The Legacy (Rivers Wilde Book 1)

by Dylan Allen

  “Take it off. All of it,” I command.

  “Yes, baby.” She spreads her legs so she’s on full display.

  “For the rest of the world, you’re strong. Everywhere else, you’re untamable. But here, you’ll let me have whatever I want, won’t you?” I ask.

  “Yes, anything,” she says.

  “God, I want to fuck you in public so everyone can see what I get to indulge in every night.” I cup her ass in my hands, then without another word I slam into her and nearly pass out from how wet, hot and hungry her pussy is. She closes around me and her back arches off the bed, “Yes,” she moans low and deep in her throat.

  “You love me, Queen?” I ask her and slam into her again. The entire length of her voluptuous, beautiful, body slides up the bed.

  “Yes, King,” she groans, but the king is garbled by another groan. I pull out, throw her legs over my shoulder and close my lips around her clit and suck.

  She tastes like chlorine, salt, sweat, and mine. And I eat her like she is. She holds my head in place, as if there’s anywhere else in the world I’d be right now besides in her bed, between her legs—eating her fruit and drinking her ambrosia.

  I flip her on her stomach, pull her by the hips until her ass is in the air. I grab the bottle of lube by her bedside and pour it over her sweet pucker. Then, I slide a finger inside just to my first knuckle and she bears down on me like she knows what the fuck she’s doing.

  “You like that?” I ask. She whimpers and nods, sending her thick curls adrift over her shoulders and down her back.

  That’s my girl.

  I slide another finger inside her, stretching and coaxing her open. She moans low in her throat. “Please, I want you,” she cries into the pillow.

  I pour more lube over her, coat my dick and then replace my fingers with it. I press forward and probe her sweet, tight pathway to nirvana. I watch a bead of sweat wind its way down the center of her back. I lean over her and catch it on my tongue.

  “Haaaaayes!” She calls my name like she’s making a wish just when I slip past the first tight ring of her ass. She moans, and the sound catches in her throat on the beginning of a sob.

  “Does it hurt, Tesoro?” I whisper in her ear.

  “So good,” she moans and nods, her fingers clutching the sheets convulsively. But she bears down and opens for me. I press a kiss to the center of her back and grip her hips.

  “Good," I grunt and bury myself to the hilt. I snake around her thigh and find her clit. I swirl the tight bud under my thumb and the slick evidence of her arousal coating my fingers nearly makes me blow my load.

  “Take all of it.” I roll my hips. “And you’re going to love all of it, just like you love all of me."

  “Yes. So much.” She groans her agreement like she’s pledging her life to me, and I fucking want her to.

  “Show me how much,” I wrap my hand around her throat, hold her hip with the other and fuck her like she’s mine to break.

  And I want to break her. In a way that only I can put her back together again. When she comes, it’s with curses and my name on the back of a scream that rips out of her throat. Her body trembles uncontrollably and she collapses on her stomach; I think this could be the answer to world peace.

  I flip her onto her back and lick my way up past her hip bones, swirl my tongue into her belly button, and I put my hand in the center of her chest and feel that strong, bold heartbeat. I slide farther up and replace my hand with my lips and then rest my head against her breast bone, so that her heartbeat mingles with the rush of my own in my ear.

  I can’t believe how much I feel for her. How much I’ve felt since I met her and how tied my entire future feels to hers.

  THE RIVERS RECKONING

  HAYES

  “Welcome to Rivers House.” Poppy, our head of household staff smiles warmly at Confidence as we approach her in the foyer. She’s standing there like an army general waiting for her troops to fall in line so she can give them their marching orders. She’s holding her ever present black spiral notebook. A key chain hangs off the belt of her black service dress. She has one of those faces that never shows its age. She could be thirty or she could be fifty. The threads of silver in her dark hair is the only clue as to which end of that spectrum she falls on. Her warm, but restrained smile doesn’t falter once as she watches us approach.

