He reeled at the sound of my voice. “Did you find your goddamn phone?”
“No.” My neck straightened. Though his clenched jaw and darkened expression filled me with dread, I was about to be his wife, and I didn’t appreciate his tone. “I came to your goddamn office. That’s what you said.”
He paced behind his desk. “I’ve been trying to reach you. What’s the fucking purpose of having a damn phone if you’re not going to have it near?”
“Stewart,” I slowed my rebuttal. “What happened? Why have you been trying to reach me?”
“I tried the apartment phone. I couldn’t even fucking reach anyone here. I finally got through to Ms. Madison, but as you know she is out and couldn’t reach you either.”
“You’re here now. What is it?”
His expression of anger morphed into one of uncertainty. “I paid the fucking money. I did it. Travis delivered it on Monday.”
What money? My mind spun: so much had happened in such a short time.
“Victoria, your stepfather’s in the hospital.”
My knees gave way to a wave of nausea. That money. I hadn’t called Randall or my mother. I’d been too caught up and busy, and to be honest, I liked the idea of making them sweat. “Hospital? What happened?”
“I don’t know. Get your purse. We’re heading over to Memorial.”
Blankly, I nodded, trying with all my might to hide the fear rippling through me. Oh my God. If he died, it would be another death on me.
On the way to Memorial, I checked my messages. There were multiple text messages and voicemails from Stewart, some from Val, and one voicemail from my mother. I listened, not putting it on speakerphone.
“Why? Why Victoria? Do you hate us this much? Randall’s at Memorial Hospital.”
I looked to Stewart. “My mother’s message doesn’t tell us anymore than you already know. She only said he’s at the hospital.”
He reached for my hand and held it as we walked through the corridors on our way to ICU. I spotted Val first. We hadn’t seen one another since Sunday afternoon. Until our eyes met, I hadn’t realized how much I had missed her: three days were suddenly a lifetime. Her puffy eyes met mine.
As soon as they did, our mother’s gaze followed Val’s, and Marilyn stood. Years of being a judgmental bitch came into practice. It took her only a second to scan me: my new clothes, hair, and engagement ring. Almost instantly, her neck straightened. I held tightly to Stewart’s hand, knowing without a doubt that he was the only thing keeping her from telling me exactly what she thought.
With more decorum than I knew she possessed, she took a step toward us. “Mr. Harrington, please allow me to speak to my daughter in private.”
He looked possessively in my direction. I didn’t want to let go of his hand, but I knew I should. Before I spoke, Stewart did. “Mrs. Sound, how is your husband?”
“He’s in critical condition. There isn’t anything they can do, but wait.”
“Mother?” I asked, “What happened?”
“It was a heart attack. The doctors believe it was brought on by stress.” Her last sentence dripped with accusation. Nevertheless, my lungs took in a much-needed breath as the tension left Stewart’s grip. It hadn’t been an accident. Nodding to Stewart, I let go of his hand and walked toward my mother. Abruptly, she turned and led me to a small family-consultation room. Once we were alone, she turned, striking like a viper.
“Are you happy? Is this what you wanted? Look at you, dressed like damn arm candy, with that giant rock on your finger. Do you think Randall told Mr. Harrington about you so you could reap the benefits and leave us out to dry? Where’s your sense of loyalty after all that Randall has done for you? You and your selfish ways did this! You can’t stand to see me happy, can you? You have to ruin every relationship I’ve ever had.”
Though her icy tone dripped with hatred and accusation, I tried for more information on Randall. “What’s his prognosis?”
“Do you even care?”
The fire in my veins melted the ice she sent my way. “Do I even care?”
“Maybe I should warn Mr. Harrington,” Mother said, her volume low and threatening. “I should warn him what a deadly bitch he’s dressing up for his arm. Everyone you touch dies: everyone who’s naïve enough to get close. Even his money won’t protect him from you.”
“Are you listening to yourself? You fucking sold me without so much as a warning or regret.”
“I should have known it would take something of more value to help us.”
