by BL Mute
When I break the threshold, I see my dad in his spot on the couch. “Hey, Dad.”
He mutes the TV and looks to me. “Hey. I didn’t even realize you had left.”
I nod. “I just needed to get out for a bit. Where’s Mom?”
“She went to help set up the church for their bake sale. She’ll be gone till about seven.”
I drag my feet further inside and plop onto the couch next to him as I nod again. “Can I ask you something?”
Ever since overhearing the small conversation between him and my mom, it’s the only thing I’ve thought about.
He gives me a skeptical look but agrees. “Anything.”
“Are you scared?” Because I’m petrified. I make sure to keep the last thought just that—a thought.
“Scared of wha—” He cuts himself off as realization washes over his face. “Dying?”
I nod for the third time.
He releases a breath. “No. The only thing that scares me is leaving you and your mom alone.”
“How bad are things, Dad?”
He lets out a soft laugh. “Bad enough. My colon is riddled with—”
“No. I mean financially.”
He tilts his head and squints his eyes. “Lydia, that isn’t something you need to worry about. We’re fine.”
I give him a knowing look. “I heard you and Mom this morning. I heard you say you want to sell the club. So, how bad are things?”
He shakes his head. “We don’t have to sell, I just thought it would be better. Make it to where your mom doesn’t have to worry, but Malcolm won’t sell.”
“What if I talked to him?” I blurt out before really thinking about it, but I don’t need to tell my dad my intentions.
“Lydia, you need to realize Malcolm is a great partner, he’s a great businessman, but he isn’t a very good person. That’s another reason I want to sell. I don’t want your mom having to deal with him.”
“What do you mean ‘not a good person’?”
He grips my shoulder with a smile and pulls me into a hug. “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to work on setting things up so if anything happens to me, you two will be fine, even if the club doesn’t sell. Right now, your mom is my beneficiary for the club, but I’m going to see if there is a way I can have her take the financial portions and have someone else run it in my place.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Dad.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense to you. You’re a kid, and I want you to be a kid, not worry about this.” He kisses the top of my head.
I pull away from him and stand, brushing off every comment he made. There is no point in arguing with him. Regardless of what I say, he will still do what he wants, so I might as well agree and do things my way alone.
“If you say so.” I shrug. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
“Okay.” He smiles. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad,” I say over my shoulder as I walk out.
I know the smart thing to do is heed his warning, but at the same time, I can’t just sit around and do nothing if he’s so hell-bent on selling. Seducing a man isn’t ideal in any way, but if it’ll help, then it’ll help. People in this town have probably done worse to get something they want.
When I make it back to my room, the reality of what I’m thinking about finally comes crashing down. It’s stupid to even think someone like him would be interested in me, and it’s even stupider to think my shitty plan would even work.
I rub my temples and try and silence the thoughts as I fall back into my bed.
CHAPTER FOUR
LYDIA
His lips are on mine as the rough dark stubble coating his cheeks scrape against my skin with every punishing kiss. I sink my fingers into the hair on the back of his head and lock them in place. I pull him to me, trying to get closer and closer, even though we’re as close as we can get.
His fingers dig into my hips painfully, but a moan still escapes me. I shift my bottom half, trying to kill some of the friction building in my core, but it’s useless. His knee pushes between mine and moves side to side until my legs are open wide.
I unclasp my hands and use them to pull up my skirt. I don’t move fast enough for him, though, because he takes over and yanks it up, bunching it up around my navel.
This is so wrong… I can hear his voice say it, but his lips never leave mine.
Until I open my eyes because someone is knocking on my door.
My chest is heaving, a gleam of sweat coats my body, and it takes me all of three seconds to realize I was dreaming.
I was seriously dreaming of fucking Malcolm McLane.
I thrust the thoughts away and wipe the sweat from my brow. “Come in!”
My mom shuffles through my door with a smile plastered on her face. “We’re getting ready to go. Your dad wants to say goodbye.”
I feel around my bed and find my phone. The small screen shines bright, making me wince for a minute until I see it’s 4:45. “I don’t even remember falling asleep last night,” I say more to myself than my mom, but she still replies.
“We’ve all had those nights.” She laughs. “Now come hug this old man before he throws a fit.”
I hop out of my bed and adjust the clothes I wore yesterday, pulling my shirt down over my stomach, then follow my mom out of my room and down the stairs.
My dad is waiting by the front door. His hair is combed, and he’s dressed in some of his best clothes, but again, it doesn’t hide his sickness. I take the last step and drag him into my arms. “I love you.”
I can feel him shaking, I’m sure because he’s scared, but he still squeezes me back. “I love you too. We should be back later today, so stay out of trouble until then.”
“I’ll do my best.” I pull away and kiss his cheek. “Stay kicking, okay?”
His smile matches mine. “I’ll try my best.”
I nod as he struggles to open the huge door. My mom steps beside him and pulls it open instead, letting him step out into the dark morning first, before she turns to me. “Love you.”
“Love you, Mom.” I wave as she closes the door behind them.
Once I hear the car outside start, I collapse on the bottom step and drop my smile.
I thought about what it would actually mean to seduce and blackmail Malcolm all night, but dreaming of him only solidified my decision. What if he’s just as great a lover in person as he was in my dream?
Sure, my main focus is helping my dad— giving him one last thing he wants before he dies—but it’s okay to be selfish every now and then, right?
I’ve had boyfriends and I’ve had sex, but it’s never been anything spectacular, which makes this whole thing even better. I can have sex without feelings. All I want is to see if maybe an older man means more experience how Carmen says. And it’s a bonus I can maybe get something valuable out of it like his signature.