  “Ms. Ryan, I’m Poppy Patterson. I’m the house manager and I will be at your disposal while you’re our guest,” she says smartly.

  “Thank you. This is incredible. Please, call me Confidence,” she says and extends her hand to shake Poppy’s while her other one squeezes my hand tightly. “I’m really happy to be here,” Confidence gushes. My stomach knots, and I wonder how long that will last.

  “Excellent.” Poppy’s smile broadens for an instant before her more efficient one is back in place. “Your rooms are ready, and one of the boys is delivering your luggage now. Mrs. Rivers sends her apologies. She’s out for the afternoon but looks forward to meeting you at dinner tonight,” Poppy explains to Confidence.

  “Where’s everyone else?” I ask, relieved that Eliza isn’t here.

  “Your uncle and aunt drove out to Brenham today. They won’t be here all weekend,” she says with a glance at her notebook. Thomas is such an asshole. He thinks his little decampment is a slap in my face because I asked everyone to be here for Confidence’s visit. Gigi’s back in Italy, but she will be back next month.

  “Dare is in town, but we haven’t seen him.” Poppy continues down her list. “But we expect him to be here tonight. His mother has suspended his credit cards. That usually lures him in,” she says with a short smile. I look at Confidence and know that behind that even smile on her face, she’s got to be thinking that this is totally fucked up.

  Fucking Dare.

  “Okay, we’re going up until dinner. Thanks for the updates,” I say and start to move past her quickly.

  “Dinner will be served promptly at seven. Call down to the kitchen if you’d like to take refreshments in your room between now and then, but the dining room won’t be available for you until dinner. The staff is setting up for this evening,” she finishes.

  “If you’d like to have your dress steamed or pressed while you’re waiting, just dial down to the laundry and someone will come to collect it,” she says to Confidence.

  “Hayes, your suit is already pressed and in your wardrobe for tomorrow. Mrs. Rivers asked me to remind you that you’re dining with the Bains, the Barras, and the Hassans. I’ve emailed you some general background information so you can read it before dinner,” she reads from her notebook.

  “Thank you, sounds like everything is in order,” I say.

  “As always,” she says brightly.

  “As always,” I agree readily.

  “Please let me know how else I may be of assistance,” she says before she turns to Confidence. “Enjoy your stay,” she says with a slight bow before she turns and heads toward the service wing of the house.

  “Wow, is it a special occasion? You didn’t tell me dinner was an event,” Confidence whispers and glances back over her shoulder as if she wants to be sure no one is following us up the stairs of my family’s house.

  “It’s not. Friday dinner is always like this. We dine with business associates and friends every Friday. Eliza and my aunt Mae usually plan the guest list, but it’s nothing special,” I say casually despite the knot in my stomach.

  “Sounds intense,” she says with a grimace.

  “Yeah, well … my family is intense. And this house doesn’t help. It feels like a crypt. I spent half my life here. But I can’t wait for my house to be ready because I hate living here.”

  “Ouch,” Confidence squeaks, and her hand flexes in my grip. I realize we’ve stopped walking and I stare blankly at her.

  “You’re going to break my hand, Hayes,” she complains but her eyes are full of concern as well as pain.

  “Shit, baby, I’m sorry,” I say. I drop
her hand and sit down on the stairs just like I had as a boy when I hadn’t known where in this house I would be safe.

  “Are you okay?” she asks and sits down next to me.

  The steps in the house are as long and wide as park benches, and I used to sit on them and read, write, listen to music—whatever. And yet, this whole house feels like a strange place.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been back for almost six months and it still feels like I’m a guest. This house …” I glance around at the ostentatious ceiling and walls full of art that have no meaning to me. “I don’t think it can ever be home. At least, not with all of these people living here. To them, it’s free accommodation and they’re not the least bit interested in how or why we spend so much money and time to maintain it.”

  “If you’re not going to live here, do you think you could sell it?” she asks. I rear back in surprise.

  “Of course not. I couldn’t sell it. It’s my family’s home,” I say sharply.