I clenched my jaw and willed my tears to stay at bay. Beyond the glass panel of the closed door I spotted Stewart. He was standing in the perfect place, leaning against a wall, and looking directly at me. His presence gave me strength. I lowered my tone. “Randall’s debt is paid. It has been since Monday afternoon. His current crisis is the result of his fucking addiction and yours. You’ve made your decision. Don’t contact me again—ever.” My eyes left hers and found Stewart’s. He stood straight and walked in my direction.
Dumbfounded at my outburst, Marilyn Sound glared at me. As she collected her thoughts, Stewart opened the door causing her to spin, suddenly muted by his presence. Rallying my strength, I said, “Marilyn, this is Stewart Harrington. I believe you have something to say to him.”
Her eyes opened wide.
Turning toward Stewart, I continued, “Stewart, my mother would like to thank you for saving their asses.”
I had the choice to concentrate on her icy glare or his smirk. I chose his smirk.
Marilyn extended her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Harrington. From the rock on my daughter’s finger, I presume congratulations are in order.”
“Mrs. Sound, I expect you to heed my earlier warning, and as for congratulations, yes. We’re saddened that you and Dr. Sound will be unable to attend the festivities; however, it appears that your attention will be needed and welcomed elsewhere.” He reached out to me. “Victoria, I believe we need to leave.”
Reaching for Stewart’s hand, I looked toward my mother. “Give Randall my regards. Oh, and let him know I said you’re welcome.”
My emotions stayed in check until we made it to the car. At that point, everything bubbled out: years of humiliation, of being a disappointment, and of being unwanted. As I collapsed into Stewart’s embrace, I whispered, “Please, I’m begging.”
Pushing me slightly away, Stewart looked down into my tear-filled eyes. “Victoria?”
“Please take me home. I need you to make me forget. I need you inside of me.”
Raising his voice, he commanded, “Travis, take Miss Conway and me back to the apartment.”
I held tightly to his hand as he walked me to the master bedroom, on the first floor of the penthouse. It had the same floor-to-ceiling windows as the living room, filling the massive space with natural light. Pulling me close, Stewart demanded, “Say it. I need to hear it.”
“Please, please…” Unabashed, I fell to my knees. “I’m begging you to make me forget. I’m begging you for your cock. I need you inside of me.”
“Victoria?”
I looked up at the massive, powerful man before me. Offering me his hand, he said, “Stand up.”
I did, though on trembling knees.
“That, my darling, will be the first and the last time you’ll ever beg. Do you understand?”
I didn’t, though I nodded.
“Thursday, you’ll be Mrs. Stewart Harrington. No one—not your mother, your father, nor your stepfather—no one but me will ever again have the power over you.” He raised my chin. “Do you truly understand?”
“I do.”
“Are you confident of what you want?”
Reaching for Stewart’s belt, I said, “I am.”
He grasped my hand. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, darling, this is my area of expertise. Let me.”
Nodding, I released his belt, but rubbed his hidden erection.
Spinning me around, Stewart lowered the zipper of my dre
ss and removed the straps from my shoulders. The soft fabric fluttered to the floor as his low hiss filled me with a much-needed semblance of power. With my back to him, he secured the waistband of my panties and reverently pulled them toward the floor.
“You are so fucking beautiful.” He turned my nude body to face him and gingerly kissed my lips, holding me close. The beat of his heart reverberated in his massive chest as his arms warmed and shielded me from the air-conditioned air. Taking my hand, he said, “Climb on our bed and show me your wet pussy. Spread those legs. I want more than your words—let me see your body beg.”
While I did as he said, Stewart removed his jacket, shirt, and belt. With each action, his eyes stayed fixed on me. Kicking off his shoes, he undid the button on his slacks and let them drop to the floor. His boxer shorts were incapable of hiding what I’d yet to see. Lying back upon my elbows, I brought my knees together and gasped. Never in all of my life had I seen anything so large. His penis stood erect, nearly touching his navel.
