Going home with Elsa the first time was a snap judgment.
Kissing Susa Evans in her kitchen that first night we were over at her house—a snap judgment.
I’ve already spent our evening with Susa finding myself drawn to her in an uncomfortably keen way. Not because I’m in love with her, but because I can see how smitten Owen is with her already, even though we just met her earlier that morning.
From personal experience, I know how dangerous this instantaneous infatuation can be. Case in point, I’m already trying to plan how to make Owen mine.
Another case in point—I survived the flip side of this scenario.
Barely.
Some parts of me didn’t survive, and it’s why I’m now the bastard extraordinaire.
Owen’s immediate feelings for Susa will also be a problem, I know, because we share a fucking class with her three mornings a week. Unless she drops the class, we’ll be seeing her Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
I need to handle this situation, now, before it spins out of my control.
Except the more I talk with Susa that evening, I can see how damn hungry she is—for success, for power, for her own identity separate that of her father’s reputation and name.
Hungry to obtain the very same office I know Owen wants.
All things I can respect her for. Very much so.
She’s worked damned hard already, has a brilliant mind, and even keener political insight.
It isn’t just idle talk on my part when I sound her out and discuss the possibility of a third-party run with her, the possibility of getting Owen elected first, with her as lieutenant, so she could run on his coattails.
Best-case scenario? They could make an awesome team together. Combined with my bastardly instinct behind them…they could be unstoppable.
They could both get what they want.
And so could I.
I had honestly thought I would approach this evening the way I’d started out approaching the school year with Owen—to observe, evaluate, and then obliterate Susa, to eliminate her as a potential threat to my plans. Use our time tonight with her to hopefully learn what I’d need to strike a lethal blow to whatever fledgling love for her was taking root inside Owen’s soul.
Unfortunately, plans change. Maybe fortunately, in this case.
Ironically, as with my boy, I quickly realize my plan regarding Susa needs rapid revision, a tactical response.
Owen wants her, but will never take steps on his own to claim her. Just like he really wants to hold office, but will never achieve it if left to his own devices. Besides not having an ounce of self-confidence, he doesn’t have the cut-throat DNA to make it through the grueling slog of a campaign.
I will need someone like Susa to help Owen’s career.
More accurately, I’ll need someone with Susa’s connections.
Meaning her father.
Plus, as convinced as I am that I can win Owen over, I know it would only be one part of the overall issue I’d have by doing so. It would make me happy—and I’d definitely kill myself to make Owen happy—but it would cause both of us problems in the process.
Meaning alienating my family.
Meaning sacrificing his dream career.
Meaning the fact that I know how much Owen wants kids.
At the close of the evening, when Owen excuses himself to the bathroom and leaves the living room, all of these things flash through my mind in the time it takes me to formulate the snap judgment to stand and silently approach Susa from behind.
I think that’s when I make the decision to claim Susa, and thereby guarantee I will win Owen’s heart. Walking away from Owen isn’t possible for me. Not when the more I learn about him, the more I have to have him. I want to teach him about unconditional acceptance. I want to give him the stability and positive reinforcement he craves.
I want to hold him and breathe him in while he helps keep my nightmares at bay.
I want to show him the true face of love.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to be the man standing in the shadows behind Owen when he gets elected as our state’s governor.
Selfish?
Absofuckinglutely. I’ll own that. Every bit of it. Unapologetically.
I am a bastard, after all.
I want him to be mine, and I know I’ll do nearly anything to have him. Including making sacrifices of my own to make his dreams come true and make him happy.
Step one stands directly in front of me.
When she turns and realizes I’m standing right behind her, the way her blue eyes widen hardens my cock. Not because she’s beautiful—which she is—but because of the fear I see sweep through her gaze before it flashes over to something else I can also recognize and appreciate.
Hunger.
Need.
Desire.
Her lips part as I stare down at her.
“You really want to be governor?” I ask.
She nods, but it’s the way her pupils flare a little at that, her sharp intake of breath.
She doesn’t just want it—she needs it.
She needs that future to nourish her soul every bit as badly as I need Owen to nourish mine.
“I do,” she whispers.
“I want Owen to be governor. He wants it, but he’d never go for it on his own.” I let the pause hang in the space between us and make it more than obvious I’m checking her out. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
I really don’t. Except there are many kinds of pain. And I have to see if she’s truly on the same wavelength I am, or if in this way she’s still a child and this is nothing more than a game to her.
If it is just a game to her? I’ll easily scare her off. No problem.
If not?
Game on.
“Me, either,” she says.
“I mean, there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know about him, or me.” Which is an understatement I don’t have time to explain right now. “We do this, together, but we do this my way, and you don’t argue with me or deviate from the plan. I’m in charge. That means keeping this a secret from him, for now. You fuck the plan, or you lie to me, and we’re done. No second chances. Understand?”
I know I have her, that she is already mine, when she answers. “Yes, Sir.”