  She looks surprised, too. “I’m sorry, I just …” She puts a soothing hand on my shoulder.

  “God, I’m sorry. Yeah, there’s just so much going on, Tesoro.” I stroke her cheek.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, her face full of worry, and I feel a flash of guilt for my outburst. This isn’t how I hoped our visit would start. But I can’t lie to her, so I tell her. “I’ve been stressed out thinking about you being here. My family is complicated. We all coexist in this space. But none of us really like each other. I’m worried about you seeing that,” I confess.

  “Why? You’re not them. Why would I hold it against you?” she asks. The question pisses me off.

  “Because you’re only here for a fucking visit,” I say through a clenched jaw. “I want you to stay. But you’re not sure. And now my fucked-up family is going to scare you off. “

  This is hard for me. I don’t do this—opening up—but with her being here, seeing her in the context of this house, devoid of warmth and love, I realize that what I’m offering her may not be enough.

  “Is that what you think? That your family could scare me off?” she asks, incredulous.

  “Not that I would fucking let you go. But, I don’t know how to do this. I don’t even know how to say all this romantic shit without sounding like an asshole, Confidence,” I say, and she giggles.

  “It’s not funny,” I snap.

  She sighs and stands up.

  “Take me to your room. I want to show you something,” she says and holds her hand out to me. I take it and use it to pull myself up.

  I open the door to my room and she starts to strip. My cock stirs at the sight of her smooth, tan skin and the swell of her tits.

  “Good idea, I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk. Much less, run off,” I say and start to take my clothes off, too.

  “Hayes,” she says from underneath the T-shirt that’s covering her face. “Sex isn’t always the answer,” she reprimands.

  “Why not? It sure as hell feels like answer,” I joke. Only partly.

  “I want to show you something,” she says again and then turns her back to me.

  “You see?” She looks over her shoulder at me expectantly. I scan her back and then I see it. My eyes snap back to hers. She’s grinning from ear to ear, those plump lips parted to reveal her white, bright smile. Her eyes are full of triumph.

  I look back to her lower back, in between the Dimples of Venus is scrawled ADORO IL FIUME—I love the river—in the same font as my family crest.

  I kneel down to get a closer look and run my fingers over it. Gooseflesh erupts on her skin. I press a kiss to her lower back and stand up, turning her to face me.

  “What do you think?” she asks.

  “You did that for me?” I ask at the same time.

  “I love it,” I respond.

  “Just for you,” she says, and we speak over each other again.

  She cups my face in her hands, and whispers, “Ti amotu sei il re del mio cuore.” You’re the king of my heart.

  I can only stare at her while my heart races happily toward the edge of the cliff called Confidence and takes a flying leap.

  “You learned Italian?” I ask dumbly, too shocked to say anything that makes any semblance of sense.

  She laughs. “Well, not entirely. But enough for my big reveal,” she says.

  “You tattooed my family’s name on your body?” I ask stupidly.

  “Well, yeah,” she says, and I don’t hear any regret or doubt in her voice. “I’ve never really been in love before, Hayes. Not until you. Not until now and I figured I should commemorate it. Because this love … it’s everything. You’re everything. These last two months, you’ve showed me so much. Taught me so much. Shared so much with me. And I don’t want you to worry. I’m the surest thing in your life. I love you. I want to move. I’m ready to live my life. I’m ready to take a chance. You’re my lover, my brother, my father, my friend, my person. I need you. It’s not you I’m unsure about. It’s life. Nothing your family does or says will change how I see you,” she says, and when she kisses me, I almost believe her.

  FLOOD

  CONFIDENCE

  I don’t dance now, I make money moves. Cardi B’s “Bodak Yellow” bursts into my brain and I wake up with a gasp. I grab my phone and glance around the room. I’m alone. When my gaze drifts to the west-facing bay window, my heart lurches into my throat. My phone, forgotten, falls silently onto the thick down comforter of the bed. I slide off the bed and walk over to the window for a closer look.

