Page 57

She waits, searching my face for something I’m not going to give her. If she’s looking for more, she’s not going to get it. I know my son, and if he loved her, or was even capable of it, things might be different. Love is never going to be a factor here, but hearing that isn’t going to make her feel any better.

Laine drops her hands from my shirt and turns toward the dining room. Her steps are uneven, and she doesn’t look back.

I don’t follow her. I listen long enough to hear her pull out her chair and her fork hit the plate. Then I go straight upstairs to my bedroom and lock the door.

I strip out of my pants and boxers and toss them in the hamper. Muttering to myself about how I came in my fucking pants.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Ryker’s name on the screen.

Ryker:

How’s the girl settling in?

I stare at the text with my son’s name glowing in the dark while the taste of his fiancée is still on my tongue and the cum-soaked evidence of what I just did is in the hamper three feet away.

Me:

She’s settling in fine. A bit of a handful with a smart mouth. But at least she won’t be boring. You’ll like her.

I hit send and set the phone face down. You’ll like her. Like she’s a car I’m test driving for him. Like I didn’t just have her tied up on my lap with my fingers inside her and her pussy dripping on my pants while she screamed my name.

She’s for Ryker. That’s the plan. She’s always been for Ryker. She marries my son, she has his children, the Bradleys get their seat. I go back to my life where I fuck who I want with no attachment and pretend I don’t know how sweet her cunt tastes or what my name sounds like when she comes.

Nothing that happened tonight changes that. But I know I need more. Ryker is the man she’s going to marry. That hasn’t changed.

But I can’t promise I’m not going to play with her first.

Chapter Three

Laine

I can’t stop thinking about my future husband’s father, and I am losing my fucking mind.

Two days in this house and I’ve learned two things about myself. One, I’m a fucked-up slut who comes harder from a man’s hand than I ever could from my own. And two, I’m desperate for Rhett to do it again. And that makes it all even worse because the man I’m obsessing over is not the man I’m supposed to marry.

I swam laps in his pool for three hours trying to exhaust whatever this is out of my body. It didn’t work. Nothing has worked, because every time I close my eyes, I feel his fingers inside me and hear him calling me his good girl while I clung to his shirt like a pathetic little girl.

When I first arrived here, there was a moment where I thought about trying to run. But where would I go? Somehow, I feel safe here, safer than I ever did with my father.

That might all change when Ryker gets here. Rhett said not to worry about Ryker. How can I not? How can he not? It’s his fucking son.

But I guess we all know I’m marrying Ryker. I know that’s the deal. I know the Council expects me to spread my legs for the Bradley son and give them their founding family heir. Maybe they are going to share me? Fuck, I’m getting wetter. I’ve seen pictures of Ryker on the walls here, and it’s not like it would be difficult to wedge myself between the both of these men. There’s the fucked-up slut part of me again.

I’m freshly showered, lying on my bed in a towel with thirty minutes until dinner. I need to get this out of my system before I go downstairs and sit next to Rhett at that table. I’m far too proud to beg him to touch my pussy again. I already caved and ate my dinner last night because he told me to. And because I was fucking starving. I also came on his fingers because he told me to. I’m starting to see a pattern here, and I don’t hate it as much as I should.

I grab my phone. Rhett gave it to me to replace my old one. I pull up the site I’ve been using to get myself off for the past couple of years. In our world, you aren’t guaranteed to marry a man who gives a fuck about giving you an orgasm, so I learned to take care of it myself. And I know exactly what category I’m going to, because it’s one I frequent often.

My father paraded me in front of older men my entire life, and somewhere along the way, my wires got crossed. I’m not ashamed of it. I’m a fucked-up girl with fucked-up tastes, and the only difference between last week and today is that the man in my head has a face now. Blue eyes, silver temples, and ink on his forearms. And a hand that fits around my throat so perfectly.

I scroll through the videos and pick one that matches what I need. I press play.

I drop the towel and let my hand drift between my thighs. My fingers find my clit, and I start to circle. The video plays on my phone, propped against the pillow, and I try to focus on the screen.

It doesn’t work. Within thirty seconds, I’m not watching the video. I’m replaying last night. His fingers pushing inside me for the first time, thick and stretching me in a way my own never could. The way he spanked me, which made me so wet that I know I’m going to piss him off again just so he’ll take me over his knee. The way he licked his fingers clean after he pulled them out of me.

I don’t give a fuck about protecting my virginity. I never did. That was my father’s game. And I don’t give a fuck that the man I’m touching myself to is my future father-in-law. I want Rhett Bradley to fuck me. The least he could do is fucking use me. And when Ryker gets home, if they want to use me together, that fucking works too.

My fingers move faster. My hips rock up into my hand. I whisper his name as I’m right on the fucking edge.