by Nikki Sloane
“Yes.”
“You better have been.” He sucked hard at me, releasing my nipple from his lips with a soft pop. His hips thrust forward, stabbing himself at the seam of my legs, and my eyes threatened to roll back in my head. We weren’t even having sex yet, and it still felt so good.
He jammed a hand in his underwear, stretching it down just enough to free himself, hooked a finger in the side of my panties to shove them out of his way, and lined his cock up so he could push inside me with one rough thrust.
“Fuck,” he cursed into the side of my neck.
My body throbbed and ached around his invasion, a weirdly enjoyable pain. There hadn’t been much foreplay between us, but I’d been more than ready, and the slide of him inside me set me alight. The craving for him shifted as tinder on a fire, making me burn hotter still.
He settled his weight into the cradle of my hips and began to move, pumping while he still had his hand holding my underwear aside.
“He thinks I’m a child. I’m forever that ten-year-old he can’t control.” Royce’s voice was dark and bitter. “But I can be fucking patient, can’t I, Marist?” His thrust was hard, punishing. “No matter how much it killed me, no matter how badly I wanted you, I waited.”
My head spun. While I liked hearing it, I had to fight the recoil at the mention of his father. I wanted this moment to just be between us. Determination ringed Royce’s eyes as he drove into me. The sharp slap of our bodies was followed by my unstoppable moan.
“You know what that was like?” His question was mindless. “How hard it was to watch him go after you, and know if I did anything to try to stop it, it’d only make it worse?”
“Royce,” I panted as he writhed on top of me. The pleasure was building so much it grew difficult to speak.
Abruptly, he reared back, and as he pulled out of me, he raked his hands down my hips, dragging my panties along with them. They tangled with my feet as he hastily yanked them off and cast them aside.
“Mine,” he growled.
There was darkness in him tonight, and he became a blend of Ares and Hades as he threw himself back on top of me. He made good on his threat. His way was careless and selfish. Pushed to the edge, he became ruthless. As if every aggression he’d held back had spilled out and there was no putting it back in the bottle. Being submissive to his father had taken its toll on him, and I was paying the price, but in this moment I didn’t care. I fed off his intensity and waged an assault of my own.
“You think you’re the only one who suffered?” I snarled. “I waited and then some.”
When he kissed me, I bit his bottom lip hard enough he gave a grunt of discomfort, but inside me, his cock throbbed. I had instigated tonight, but Royce had taken control, and he demanded I keep up with him. We were a partnership, after all.
“Mine,” I echoed, claiming him right back.
His sound of satisfaction was sexy as hell. “I’m going to fuck you here in my bed every night. I don’t care if you get sore or tired.” Our joined bodies moved together, undulating on the bed so hard, the headboard began to thump steadily against the wall. “We’ve got too much time to make up for.”
He was absolutely right.
We fucked until we were both sticky with sweat. At some point, he wriggled out of his underwear completely, so he was free to move his legs and get better leverage. And then he demanded I unbutton and open the shirt I was wearing so it wasn’t between us. Only the green tie that hung around my neck as an unclaimed leash.
My hands gripped his hair, the dark tresses threaded through my fingers, as I held onto him. Exertion had left him short of breath, and he panted in the curve of my neck, filling the space with sweltering heat.
I wanted to come. Not just to experience the pleasure, but to lose myself in him. To give up all control and show him how he left me undone. He was close too. The cadence of his body had changed. Shorter, deliberate strokes and tense muscles made me think he wasn’t giving freely anymore. He was holding himself back from his end so we could keep going.
And while it felt amazing, my body had hit a frustrating plateau. It left me dangling right on the cusp, tingling with anticipation but no end in sight. With him pressed so tightly on top of me, I couldn’t wedge a hand between us and push myself over the edge.
“Make me come,” I pleaded.