  The wind is having its way with the huge walnut trees that line the drive of Hayes’s family home. They’re waving violently back and forth, hurling their leaves into the air with terrifying speed. The rain is falling in sheets that look like liquid glass. The wind is blowing it sideways, too, and it’s sheeting against the window.

  It looks like the world is ending.

  The rain started just when I landed this morning. I knew a storm was brewing in the gulf, but I hadn’t really paid attention because it was supposed to miss the delta. When I stepped off my flight and saw the gates packed with stranded passengers because flights out were being cancelled, I started to worry. I hate storms, and I’d forgotten that Houston, though always spared the brunt of the wind damage, always got a lion’s share of the rain when storms came into the part of the gulf where the city sat. Having a port had made it the powerhouse trade behemoth that it was. But being that close to the water also meant that its flat landscape, the bayou that ran right through the city—and its below-sea-level altitude—made it ripe ground for the kinds of floods that most other major cities had managed to design away.

  My phone starts to ring again, and I dash back to pick it up. That’s Cass’s exclusive ringtone and I know her parents’ Meyerland neighborhood floods.

  “Hey, you okay?” I ask without saying hello.

  “Oh my God, Confidence. Thank God you answered,” she wails and dread fills me. “I’m so scared, I don’t know what to do.” She sobs into the phone.

  “Where are you?” I ask, but I already know.

  “My parents’. I came last night because they didn’t want to leave their house, and I didn’t want them to be alone.” Her speech is muffled like she’s covering her mouth.

  “What’s happened?”

  “We woke up this morning, and there was maybe three inches of water in their house. This neighborhood always floods, but not their house. Never. But it did today. And we did our best to get all of their art and electronics up on top of the dressers, on top of appliances. And we thought if the rain slowed down we could get out.” Her voice breaks, and she starts to sob.

  “Cass, where are you now?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm and my mind clear. They need solutions, not hysteria.

  “At the neighbors’. TB …” She sniffles “We had to swim here. My mom almost drowned us because she was freaking out.”

  “What do you mean, swim?” I ask, horrified.

  “Are you not watching televi
sion? We have more than five feet of water in the house,” she shouts into the phone.

  “No, I’m sorry. I got in super early this morning, and I passed out. Cass, are you safe at your neighbors’?” I ask. “Aren’t they a one-story house, too?”

  “They have a loft,” she says.

  “Oh, good,” I sigh in relief.

  “But there are twenty- four people up here. It’s small. And my mother doesn’t have her insulin,” she says, and her voice pitches in an awful spike as her panic rises.

  “Okay, well, the rain will stop and the water will recede, right?”

  “Yes, but not in time. There’s one bathroom, no power, and all of these people.” Her voice has dropped again and breaks on the last word

  “What can I do?” I ask

  “I don’t know … nothing,” she says sadly.

  “Cass …” I shove my hand through my hair and stare helplessly at the wall.

  “It’s okay. I just wanted you to know where I was. Someone’s called the city, and they say they’ll try to send a boat around before it gets dark. But once it gets dark, they’re not going to keep the rescues up. I need to get her out of here,” she says. Urgency coats her voice, and my stomach wrings in my gut while I fret about what to do.

  “Listen. Save your phone battery. Let me go find Hayes. I’ll see if he can do something to help,” I say and pray I’m not over promising. But I know she needs the lifeline of hope I’m giving her, too, so I inject my voice with confidence I don’t feel.

  “Oh TB, that would be great.” She sounds giddy with relief. “I’m so worried about my mom. And my dad is sitting in a corner sort of talking to himself. They’ve lived in that house for almost forty years, and in just a few hours, it’s nearly gone.” Her voice is barely a whisper when it breaks on that last word.

  “Oh, babe, I’m sorry. Let me go and see what I can do,” I say and then hang up before she can respond. My fingers tremble and my stomach feels like it’s hooked to a hot air balloon.

  I dial Hayes and hold my breath, praying he’ll pick up.