“Oh… I-I don’t know… if…”
Removing his boxer briefs, Stewart climbed onto the bed. His blue eyes shimmered with lust as his words reassured me. “I’ve wanted this since before you walked into my office. Tori, I’m going to make you forget everything. All you’ll be thinking about is the incredible stretching in your tight pussy.” His anticipation was evident as he asked, “Do you trust me?”
Naïvely, I did. “Yes.”
Spreading my legs, he kissed the inside of my thighs, each kiss moving closer and closer to my sex.
“I’ll never get tired of your scent, so sweet.” His tongue lapped my slit. “So good.” Another lick.
I wanted more. “Please,” I said as I gripped the sheets in anticipation.
More carefully positioned licks and kisses, so close yet not penetrating and not touching my clit. “What do you want?” he taunted.
“I want your cock,” I proclaimed with confidence.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Stewart kneeling between my legs, his cock right in front of me. “Touch it, Tori. Feel what’s going to be inside of you.”
Uncertainly, I reached out and stroked the smooth, stretched skin. He moaned as it twitched with veins protruding and balls hanging heavily below. A drip of pre-come shimmered at the head.
“That’s it. Stroke it.”
My hand surrounded it: my thumb and fingers unable to touch. I looked up to his approving gaze. “Are you sure it will fit?” I asked.
“I’m sure.”
Reaching for a condom that I didn’t realize he had, he slid the sheathing over the length and eased his body over mine. “Relax, Tori. Open for me.”
I lifted my knees. Slowly he moved over me. When the head of his cock pushed against my entrance, I gasped.
“It’s all right. Let me in.”
I closed my eyes and concentrated on his words as slowly his cock moved in and out, in and out, each time penetrating deeper than the time before. The only thing I could think about was the stretching of my core as pain gave way to pleasure. Sounds came from my lips as I once again grasped the soft sheets and fought the urge to pull away, but with each thrust that buried his hard cock deeper inside of me, I knew there was nowhere for me to go. Pain and pleasure intermixed as he filled me to my core.
“Fuck! You feel so good, so fucking tight.”
Nothing else in the world mattered. With his balls against my ass, he stilled. When I opened my eyes, I saw only him. His voice filled the bedroom suite.
“God, you’re amazing. Are you all right?”
I was. I was stretched, sore, and filled. Nodding, I smiled while a tear trickled from the corner of my eye.
Stewart lapped the tear with his tongue and rained kisses on my neck and breasts. Teasing my nipples, he sucked each one, creating taut, hard nubs. All the while, his cock moved in and out of me. In no time, the ache in my thighs gave way to a building tension that was forming inside of me. Subconsciously, I began to move in sync with him. My hips danced with each of his thrusts as his pace increased. The internal pressure was like nothing I’d ever known. It was nothing like what his fingers or mouth had been able to produce. Grabbing my ass, he pulled me closer, willing my already spread thighs farther apart and pounded his cock against my core.
We were almost there, almost to the peak of the mountain, and then with one final thrust he brought me to the top. The orgasm hit all at once. There was nothing else in the world: no aching muscles, no extended family. It was only the two of us. With his warm skin burning against mine, I fell. No, he threw me to the depths below. Screaming his name, I plummeted until there was nothing left. My only movement was the spasms flowing inside of me from head to toe.
“Fuck! I love the way your pussy milks my cock,” he said as he continued to pump. “You’re not done. Not yet.”
How did he know I wasn’t done? I was lying in pieces, unable to move. He reached between us and rolled my already swollen clit between his fingers. I called out at the delicious pain. I didn’t know how much more I could take. The friction of his cock, in and out, the movement of his fingers. I couldn’t breathe as the mountain formed in the distance. Again his lips and teeth found my breasts. Kisses gave way to nips. The mountain had the highest peak I’d ever seen and the journey was long. Undaunted, Stewart pushed me upward, thrust, by thrust, until my entire body hung precariously on the ledge.