Fire flashed through his eyes, and for one fleeting moment, it was scary how much they looked like his father’s. But his tone wasn’t commanding, it was sinful. Wicked and teasing. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
He pushed up on his hands, shoving his knees beneath me while keeping us connected, and wrapped a fist around the knot of my tie. It was so he could draw me up with him as he sat up. It made me feel like I was his puppet and he was my master. The silk dug into my skin, and the muscle of his strong bicep flexed as he yanked me up into his arms.
Royce was sitting back on his heels and I was straddling his lap, the open shirt hanging loosely around my sides, and the collar beginning to slip down off my shoulders.
The change in position made my eyes widen, and pleasure bolt through me in a white-hot flash. I was fitted so tightly against him, it put pressure against my clit in a new way, and his hand at my hip urged me to grind against him.
“Oh, fuck,” I groaned. My head tipped forward, my forehead landing against the hard flat of his shoulder.
But it didn’t deter him. His exacting hand pushed and pulled and guided, making pinpricks of heat travel along my legs. I gasped and clung to him, the shirt hanging at my elbows while I rode him at a frantic pace.
“Yeah,” he encouraged in a strained voice. “Get there.”
It tumbled from my lips, followed by uncontrollable moans. “Oh, my God.”
An instinctive force took over. It swept through my body as the devastating orgasm crashed into me. It made me move and writhe to wring every last drop of pleasure from him, like a dance I hadn’t learned the steps to but knew anyway.
I’d been so lost in my own bliss, I’d barely recognized he’d reached his climax at the same time until we were both coming down. My shuddering body was encased in his arms, his heaving chest beating against mine as we cooled and recovered.
His soft request broke the stillness surrounding us. “Tell me you love me.”
I lifted my head to peer down into his eyes and watched the guilt edge into them. It was a moment of weakness, and he was displeased with himself for asking when he’d said he wasn’t going to anymore.
When his lips parted to say something, I pressed a finger to them. I matched his cocky tone from before. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” I brushed the finger away so I could put my lips in its place, but not before I uttered, “But I love you anyway.”
I made my second attempt to sleep in Royce’s bed that night, but by two in the morning, I snuck out and stole away to the comfort of my own room. In the morning, he told me he didn’t mind. All he wanted was for me to be comfortable. After a week of it, I stopped feeling guilty. We had time to figure it out, I told myself.
The cycle continued until we fell into a pattern.
Sex. Sleep. And then I’d slip out.
We were both busy. I had school and he had work—which kept him busier than ever—and we both had events to go to. Plus, there was wedding planning that needed to be done. It mostly fell on my shoulders. In the month since the dreadful night of the gala, I hadn’t seen or heard from Macalister’s wife. Not so much as an email.
I barely saw Macalister either. He was often gone on business trips overseas, and when he was home, he was hard at work on the Ascension deal. I foolishly hoped his obsession with me was waning, but I knew better. An uneasy feeling churned in my gut as if it were the calm before the storm.
He wouldn’t give up, and it was win at all costs.
I wouldn’t be able to avoid him or his wife for much longer, though. It was mid-November, and the upcoming holiday loomed overhead. I’d spent every Thanksgiving—a
long with everyone else in the high society of Cape Hill—in Aspen. It was as if the entire Massachusetts town relocated to Colorado for an extended weekend of skiing and drama.
We rode in the back of the town car to Logan Airport, Royce’s hand resting comfortably on my thigh as he pressed his phone to his ear and listened in on a meeting that was wrapping up. He was always touching me now, even when cameras weren’t around. As if I might disappear if the connection between us was broken.
The car pulled up to the sleek private jet, which was waiting for us with the door open, a gaping mouth threatening to devour us.
We hadn’t talked about what was going to happen, but I knew. The other black Range Rover parked on the tarmac confirmed it. Royce and I weren’t flying to Aspen alone. It made sense. The Hale jet was big enough for a dozen people.
Acid churned in my belly as the driver opened my door, which meant I was expected to get out, walk across the pavement, and climb the steps, then endure a four-hour flight locked in a confined space with Macalister.