I wonder what she thinks of my smile, if she thinks it’s sexy, or if she mistakes it for sexual desire.
In truth?
It’s victory.
Because with those two words, she’s literally given me everything I need—every last key to open every single lock within her soul.
I now own her.
No, that’s not a metaphor, either.
Damn, this will be easier than I thought.
And a lot more fun.
My cock’s aching, throbbing from the thought of what delicious hell I’ll put her through to make her earn both my trust and the right to be with my boy. Things I won’t be able to do with Owen yet, and maybe not for weeks, or even months—if ever—but things she’ll be eager and begging for from me within the next few days, or sooner.
In fact, I already have her in my arms, one hand possessively cupping the back of her neck, when it finally registers I am kissing her.
That’s when I know I’ve made my decision.
That it is the correct one is reaffirmed when she not only doesn’t resist when I slant my lips over hers, but she eagerly kisses me back.
And that she tries to chase when I pull away.
I stop her with a finger to her lips.
“My very good girl. We’re going to do great things, the three of us.”
* * * *
I quickly come to discover Susa’s demons aren’t quite as dark as mine, but they’re pretty damn close.
Her darkness, however, was born, not made.
I envy her that.
I envy her natural dark paths, the shadows and shade that organically took root and flourished within her soul.
I envy the joy she takes mapping ever
y bypass and detour, every tunnel and bridge.
I envy that she can look at all the things I do to her, relish them, and beg for more with an unapologetic, wild-eyed hunger in her gaze that nearly brings me to my knees before her.
Not because I want to be there, but because old habits die hard.
A tiny part of me hates her, and always will, because she’ll forever own a slice of Owen’s heart and soul that will likely remain locked to me. I use that hatred to show her no mercy during our “play.” Every time I think surely I’ve crossed a line that will make her safeword, end this insanity between us, and allow me the opening to take Owen and run with him, she grabs my hand and drags me deeper, darker.
I savor the fear she begs for, and happily give her more, my demons’ wings unfurling with everything I do to her.
I crave her tears and take great pleasure in them. Unlike when Owen cries and I want to do nothing more than soothe his aching soul and make him smile and feel safe.
I get the fucking irony, believe me.
Fortunately—and more importantly—so does she.
The longer this continues between me and Susa, I also hate that there is part of me which will always envy Owen the freedom he feels when submitting to her.
Because it’s a freedom I will never again feel.
I hate even more that, because of that same longing, there is now and always will be a part of my soul vulnerable to and owned by her.
And that terrifies me even more than the thought of losing Owen.
* * * *
A muffled giggle tickles my ear in the darkness.
I blow out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding, and I can’t tell if it’s relief or resignation filling me now.
I thought for sure this, if nothing else, would be her breaking point. The night I scare her off. That tonight would be the night she safewords, calls me an asshole, and Owen and I can finally part ways with her.
Not that I want to run her off, not really. I want to force her to keep actively choosing to be with us to the point she never leaves. Barring that, I need to be certain she can handle me at full throttle. I won’t put Owen through the heartbreak of her leaving after a year or so because she has a change of heart.
I don’t want to put myself through that, either.
Because while I know we really do need her to get Owen all the way to Tallahassee, there’s still part of me who never wants to share Owen with her.
Owen, I’m sure, would be horrified, and rightly so, if he ever saw…this.
This side of me.
Hell, this side of her.
I am not going to be able to fucking move tomorrow.
I already know that tomorrow morning’s PT with Owen will be a slow, ambling walk.
I don’t know what else I can do, short of literally crossing a line I gave her my word I wouldn’t cross, to scare her off.
Since she’s not going away, she’s not scared off, it means I’m going to end up marrying her.
That scares me. For a variety of reasons.
Because what won’t she let me do to her? What if I can’t pull the emergency brake one day? She’s not Eddie, and she’s not a hardened combat vet.
Then again, I’m not the man I was, either. Not physically, anyway.
The way I’m feeling right now is ample proof of that.
I wearily drag myself into a seated position and lean over to switch on the desk lamp I’d brought in to her spare bedroom earlier. It’s on the floor, because there really isn’t any furniture in this room. It’s storage. I’d thought about getting a room at a hotel to do this, but didn’t want to risk someone calling the cops on us if they saw or heard something. Then I’d have to explain to Senator Benchley Evans that I’m not only fucking his daughter, but that she enjoys a disturbing level of consensual non-consent play that would make even the hardiest and most jaded kinkster extremely uncomfortable.
And she wants more.
I used vet wrap to hold her panties in her mouth as a gag. I’d considered duct tape, but it would have stuck in her hair and made it hard to explain to Owen how she got any marks on her face. But the vet wrap sticks to itself, and also makes a great blindfold. I’d basically wrapped it all around her head and mummified her, just leaving a gap around her nose free. It also meant I could easily rip it with my fingers, if I needed to free her quickly.
