The Initiation

by Nikki Sloane

  “Uh . . .” I started.

  He blinked slowly. “Too much?”

  I bit my lip and nodded.

  He stilled, leaving his fingers lodged inside me. “My dick’s bigger than two fingers,” he whispered. “You sure you still want it?”

  My mouth rounded into an ‘oh’ as I realized what he was doing. He was hoping I’d back down from this challenge, but it wasn’t going to work. I wanted it too much. “I’m fine. Just go slow.”

  It was strange how he could look disappointed and relieved at the same time. His fingers moved, unhurried and deliberate, working the tension loose from my muscles. The dull ache of fullness eased, and it wasn’t long before I began to rock my hips in time with his thrusts.

  The air in the car was so humid, I was breathing in liquid. I closed my eyes as Royce planted a kiss on my lips. I couldn’t watch the corded muscles in his arm flex as he sawed his fingers deep between my legs. He mouthed more kisses on my chin and down my neck.

  “When I put a ring on your finger,” he murmured in the hollow of my throat, “I’ll fuck you non-stop. I’m going to get inside you, Marist, and probably never want to leave.”

  My eyelids burst open.

  “But not until then,” he added.

  Before I could process what he meant, he wedged three fingers inside me, driving deep and hard. My body jerked, and I hissed loudly. This wasn’t discomfort.

  It was pain.

  A hot, intense sting, like a bandage being ripped off in a quick, unapologetic jerk.

  I seized his wrist with both hands and shoved him away, but it was too late. His fingertips came away smeared red with my blood.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly.

  His apology had sounded genuine, but there wasn’t shock or surprise in his voice—like he’d expected this to happen. His words from earlier finally made sense, how he’d wanted to give me the best chance for me to enjoy my first time.

  He’d broken my hymen just now, and he’d done it intentionally.

  ELEVEN

  I STRAIGHTENED IN MY SEAT and stared at Royce. Inside my head, I cursed his stupid handsome face and what he’d done. My cheeks burned a million degrees. I didn’t want to look at his fingers, or down at my legs. The ache was either subsiding, or I was too scattered and embarrassed to notice it anymore.

  “Why?” I demanded.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow, and guilt rushed through his expression. “Are you okay? I didn’t want to hurt you, but I thought this might make our first time less traumatic.”

  “Traumatic?” Jesus. “It’s just sex, Royce. Not war.”

  He had no response to that. Maybe he was thinking I was a naïve virgin and he knew better. Was I Medusa now? He sat in the tense silence, utterly still. Even in statue form, he was beautiful. I wanted him to pull me into his arms. He needed to do something fast, because emotions roiled in my belly, and I worried I might start to freak out.

  “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

  “I changed my mind.” I didn’t want to show weakness, but all the desire in me had fled. Now I just wanted to be dressed as quickly as possible and pretend this never happened. I leaned forward and grabbed the jeans wadded at my feet. He nodded in understanding and leaned between the front seats, reaching to grab the package of tissues on the tray in my console.

  “I thought you might. You still haven’t answered me, though.” He pulled out a tissue for himself and handed the pack to me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said curtly. I was aware I was being unfair to him. I’d asked for this, and although he’d been misguided, he had been trying to help me. Part of me was relieved to have this part over with. “I can’t stand the sight of blood.”

  His gaze left mine and drifted down to the tissues in my hand. “Do you need me to—”

  “Nope,” I said.

  God, no. He didn’t seem squeamish or fazed by this, but I wasn’t about to accept his help cleaning me up. When we both finished our tasks and I was buttoning my pants, my confidence inched back into place.

  “You should have asked if that was how I wanted it done.”

  His gaze was heavy. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  I sighed. “It’d be easier to argue with you if you’d stop agreeing with me.”

  “I know it’s fucked up, but I was trying to help.” He turned to face me, bringing one of his legs up onto the seat and propped an elbow on the seat back. “Are we okay?”