Royce would be there too, though. We parted just long enough to get out of the car, pull our jackets closed in the blustery November wind, and then he took my hand, entwining our fingers.
“It’s not that long of a flight,” he muttered, like he was saying it for his own benefit and not mine. I didn’t understand why he was so anxious about it until the doors of the other Range Rover opened and I caught the swath of blonde hair.
My knees locked, bringing me to a rigid stop.
SIX
I SHOULD HAVE ANTICIPATED THIS, but I was so focused on Macalister, I hadn’t thought about her. Of course, she was required to make an appearance Thanksgiving weekend. The rest of the world believed everything was right with the Hale family and it wasn’t splintered into a million pieces.
Seeing her forced her name to crash through my head like a wrecking ball.
Alice.
She stood statuesque on her high heels, wrapped in a perfectly cut dress coat of blue wool that looked made for her, and it probably had been. Her pale hair was down and sleek, the ends curling faintly under to give her lift. As usual, her makeup was flawless, but gone was any warmth. Like her husband, she mirrored his iciness.
When we locked eyes, there was no reaction from her. She didn’t drop my gaze in shame or flash an evil smile. She was indifferent. Unapologetic. And it was exactly as I expected. Hera never felt guilt about the terrible things she did to Zeus’s mistresses, even the ones who’d been unwilling or tried to run from him.
For a split second, I felt fear, but it dissolved in the acid in my stomach, leaving only anger. I wasn’t going to give her that kind of power over me. She’d tried to kill me . . . and she’d failed. Maybe she should look at me with shame. I was one of her failures, and Macalister craved perfection.
Royce stopped at the same moment I did, and tension tightened his shoulders. He said it in a loud voice, projecting across the tarmac. “We agreed you’d be on the plane already when we got here.”
Likely so Royce and I wouldn’t have to see Alice.
Macalister didn’t care for his son’s tone. “Yes, but unfortunately, my business doesn’t run on your timetable.”
And with that exchange done, every pair of eyes swung toward me, gauging my reaction. I ground my teeth and sucked in a deep breath, then strode defiantly toward the steps. Beneath the layers of my coat and clothes, I thought about the Medusa tattoo buried in my skin.
Like her, I wasn’t easy to defeat.
The interior of the plane was decorated in the same gold and cream color scheme as the helicopter had been. Plush, oversized chairs were arranged in pairs around a table on either side of the aisle, with more seating in the rear of the plane beyond an open partition that sectioned off the space. I made a beeline to it. At least this way, I could either keep my eyes on Alice and know where she was at all times, or Royce would close the door, and we wouldn’t have to see her at all.
I ducked into the window seat in the back corner and busied myself with getting settled while impatiently waiting for Royce to join me. But he stood in the aisle, his hand resting on the back of his chair and his gaze fixed on the other passengers boarding the plane. I couldn’t see them beyond the glossy wood panel, but I sensed their presence.
And Macalister’s irritation. “You appear to be waiting for someone else.”
Royce’s expression was impossible to read when he was in profile. “We are.”
It sounded as if Macalister had taken his seat. “Vance is flying with the Lamberts.”
“I know. It’s not Vance.”
Out the window, a steel gray Aston Martin prowled into one of the spaces beside the airport hangar, parked, and the lights turned off. The man stepped out, wearing a navy suit, a camel colored coat, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. I didn’t need to see his eyes to know how confident he felt as he pulled his suitcase from the trunk and marched toward the jet.
His arrogance rivaled Royce’s, and it made sense. He’d become the king of Cape Hill Prep the year after Royce had graduated.
“Tate,” Macalister said. “I wasn’t aware you were joining us.”
“Hope that’s not a problem, sir. My family isn’t flying out until tomorrow, and Royce said you had space.”
“It’s fine.”
As Tate moved down the aisle toward Royce, he came into view. The sunglasses had been tucked away in a pocket, and he pulled off his overcoat.
“I say it every time we see each other,” Macalister said abruptly, causing Tate to freeze, “but when are you going to get serious and come join us at HBHC?”