Tonight, I’d taken her down in her front hallway, before she’d even gotten all the way in the front door. No time to run, no time to fight back, and I’d blindfolded her before she could see it was me. I’d parked the Snot Box in her garage so she didn’t even realize I was there. As far as she knew, I’d decided to stay home at the dorm tonight to sleep while she took Owen out for dinner and a movie before she dropped him off at our dorm.
I left a note for Owen that one of my buddies from the Army had been admitted to Haley, and I went over to visit him, which would buy me most of the night. I didn’t want to text him both because I didn’t want a time-stamp on when I left, and I didn’t want him tipping off Susa that I had gone out.
Before she realized what was going on, I had her stripped, bound, gagged with her own panties, wrapped in a blanket, carried her out to the garage, and roughly dumped her into the back hatch of the Snot Box. I did all this without saying a single word to her. I even took a shower before I came over and used a different soap than I’d ever used in hopes of throwing her off a little and getting her to safeword because she doesn’t know it’s me and she’s genuinely freaked out.
Then I drove around for about twenty minutes, because I wanted to disorient her. I returned to her subdivision from a different street so she wouldn’t recognize the turns, backed into the garage, and hauled her out of the back hatch.
The whole time she sobbed, cried, begged, sounded terrorized.
But she never safeworded.
Meaning no matter how scared she is, she’s still assuming it’s me.
Meanwhile, that whole time, I spent it with a grin on my face and a cock that could cut through concrete.
I actually carry her through the living room first and make a few turns to disorient her even further. As much as she’s been crying, I doubt she can smell anything right now to know she’s in her own home. Taking her into the spare bedroom and dumping her onto a sheet I’ve spread out on the floor will likely confuse her even more.
It’ll be fucking hell on me and my body later, but I’ve worked on this plan in my head for a week.
I drop my voice, disguise it. “Got a party planned for Daddy’s little princess,” I growl. “Found several guys who are going to breed that cunt and ass of yours until you can’t walk.”
I’ll admit pain from the exertion of the takedown and carrying her to and from the car has softened my cock a little by the time I finally got her in the bedroom and unwrapped her. I was already hurting, but the way she starts to struggle and scream again fires me up. Obviously I don’t have the stamina or loads of cum a gangbang’s participants would.
But they do make strap-ons with swappable dicks, and I’ve been shopping online.
The first one’s all me—with a condom, thank you very much—up her ass. I even give her the courtesy of finger-fucking her ass with two lubed fingers, but the fucking I give her is hard, brutal, and has her crying again.
By the time I’ve fucked her pussy with the fourth and last—and largest—fake dong, I’m nearly ready to drop from exhaustion. I’m also pretty sure she’s come at least five or six times just from the fucking and things I’m saying to her.
When I finally flop over on my side and am ready to admit defeat…
That’s when she giggles.
Fuck.
I get as far as turning on the lamp and using a pair of bandage scissors to free her wrists. Then I flop over again and let her finish freeing herself. “You can rip the vet wrap that’s on your head. You don’t have to cut it.”
A minute later, she’s like a squirming, happy puppy, snuggled tightly again
st me and playfully flicking her fingers at the strap-on I’m still wearing, like she didn’t just spend the last hour begging for her freedom and for my mercy.
And now I’ve got fucking rug burn on one knee, because in the dark, I got off the sheet somehow.
Goddammit. Hopefully Owen won’t notice it.
She looks like she could run a goddamned marathon.
Hell, at this rate I know I’m going to need Owen’s help to keep her satisfied. She’s going to fuck me to death.
“Hand me my phone, please, pet.” I point.
She grabs it and passes it over. I check the time—10:37. I sigh and set a timer to wake me at midnight. “Help me up, please.”
Jumping up, she offers me her hands and helps me to my feet.
She giggles again and flicks the dildo.
“Watch it,” I warn. “They don’t go soft.”
Susa bounces up on her toes to brush a kiss across my lips. “That was amazing, Sir.”
After I unbuckle the harness and drop it on the sheet with the other dongs, I pull her in for a kiss. “Please have all that cleaned up and safely stowed somewhere Owen won’t stumble across it by tomorrow evening.”
Her eyes twinkle in the dim light. “Yes, Sir.”
“You didn’t even think about safewording, did you?”
Her grin widens. “No, Sir.”
“Why not?”
She shrugs. “You used tape on my wrists and not on my head. If you’d been a bad guy, you wouldn’t have cared. Plus, a bad guy would have just raped me here.” She nuzzles her nose against mine. “And I doubt someone would break in to my house and park in my garage just to take me somewhere else. Plus, my door has this weird little creak it makes when it’s nearly all the way up. I keep meaning to have them come out and check it. I heard it both times.”
Goddammit.
She’s brilliant, and smart, and fucking ballsy.
And she’s mine.
This creates a weird mix of feelings within me, both good and…ambivalent.
All I need to do now is convince myself this is the right thing to do for Owen, and for me.
Because once I marry her, it’s for life. But I have to be sure she’s got Owen’s best interests at heart and can do right by my boy.
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