  Were we? I stared at my knees, unable to hold his gaze.

  “I don’t know,” I said softly. I wanted us to be.

  He reached out and grasped my chin, turning me to look at him. His fingertips slid over my cheekbone so he could cup my face.

  “This whole thing?” I continued. “The situation we’re in . . . it’s so fucked up.”

  His chest expanded as he took in a deep breath. “Yeah.”

  I could read the thought he had loudly on his face. What he really wanted to say was, you have no idea. But he didn’t. Instead he moved in until there was no space left and captured my lips with his.

  It was sunny but windy outside, and the water on the bay was tumultuous. I watched the whitecaps froth on the waves through the window in Alice’s office, and it matched the emotions swirling inside me. I sat alone, waiting with my legs crossed and my foot bouncing with nerves.

  I hadn’t seen Royce since Saturday afternoon. He had corporate events and business dinners, and obligations he promised to fulfill on his father’s behalf. He’d texted me a few times during the week under the guise of quizzing me on board members, but I believed it was really an excuse to talk to me.

  I kind of liked it.

  Would I see him now before the interview? Or would he be in the room as well?

  I was sure I didn’t have time to text him and ask. Alice had left me in her office while she went to check on the boardroom and make sure everything was set up. I drummed my fingers on the armrests of my chair. I’d sat for interviews before, but they had been for summer internships. Not something where the stakes were so high.

  No matter how much I’d tried to tighten finances and forced my parents to squirrel money away, my family would struggle if I failed.

  “They’re ready for you.”

  I swiveled toward Alice’s voice and gazed at her as she stood in the hallway, her gray dress matching the steel skyscrapers outside. My heart stayed in my seat as I stood and filed out of her office, clutching the handle of my purse so tightly, my hand ached.

  “Do I look all right?” I despised how timid I sounded, and I knew better. If the wind had destroyed my hair or I’d smeared my lipstick on the elevator ride up, Alice would have told me when I first arrived.

  I’d spent the last five years learning how not to care about other people’s opinions, and it was impossible to unlearn it in ten days.

  Her smile was all brilliantly-white teeth. “You look lovely.”

  I fell in step with her as we went down the corridor, marching toward the biggest conversation of my life. It was sure to be hard, but if this went well, I’d be able to finish my degree and save my family, and as a bonus, I’d end up with the prince who dominated my thoughts.

  The same prince who ­­­was waiting beside the door, his arms folded across his chest and leaning against the wall. He wore a black three-piece suit and a green tie, which perfectly matched the emerald green dress I wore. It had to be intentional on Alice’s part. It made us look like we belonged together.

  Like a couple.

  “You look nervous,” was the greeting he gave me, which didn’t help my anxiety.

  Alice lifted her gaze to the ceiling, annoyed. “Don’t tell her that. She looks perfect.”

  His focus slid down me, tracing my curves appreciatively. The dress was simple. One deep color and cut modestly, but tailored so it flattered my figure. Conservative but not stuffy. Professionally feminine, Alice had called it. That was what she wanted my brand to b
e.

  “I look nervous,” I said, “because I am.”

  He straightened from the wall, and his shadow fell on me. “Don’t be. You’ll be fine.”

  Alice was less convinced. “Just answer the questions honestly, even if some of them make you uncomfortable, and it shouldn’t take long.”

  Alarm pricked at me. “Uncomfortable? Like, what?”

  Her face went blank. She was a computer accessing files from the archives. “Medical history. Personal stuff.”

  “Oh.” My apprehension grew.

  “I’m going to introduce you,” Royce said, “but I can’t stay.” He gave me a final once-over. “Ready?”

  No. Not at all. “Yes.”

  “Good luck.” Alice flashed a supportive smile.

  He took my elbow and guided me through the door, keeping his voice at a hush, only for me. “You don’t need luck. You’ve got an ace up your sleeve.”

  I glanced at him in surprise. “I do?”