As Tate finished pulling off his coat, a slow smile widened on his lips. “Ascension is good to me.”
“Is that so? I would be better.” Macalister had said I, and not we, as if he were the entirety of his massive company. His tone was barely disguised disgust. “Where do they have you now, loans?”
Tate turned back to face him directly. “Wealth management.”
“We both know you’re better than that.”
“Thanks, but I like New York.”
If he was nervous saying no to Macalister, it didn’t read in his body language. Perhaps it was why Macalister seemed to respect him. Alice had told me Macalister was only interested in something when he had to chase it.
“You’re putting off the inevitable.” Macalister’s voice sounded as close to friendly as he could manage, but the threat was laced inside. “Sooner or later, you’ll be working for me.”
Tate laughed it off. “If you say so, sir.”
I exchanged a look with Royce. Did Tate know what was in the works? Had Royce shared any of his plan with his best friend? The shake of Royce’s head was so subtle, I wasn’t even sure if it was there, but a thrill coasted through me.
I was the only one he’d confided in.
Tate joined us in the back section of the plane and dropped down in the seat across from me. His dark-eyed gaze swept over me in appraisal. “Marist. Long time, no see.”
It made me feel like an intruder, when it shouldn’t have. He’d known Royce better than I had for years. Although, was that true? Royce had shared the real part of himself with me, and likely no one else. Time didn’t automatically make you closer.
A dark voice in my head reminded me the same was true with Emily. We’d been best friends our whole lives, and yet she’d kept things from me.
“Hi, Tate. It’s nice to see you again.”
He smoothed his palm down his tie in a gesture that was meant to seem innocent, but I suspected he’d done it to draw attention to the way his fitted shirt emphasized his broad chest and hinted at toned abs.
Playfulness warmed his eyes as he caught me watching. “I bet it is.”
I blinked and shot both him and my fiancé an unamused look. Royce had said nearly the same thing to me when we’d met in the library last year. “Did they teach you that line in school? Like, being cocky is the same thing as being charming? Because it isn’t.”
Tate grinned, his gaze darting between me and his best friend seated at my side, whose hand was laced with mine. “Sure seemed to work on you, though.”
Heat warmed my face and probably tinged my cheeks pink. Oh, it had. I’d told myself I’d hated Royce’s cockiness, but if I were honest, I found it undeniably appealing. I turned my gaze out the window as I heard the attendant retract the steps and close the cabin door.
It didn’t take long before we were rolling down the runway and the engines carried us up into the sky. Royce and Tate chatted about politics and business, discussing the latest mergers and shake-ups in New York, and who had been poached from one house to another. It was the closest to gossiping I’d heard my fiancé do.
There was an ease and confidence to them both as the private jet sped toward the luxury vacation homes awaiting us in Aspen, and I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of irony for the man sitting across from me.
As the only black student in a sea of white at Cape Hill Prep, Tate could have been classified as an ‘other.’ But the only color that seemed to matter at our school was green, and the Isaacs had a lot of it. His parents were ultra-successful attorneys, and their son had been universally loved by all. He may have looked different than his friends, but he wasn’t.
It was the weird, outspoken Marist Northcott who was the ‘other’ at Cape Hill Prep.
But today on this plane, I didn’t feel like an ‘other.’ I’d seen behind the curtain of the Hales, whereas Tate was blissfully ignorant. What were Royce’s motivations for inviting him along? Surely, he wasn’t going to talk Ascension with his father in earshot. Maybe he’d done it to prevent Macalister from doing so. His father wouldn’t discuss a takeover when one of the target company’s employees was in the same room.
After the plane had leveled off, Macalister appeared at the doorway, and his cold gaze zeroed in on Royce’s hand tangled with mine.
“Marist,” he said, “after we’ve arrived, Alice and I would like a word”—his eyes flicked to Tate—“in private.”
My mouth dropped open, but before I could say anything, Royce’s hand squeezed mine. “Sorry, the three of us have plans.”