“Now!” he demanded, pinching my clit and drilling into my depth. My second orgasm hit harder than the first. My newly painted nails dug into his broad shoulders. It was the only way to keep from washing away as each new wave roared through me. Stewart screamed, “Oh, fuck!” as he slammed into me one last time. His engorged cock pulsed inside my now tender core as he collapsed on top of me.
Paralyzed and mute, I lay below my fiancé, surrounded by his warmth. When he finally moved, I was left feeling empty, until he pulled me close to his side and kissed my hair. “Go to sleep, my Tori. Tomorrow we leave for our wedding.”
IN CINDERELLA, THE handsome prince saved the poor girl from her wicked stepmother. In Snow White, the handsome prince saved the young, unwanted princess. Children’s fairytales of happily-ever-after began the process of planting the seed in young girls’ minds that princes truly existed. Many of the stories didn’t begin that way: instead, they originated from tales of brutality and violence devised by the brothers Grimm. With that in mind, perhaps the fairytales shouldn’t center on the prevailing of good, but the presence of evil. For without evil was there truly good?
The fairytale I’d been sold, the one that made the reality of my sale bearable, gave way to the true nature of my situation a little over a year after I became Mrs. Stewart Harrington. The façade of my prince shattered with my introduction to Stewart’s other apartment. With all that had happened, I’d forgotten about its existence, until that was no longer possible.
“Remember the contract, my darling,” Stewart said as he led me from the elevator in what appeared on the outside to be a warehouse in a more secluded part of town.
Though this was the first time he’d mentioned the contract since before our wedding, I wasn’t sure how he thought I could forget.
Up until the evening when I first saw the warehouse, my days were spent integrating my way into the world of the socially elite. I’d been welcomed with open arms and knives at the ready. As Stewart’s wife, no one dared publicly forbid me entrance into the clubs and organizations frequented by the upper one percent. Yet, I wasn’t naïve enough to assume that the welcome I received was the one shared behind closed doors. After all, I was younger than some of my new friends’ children, perhaps even grandchildren. There was more than what I saw on the surface. I would soon learn the depth.
I saw the looks as I was introduced. The women who invited me to play tennis and plan events were no more my friends than the girls at the academy had been. Thankfully, like most women, I’d been initiated early and I could hold my own. Being female enabled one the keen ability to smil
e politely and loathe internally. My mother’s influence continued to seep into my dark core. Stepping into her shoes had never been my plan, but plans change. To fulfill my new obligations, I wore the proverbial bitch boots proudly.
It didn’t take long for me to forget how Stewart and I began. I hadn’t expected love, but what I found was as close to it as I’d known. My heart leapt when Stewart praised the things that I did. I loved the gleam in his blue eyes as I walked beside him or held to his arm at the elite social events. No longer did it feel as though we were for show. I genuinely enjoyed his company and it seemed that he did mine. Whether at the apartment or at our sprawling mansion outside of the city, he was attentive and engaged.
Often, I’d accompany him on business trips, proud to be Mrs. Stewart Harrington. He’d been right when he told me not to worry about his age. I marveled at his prowess in bed and took each new introduction—each new position or toy—as an adventure. Never had I imagined the life I lived, and never did I regret my signature.
Not until that night.
Unlocking the door to his warehouse apartment, Stewart led me inside. I soon realized that we’d entered on the second level. As Stewart hit switches, the cavernous room below came into view. Standing at the banister, I saw the stark contrast to our downtown apartment near the beach. As opposed to floor to ceiling windows, this place had none; instead, the perimeter was nothing but tall brick walls void of decoration. Two stories above was the only possible source of natural light: a large skylight. Given the late hour, it appeared as dark and dense as the bricks.
In a corner of the room below was a kitchen with a granite-covered bar and three stools. In another corner were sofas, chairs, and a TV. The starkness of the furnishings reminded me of a struggling bachelor or college student. Though Stewart had only been married to me for a year, struggling hadn’t been a word that could be used to describe him, perhaps ever.
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