  It was too late for him to explain. We were now in the boardroom and the interview had officially started.

  There was a lot to take in. The ceilings were tall and the room wide, but my eye went to the long conference table and the reflection of the Boston skyline in its glossy finish. The outer wall was all windows like the offices, but since we were on the opposite side of the building, the sun-drenched city stretched out for miles beyond the glass.

  Eight pairs of eyes sharpened on us as Royce urged me deeper into the room.

  Four men in suits sat on one side of the table, three on the other, and Macalister presided at the head. Was it another Hale tradition to have his chair sit taller than the rest, to make him more impressive and opposing? Because it was working. He held dominion over the room.

  “Gentleman,” Royce said straight-faced, “may I present Marist Northcott for your consideration?”

  I strangled back the nervous laugh that wanted to escape. He was mocking them, or his family’s ridiculous tradition, or both.

  He pulled out the chair for me at the other end of the table, which left a buffer of several empty seats, but put me directly across from his father. I strode toward it, determined not to look intimidated even as my insides quaked. I would do as Royce did. Be a different person when others were around.

  Adapt to survive.

  The evaluating stare of the board members made it cumbersome to move, but I lowered into the seat, kept my chin up and my gaze firmly on Macalister. I was smart enough to know the chairman was the only one whose opinion mattered, and I was already starting behind since I wasn’t my sister. If I lost his approval, I’d be doomed.

  A hand gently clasped my shoulder, and I turned to look up at Royce. His expression made his thoughts clear. You’ve got this. My heart skittered from his small, supportive gesture, but when I faced the board, the action hadn’t been lost on Macalister. He eyed his son with interest.

  Or perhaps suspicion.

  Footsteps carried Royce away, and no one spoke until the door was shut behind him. Alice’s voice filtered in my mind. Mind your posture. Smile. Hands in your lap.

  “Welcome.” Macalister’s voice was fixed and even. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with us.”

  I hoped my smile wasn’t unnatural. “Thank you for having me.”

  As a whole, the board was rather young-looking, and it was by design. Years ago, they had created a rule that each member would retire from their seat by sixty-five. Macalister had argued it was to keep the members fresh and sharp, but I suspected he’d done it to force his own father to relinquish his seat and allow Macalister to take over sooner.

  The two members who’d come from outside HBHC were in their early fifties. Both men had made hundreds of millions on companies they’d taken public, retired from, and now held seats on the board. They drew cushy salaries for four meetings a year, plus a few events. It was a sweet gig.

  Macalister turned to the members, one side and then the other as he spoke. “I believe most of you have already met her. She’s Charles Northcott’s youngest daughter.”

  Heads nodded in agreement.

  His cold stare returned to me. “But why don’t you indulge us and tell us a little about yourself?”

  I adjusted my posture as my shoulders were already slipping. At least this was a question I was prepared for.

  “Of course,” I said. “I’m twenty-one and will be starting my final year at Etonsons this fall. I’m studying economics with a minor in history. I’ve interned at Marche Risk Management and volunteered at the Museum of Natural History.” I took in a breath to transition from my schoolwork to my daily life. “I’m a voracious reader and collector of books, preferably—”

  He lifted a hand, silencing me. I had ticked the box and supplied a satisfactory answer, and he wanted to move on.

  The next few questions were also as I expected. My career goals. Strengths and weaknesses. How I dealt with conflict and failure. After that, the group shifted to my personal life. I was asked about loyalty, and what was the most important thing to me.

  “Family,” I answered.

  “Are you an organized person? A planner?” Macalister asked.

  “Yes, sir.” I always looked ahead.

  “So, tell me. How do you find the planning is going for Royce’s celebration?”

  “Royce’s party?” His question tripped me up. “I haven’t been involved with that.”

  Displeasure painted his face an ugly color. “It’s the biggest event of my son’s life—the man who’s to be your husband. You don’t care enough to be involved with that?”

