by Nina Lane
Tugging her hair back into its ponytail, she left the drawing room and hurried upstairs to obey Preston’s order.
Ah, Lydia. Preston rubbed his hand over the front of his trousers, his cock half-hard again at the thought of the woman who had stimulated such raw fantasies in him as a youth.
The privileged girl from a wealthy, renowned family who had turned up her haughty nose at him—a boy from the poorest district of town. The slut who’d thought herself too good for him, who’d scoffed at his adoration of her and called him a child… Preston laughed whenever he thought of how things had once been.
And how they were now. Lydia had humiliated him time and again when they were younger, but she had been the one to seek him out when she’d needed help escaping the criminal charges against her. When she had needed to disappear.
Finally seeing the possibility of retribution, Preston had been delighted beyond measure to impose salacious conditions upon Lydia’s acceptance of his help.
Oh, she had recoiled, struggled, complained, resisted… All to no avail, for they both knew she would capitulate in the end. They both knew she would make the choice to willingly walk into La Nouvelle Vie and submit herself body and soul.
To him. Finally.
He settled back in his chair on the veranda, enjoying the breeze in the moments before he saw Gabriel crossing the garden toward the house. Preston’s jaw tightened with irritation. Black-haired and strikingly handsome, Gabriel had inspired in Lydia a tenderness she had yet to bestow upon Preston. And though Preston despised jealousy, the feeling stirred inside him like pond scum whenever he saw Gabriel.
His eyes narrowed as Gabriel approached. The younger man walked with a loose, easy stride that Preston supposed any woman would find seductive. Indeed, Gabriel was wholly comfortable in his lean, muscular body. He moved with masculine grace, and—as Preston well knew—had a compelling way of making women feel both cherished and desperate to please him. Not to mention the man had a ridiculously impressive erection and knew how to use it.
Discomfort clawed at Preston’s chest. He shifted, willing away the pressure of his groin as Gabriel climbed the steps of the veranda.
After giving him a nod of greeting, Gabriel turned to pour himself a glass of cold lemonade from the pitcher on the nearby table. Preston watched Gabriel drink, the muscles of the other man’s throat rippling. His jealousy and irritation intensified, seething through his blood.
Gabriel lowered the glass and wiped his mouth on his sleeve before glancing toward the house. “Is Lydia in her room?” he asked.
“I’ve no idea,” Preston replied curtly, hating the notion of Gabriel going to Lydia, because he knew she would be all too willing to receive him. “She was already… occupied today, much to my satisfaction. I’m sure she’s quite exhausted and unwilling to engage in further diversions.”
He smiled, hoping that a responding jealousy would flare in Gabriel’s green eyes. Surely the other man hated the thought of him, Preston, with Lydia, or at least the indignities to which Preston subjected her.
If Gabriel did, however, he wasn’t about to give any sign of it. His expression remained unreadable before he tilted his glass to finish the lemonade. He put the empty glass on the table and walked toward the house.
“I’d leave her alone, if I were you,” Preston called.
“She’ll be glad to see me, I’m sure,” Gabriel remarked.
Preston didn’t doubt it, which made his anger burn all the hotter.
Bloody hell.
He watched Gabriel go into the house, letting the screen door close behind him. Preston’s jealousy had gotten stronger over the past couple of months until it was now at the point where it suffocated him every time he saw Gabriel, especially when he saw Gabriel and Lydia together.
Preston clenched his teeth. He had to do something. He was the mastermind of this whole arrangement. Yes, he had an agreement with Gabriel and Kruin that they would share responsibilities to maintain their anonymity, though they all knew that he, Preston, was the ultimate authority. And thus far, he had only agreed to share Lydia with them in order to solidify their loyalty to him and to prove his own.
But now that goal had been accomplished. Gabriel and Kruin were both indebted to him. If it weren’t for him, they’d both be in squalid prison cells, paying for their own crimes for God knew how many years. He was far more powerful and well-connected than either of the other men. And he sure as hell had the right to claim Lydia as his alone.
