you two have spun, I have my own voice and my own damn life.” I stand abruptly. My chest heaves with so many emotions I want to cry right now and run to Bishop. I want to leave this horrible place, and I curse at myself for not just going to work this morning.

  “I think you need another reminder of who I am, daughter.” My father stands and nods to someone behind him.

  Before I can turn and look at who is behind me, two arms grab me and pull me upstairs toward my old room.

  I try to fight all the way, clawing and kicking the entire time, but whoever has me is too strong.

  “Let me go, you ogre.” I scream out loud, and the shrill sound echoes through the house.

  He carries me like I weigh nothing.

  “Put me down, you asshole.” I scratch at his hand.

  He hisses as I break skin.

  He shoves my door open and pushes me inside. The door slams behind him, and the lock clicks over. I get up and bang and scream until my hands hurt and bleed and my voice is hoarse from the yelling.

  “Did he really just do that?” I cry out. Tears stream down my face as I catch my breath.

  I feel for my bag from my shoulder to get my phone, but it’s gone.

  “Damn it,” I curse.

  It must have fallen off in the struggle.

  “He can’t seriously keep me here, can he?” I think out loud.

  My fists pound on the door, begging to be let out.

  By the time I’m done, my throat hurts and my hands feel numb.

  “Please.” I drop to my knees, cradling my face in my hands. The need to curl into a ball and hide away is strong.

  All I want is Bishop, but no matter how loud I scream, even he won’t hear me.

  Bishop

  It’s been hours since Callie finished work. My apartment seems a lot quieter without her in it. The fear that her ex has somehow found her again gnaws on my brain.

  She has to be safe, I need her to be safe. I ring her phone for what feels like the hundredth time. Again, I’m met with silence as the call disconnects.

  The urge to demand her to answer my damn calls does nothing to diminish the anger currently running through my blood.

  Stalker much, Bishop!

  I send off a text, sounding a little harsh, but at this moment I’m done with the pleasantries.

  Me: I swear to God, brat, I am sick of these games. Fucking answer me or suffer a punishment.

  I scold myself as I wait for those little dots to appear like she was typing, but nothing.

  I grit my teeth, annoyed that I let this bother me so much. I don’t care if she’s out and nor should I. She’s a grown woman who can do as she pleases. So why does the thought of her grinding up against some douchebag irritate me so much? I was stalking my claim, just not clearly enough to her.

  The only claim I have on Callie is that she’s mine under a pretense of an arrangement. But somehow her father thought he had the right to claim her to someone else. Over my dead body will I let another man claim what’s mine.

  Maybe I’m acting a little psycho. But Callie has that effect on me, the way she swings those hips when she knows I’m watching, the way my cock stands to attention the second I see how those short-shorts cut off just right, giving me a full view of her ass cheeks.

  Or that sassy mouth of hers, the way it fires me up and pushes all my buttons. Callie has the desire to bring out the worst in me. She never means to, but I think she enjoys the way I become all macho caveman and make her scream my name.

  She should walk away. There is no way I should have offered for her to stay with me. I’m torturing myself in my own home. There’s no sugar-coating the desire my cock has for Callie. He screams mine while my heart screams own her.

  I did the wrong thing in being exclusive with Callie before it was time. I should have made it clear from the start I do what I want and no woman ties me down. Not until she becomes my wife.

  But, of course I wasn’t thinking with my head. Well, I was, but the wrong head. He, certainly, has no drama with Callie whatsoever.

  I slip into bed around midnight. I check my phone one last time to see if Callie needs me.

  Me: You good?

  Still no reply.

  She is obviously avoiding me. What I did to piss her off is beyond me, but with Callie it could be anything. She’s a mystery and one I will probably never figure out.

  I shoot off a text to Jacob, telling him to keep an eye out for her and if anything seems suspicious to let me know right away.

  I lay my head back and let my thoughts drift to my sexy new housemate who should be next to me right now.

  My hand wraps around my growing erection, and groan at thoughts of Callie grinding over me. I stroke up and down, getting a rhythm going. I picture Callie’s lips wrapped around me, and I force my length down her throat, making her gag. My balls tighten as I watch my girl, on her knees, taking every inch of me. I come with a grunt, exploding all over my stomach.

  “Fuck,” I breathe, catching my breath.

  My girl, where the fuck did that come from? And damn, how good it sounds coming from my tongue.

  My dick is only half sated, and it seems I’m going to need the real thing over my imagination to tame him.

  I plop my head on my pillow and run my fingers through my wild hair. I check the time: twelve-thirty. I check my phone and realize there is no way Callie is messaging me back.

  Me: If you’re fucking pissed at me, brat, just tell me, so I can get some fucking sleep.

  A little harsh, maybe, but for me to offer my home to her and then not even two days later she ignores my text grates on every nerve.

  I finally decided to have a quick shower to clean myself then lay my head down and try and get some sleep.

  My sleep last night was restle
ss. All I did was check my phone every hour, wondering where she was, who she was with. Like I said, not sure why I gave a damn, I wasn't fucking her anymore so it shouldn’t bother me, right? She isn't mine to do with as I please. Isn't mine to control.

  But in a sense she is because no mother-fucker can give her what I can.

  Until she finds out who you really are.