  The disapproving expressions swept through the board members like a cold chill, and excitement lurked in Macalister’s eyes. This wasn’t an interview, it was an interrogation. I needed to be extra careful. He was going to ask questions he already knew the answers to.

  I swallowed hard but kept my chin level, scrambling to find the right response. “I figured it was best to wait for board approval before asking to be included. I didn’t want to overstep.” The lie came out sugary sweet. “Of course, if he’d asked me, I would have been thrilled to be included.”

  The dark expressions around the table faded, but the chairman’s eyes narrowed. He’d meant to fluster me, and his plan had failed.

  “Do you want children?” Mr. Geffen asked.

  There was a pang in my chest. Of course he asked this question. Alice had told me how he and his wife tried IVF several times but had not been successful.

  “Yes,” I said. “Eventually.”

  I’d been so caught up in the immediate part of the arrangement, I hadn’t considered children. Did Royce want them? We were compatible on a basic level, but what if we weren’t on something else? What if it were a deal breaker? We’d known each other our whole lives but—God—we had so much left to learn.

  “And you’re healthy?” Mr. Geffen was reluctant to ask it. “Everything seems to be okay in that department?”

  I gave a pained smile. “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you on birth control?” Macalister asked abruptly.

  The air solidified, leaving nothing left to breathe. “Excuse me?”

  All the way on the other end of the room, I could sense his irritation. It rolled down the table at me like a pen on a slant, picking up steam as it went. He weighted each word. “Are you on birth control?”

  My breath came rapid and uneven. “Yeah. I mean, yes, sir.”

  “What kind?”

  Seriously? I had terrible cramps, and the pill was the only thing that saved me. I hadn’t had a period in a year. Did they want to know that too? My tone was clipped. “The pill.”

  “And how many sexual partners have you had?”

  I should have sensed this coming. With how conservative and controlling Macalister was, he’d want to know. He’d need every detail. My spine hardened into steel. “I don’t sleep around.”

  “That’s good to know,” Mr. Shaunessy interjected. “But it wasn’t what Macalister asked, was
it, dear?”

  My jaw ached to hold in the words I wanted to say. As I stared at the man seated at the head of the table, my blood heated until it ran scalding through my veins. I wanted to wipe the smug expression off his face. He wouldn’t call me a slut outright, but he would imply. He’d use whatever number I gave him to shame me in front of the board.

  Except the trap he’d laid was going to backfire. This was a question he didn’t know the answer to.

  There was probably a flush on my cheeks, but I calmed and blinked a cold stare at the sea of older, pale faces. “Zero.”

  Mouths dropped open. Mr. Geffen stopped mid-sip of his glass of water.

  Macalister scowled and sat back in his chair. “Don’t lie to us.”

  “I promise you, I’m not.” I couldn’t have sounded more sincere if I’d tried.

  It looked like Mr. Burrows believed me. He was the oldest member at sixty-two, but he looked at least ten years younger. Alice told me he ran a four-hour marathon.

  He leaned forward in his chair. “Are you waiting for marriage?”

  “No, sir. I mean, I wasn’t intentionally.” My mouth had gone dry, and I eyed the water glass in front of me longingly, watching a drop of condensation trail erratically down the side. But I knew if I reached for it, they might see how I was shaking. “Honestly, I didn’t date much in high school or college, and when I did, it just . . . never went that far.”

  Mr. Lynch, who was seated to Macalister’s right, turned his stunned gaze to his boss and said it with awe. “She’s a virgin.”

  Macalister wasn’t having it. “You’re a gorgeous girl from a wealthy family. You really expect us to believe no one has touched you?”

  With everything he’d said, it was his compliment that threw me the most. “I didn’t say no one has touched me, but I haven’t—”

  “I see. What exactly have you done?” The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. It screamed, gotcha.

  My gaze dropped to the blank notepad before me and the pen with the HBHC logo printed on its side. There was no point in lying. Macalister had nearly caught me with Royce’s dick in my hands.