Preston knew that Kruin would not resist such a claim. Though physically strong, Kruin was like a eunuch—not literally, of course, given the carnal excesses he enjoyed with Lydia and other women—but mentally and emotionally. In those regards, the man was powerless because he knew Preston could destroy his life with one phone call. Only Preston knew Kruin hadn’t killed a man in self-defense, that he’d made the first move, that the man had been dead before he hit the floor.
Yes, Preston would have that little fact to hold over Kruin forever, which meant the stupid ox would always do his bidding. And Gabriel too, though his crime of illegal trading was less dramatic and easier to escape. Not that it mattered, since Preston didn’t particularly want Gabriel going to trial anyway, as that carried the risk of him somehow escaping the charges. No, Preston wanted Gabriel bound to him as well, which was why he had thus far tolerated the younger man’s presence at La Nouvelle Vie, envy-inducing though it was.
However, Preston hated the way Gabriel and Lydia looked at each other, hated their growing closeness and the idea that Gabriel occupied a place in Lydia’s thoughts that crowded Preston out. That last bit was the worst, for Preston wanted every one of Lydia’s dreams, hopes, thoughts, and desires focused unerringly on him.
Preston pushed to his feet and went silently up the stairs to Lydia’s room. Her door was closed, but as it had no lock, Preston was able to twist the knob and ease the door open. He heard Lydia’s little gasps and cries before he saw the two figures on the bed—Gabriel stretched out on his back, his long, muscular body taut with lust, his rigid penis sticking straight up as Lydia, her skirts pulled up around her waist and her back to his face, lowered herself onto his shaft with a groan and started to ride him with willing fervor.
A curse echoed inside Preston’s head. His cock hardened against his will, heat and rage filling his blood. He tightened his grip on the doorknob, his eyes drawn reluctantly to the bulging stiffness of Gabriel’s erection, thick and glossy from Lydia’s feminine emissions, the veined shaft disappearing between the plump lips of her labia and into her tight, gripping channel.
Gabriel clutched Lydia’s hips. She worked herself harder, tossing her head back and closing her eyes. Moans streamed from her throat. Her body writhed and bounced with sinuous movements that made Preston wish fervently he was the one she was straddling. The slap of her luscious backside against Gabriel’s pelvis filled the air, and she only paused in her rhythmic motion to look at him over her shoulder, her eyes heavy-lidded and filled with desperation.
Gabriel only nodded, his hands flexing on her hips, and Lydia turned back to her task. She lifted her lower body and sank repeatedly onto his shaft before tucking her fingers between her legs and rubbing the button of her clitoris that peeked out from between her shorn lips.
Within seconds, a shriek tore from her throat as she surrendered to orgasm, her body rippling with convulsions. Before she’d ceased shuddering, she moved off Gabriel and to his side, parting her full lips as she lowered her mouth onto his slick phallus and sucked.
Gabriel groaned, tightening his hand in her hair, his hips jerking upward once… twice… then jets of creamy seed spurted over Lydia’s luscious lips, dripping down the elegant hand still encircling Gabriel’s thick shaft.
She rose slowly, her gaze going to Gabriel with tender, hot satisfaction. He lifted his arm toward her in an apparent invitation to… what? Snuggle?
Fury blackened Preston’s vision. He closed the door silently, his breath sawing throu
gh the air, his penis pushing uncomfortably against his trousers. Hating himself for succumbing, yet aching too much to stop himself, he unfastened his fly and shoved his hand down his pants.
Two jerks of his own flesh and he spurted inside his boxers, dampening his own hand and clothing. Anger simmered inside him, the pressure building like a pot about to boil over.
Preston inhaled a hard breath and zipped his trousers. Self-loathing stabbed through him, and with it the humiliation of remembering how often as a youth he’d followed Lydia, spied on her, masturbated to fantasies of her. How she’d consumed his hours, given him a focus, a reason to escape his repulsive mother and the pathetic men she’d brought home.
Even now, the memories elicited a scorching shame and disgust. Memories of the weak-willed men groveling at his mother’s feet, the times Preston had walked in on them—or, though he was loath to remember or admit to this, spied on them through a crack in the bedroom door.
He’d lost track of what he’d seen there and what he’d heard through the apartment’s thin walls—his mother wielding a paddle on a man’s fleshy white backside, a man lapping at her sex like a dog. Men crawling on the floor, tied to the bed, spread-eagled while Preston’s mother did unspeakable things to their privates. Preston’s childhood was filled with the sounds of grown men begging, crying, sobbing, pleading, then screaming in a horrific kind of ecstasy that sounded as if they were dying.
Something had both broken and steeled inside him so long ago, making him vow never to be beholden to another person in such a manner. Indeed, in any manner. He would always been the controller, never the controlled.
Never.
Preston wiped his sticky hand on his pants, revulsion mushrooming inside him like a black cloud. This was the fault of Lydia and Gabriel, making Preston behave in such a humiliating manner, subjecting him to sights that led to his loss of control.
He made his way to his own room, where he could clean up. As he discarded his soiled clothes and stepped into the shower, he knew something had to change. No longer would he allow Gabriel to be Lydia’s favorite, to disrupt the balance of power in this house, to make a fool of Preston.
Preston needed to neutralize Gabriel in a way that wouldn’t involve the authorities or investigators. A way that would both keep the other man under his control and guarantee Lydia’s mind and body belonged to Preston alone.
CHAPTER TWO
THE MANSION OF La Nouvelle Vie sprawled over the plantation grounds like a sated lover. A canopy of moss-draped oak trees guarded the long drive leading to the house, and low, grassy hills undulated as far as the eye could see. Beyond the forest lay the wild waters of the bayou, the murky, alligator-and-snake infested swamps that served as a barrier both to and from the planation grounds. Branches of willow trees swayed in the light wind, and the scent of gardenias and honeysuckle filtered through the screens of the veranda. Humidity clung to the air.
Lydia sat in a rocking chair on the porch. Her bare foot pushed idly against the floor, causing the chair to move back and forth in a gentle motion. She grasped the folds of her skirt and eased it up a bit to allow the evening breeze to caress her sex.
Although sometimes the men ordered her to wear snug, lacy panties and brassieres that pushed her breasts into succulent pillows, they were usually inclined to allow her the comfort of loose cotton dresses and no underclothes. Of course, Lydia had initially balked at the idea of walking around so unencumbered, but she had since come to love both the luxury and simplicity of the attire.
With a sigh, she leaned her head against the back of the chair. This was her favorite time of day, the hour before dinner when she could sit in peaceful silence and enjoy the cool of dusk. Crickets were just beginning their merry chirping song, and fireflies flashed through the air like tiny lightning bolts.
The door to the house opened, creaking slightly on the hinges. Lydia turned her head as Kruin stepped onto the veranda. Tall, with blade-like cheekbones and burning dark eyes, Kruin never failed to inspire apprehension in Lydia due to his size and stoicism. Muscles bulged in his arms and rippled across the broad expanse of his chest. Lydia knew well that the most intimate parts of Kruin were also of a dimension impressively proportional to the rest of him.
She swallowed hard, parting her legs wider to avoid even the possibility of his displeasure. “Good evening.”
Kruin responded with a short nod and stepped aside, extending a hand to the open door. “Good evening, Lydia. Dinner is ready.”
She rose and preceded him into the solarium, a glass-roofed addition to the house where they took most of their meals, as the dining room was reserved for more formal meals. The solarium, one of Lydia’s favorite rooms in the house, was enclosed by numerous windows that afforded a lovely view of the gardens. Circulating fans cooled the air, and potted plants flourished in the sun.
Now the softness of twilight muted the room. Candles flickered from the center of the large polished table, which was covered with silver and porcelain dishes emitting delicious smells that made Lydia’s belly rumble. The cook, a woman whom Lydia had never encountered, prepared incredibly scrumptious meals which she served moments before their designated mealtimes.
Lydia entered the room before Kruin. Preston and Gabriel stood. She met Gabriel’s eyes and gave him a slight but warm smile, mindful of Preston’s jealousy of the younger man.
Gabriel was utterly beautiful—tall and lean with midnight hair and black eyebrows arching over brilliant green eyes. His sharp, strong features were offset by the sensuality of his mouth and the kindness warming his expression.
Gabriel’s innate core of gentleness had drawn Lydia from the moment she set foot on the plantation grounds, and only with him had she experienced the desire for pleasure without shame and guilt. Their bond of affection now ran fathoms deep, but its growing strength only increased Preston’s jealousy, for he would never cease to believe that Lydia belonged only to him.
Therefore, while Lydia allowed herself to be at ease when she was alone with Gabriel, she remained guarded while they were in Preston’s presence lest she provoke his covetous anger. The mere thought of what he might do to her in the throes of anger tightened her knot of dread.
She took her usual place beside Gabriel, with Kruin across from them and Preston seated at the head of the table. Preston picked up Lydia’s plate and solicitously filled it with a portion from every serving platter—a Southern meal tonight with andouille sausage jambalaya, braised turnip greens, crab hush puppies, and cheddar corn muffins.
Lydia spread a linen napkin across her lap and sank her teeth into a buttery muffin. She had learned the wisdom of speaking as little as possible during meals, especially since Preston often attempted to provoke her own ire.
She flashed Gabriel a quick smile of thanks when he filled her glass with Syrah, then she took a bite of jambalaya, which flared a delicious spicy heat across her tongue. Since arriving at the plantation, she had developed a newfound love of all varieties of food—not a difficult feat, considering the cook’s expertise in gourmet cooking.
“So, Lydia, darling,” Preston said as he crunched into a fried hush puppy. He glanced at her, his blue eyes glinting from the light of the candle flames. “Tonight is your three-month anniversary with us.”
Lydia patted her lips with the napkin and tried to fathom that she had been here for three whole months. Such a short period in the scheme of things, and yet for her… a lifetime.
She looked down at her plate and wondered for the first time where she would be had she not sought Preston’s help. Had she not agreed to enslave herself to these three men who now ruled her life. She had once been a woman of fierce independence and competitive drive, a woman who commanded a large corporate staff and earned an immense salary. And yet in the past three months, all of that had fallen away.
She had become utterly subservient, yielding. Soft. She couldn’t remember the last time she had looked at a profit-and-loss statement or discussed core competencies. N
ow she only wanted to spend her days gardening, reading, eating, riding horses with Gabriel… and waiting with both fear and breathless anticipation for what commands the men would issue next.
An unexpected pang struck her, though she could not divine its source. She scooped up another forkful of rice and slipped it between her lips.
“What would your family say if they could see you now?” Preston mused.
Lydia’s fork dropped to her plate with a clatter. Dismay tightened her throat at the mention of the family she had left behind. “What…?”
“They likely wouldn’t recognize you, would they?” Preston continued, his eyes dancing with pleasure over her agitation. He reached to splash more wine into his glass. “I doubt anyone from your past would recognize you.”
Lydia cast an uncertain glance at Gabriel. He patted her thigh in reassurance, but offered no explanation for the line of Preston’s remarks.
“Your father’s state senate campaign is at its most crucial stage, isn’t it?” Preston asked. “With the election coming up this year and all the work involved. I imagine your father is quite furious about your disappearance, not to mention worried about what might happen if anyone actually discovers what you’ve done.”
Beside Lydia, Gabriel tensed. The subtle but unmistakable shift in his guardedness increased her unease. They both knew Preston had not brought up her father merely to torment her—though such a game would not be above him. Except this time Preston’s eyes had a look of satisfaction and glee, as if one of his schemes had unfolded exactly as he’d intended.
“You assured me that none of my family would find me here,” she said.
“No, they won’t find you,” Preston agreed, tilting his head back to drain the last of his wine.
Lydia looked at Kruin. He didn’t return her look, merely continued eating in his precise, methodical manner.
“Ah, well. At least no one will know that the esteemed Edward Worthington has such a lascivious slut for a daughter, hmm?” Preston smiled at Lydia and pushed his chair back slightly from the table.