Malcolm isn’t the worst to look at either, so that should make it easier. He’s lean and tall with enough muscle tone to show through all the button-ups he always wears. He has dark raven hair that glistens with strands of gray and olive-green eyes, all put together to make a hard yet handsome face.
“Fuck it.” I stand up and throw up my arms as I sprint back up the stairs. If I’m going to do this, I might as well do it now before I talk myself out of it.
I start stripping out of my clothes as soon as I make it to the top step. I don’t even bother picking them up as I go. I just leave a trail in my path until I’m in my room.
I go straight to my closet and start flipping through all my clothes. I stop at the section of red, knowing exactly what I need. I skim through until I reach my favorite party dress. I want to look sexy but not too revealing. Malcolm will be at the country club today since Dad is having surgery, so it’s the perfect time to do this.
I slip the dress off the hanger and hold it up to my body. The bodice is a soft satin fabric that cinches around my center with delicate lace sleeves. I bu
ndle it in my arms and grab my nude Chick Alta Louboutins from the floor.
I throw everything on my, then walk to my dresser. I open the drawer and stare at all the different panty and bra sets I have but come up blank with what to actually wear, so I go back to my bed and grab my phone.
I dial Carmen’s number and hope like hell she’s awake this early. After ringing for what feels like forever, her face pops up on the screen.
“This better be an emergency. Like a 911 emergency, Lydia.” Her blanket is bundled around her chin, and her hair is a mess. She clearly isn’t awake yet.
“What panties do I wear with my slutty red dress? You know the one.”
“Of course I know. I say no panties.”
“Thanks.” I end the call before she can ask any more questions.
I decide against a bra too, since the dip in the front is so low, then head to the bathroom. “Alexa, turn on the shower.”
As the water turns on, I grab my makeup bag from under one sink and set it on the counter along with my lotion and favorite Chanel perfume, then lay out a towel before stepping into the steamy water.
I slowly shave every inch of my body, making sure I’m smooth everywhere, before washing and exfoliating and rinsing my hair. I turn the shower off, then step out and wrap myself in the fluffy white towel I had on the counter.
I wipe the steam from the mirror and stare at myself. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Of course an answer doesn’t come—not even a little voice in my head telling me this is a bad idea, even though I know it is.
I shake my head and drop my towel, then walk back into my room. I gather my dress and shoes and take them into the bathroom. With them safely set on the counter, I open my makeup bag. I brush some blush onto my cheeks, swipe black eyeshadow on my eyelids, and finish off with a bright red lipstick.
I place everything back in the bag neatly and stuff it under my sink. Grabbing my lotion, I open it and squeeze a good amount into my hands. I lather it for a second, then rub it over every inch of my skin I can reach. Once I’m done, I spray my perfume on all my pulse points: neck, wrists, and behind my knees. An old trick Mom taught me to help prolong the smell. I close my eyes and inhale deep, reveling in the floral smell for a moment.
When I open them again, I stare at myself in the mirror once more. “Okay…” I start. “You’re going to do this. No backing out now.” I give myself a reassuring nod, but it does nothing to calm my jittery nerves.
Next is the dress. I step into it, then pull it up my body. It takes me a second to figure out how the fuck I’m going to zip it, but after some wiggling and weird maneuvers, I finally get it.
Last, I slip on my shoes, then bend down and buckle the clasp around my ankle. Standing back up straight, I pull my dress down, then go back to my room and grab my phone and clutch before walking out.
When I make it to the bottom of the stairs, I stop for a second. I’m really doing this.
I’m nervous and excited all at once, which is a relief from the anger and sadness I normally feel. Maybe this really could be a good thing. A way to let loose and say fuck everything—at least if he agrees.
I stand and snag my keys from the table next to the door before I step outside. I pull my pack of cigarettes out and light one. I take long drag after long drag until it’s gone, then walk to my car and slide in.
This is it.
CHAPTER FIVE
MALCOLM
“Yeah, I told him I wasn’t doing it. It would be like throwing money away,” I chuckle.
“Good call. Just make sure you read over the contract again, and don’t break any of the clauses. I would really hate to see you strung up by the balls in court because this thing is airtight.”
I laugh because I know it is. After all, that’s the whole reason I hired him as my lawyer.
I can hear him toss the papers, the contract between me and Henry, I’m sure, on his desk over the line. “I’ve been abiding by those papers for years. One more year won’t hurt me, if he even makes it that long.”
“Whatever you say, Malcolm. But I have to go. I have a meeting in a few, so just call and leave a message with Portia if you need anything.”
“Sure thing.” I hang up before he can spit out a reply.
I tuck my phone into the breast pocket of my suit, then step out of my G Wagon. Since Henry is having surgery today, I’ll be forced to sit at the club and act like I’m working, even though I know the place is more than capable of running smoothly without me right there.
As I stroll down the brick walk, I pause briefly to admire the country club. Henry and I built this place from the ground up. We had no faith it would take off, but it did. And soon it will all be left to me as long as I stick to my guns about not signing over my half. I’m not even sure why Henry wants to sell, but I’m not ready to give up everything that comes with this place. The parties, the women, the money. Only a fool would sign that over.
When I make it to the fountain that sits in front of the main entrance, I look up at the two-story building. The cream-colored exterior almost shines against the green grass, and the windows give a small peek inside. Dark leather furniture is placed strategically in the main lobby facing the windows so you can really appreciate the beauty of the landscape. Maids and waiters pass by every so often carrying linen for the rooms we rent out or silver platters with drinks.
I finish the walk inside and immediately relax a little more once I’m there. Looking past the entrance and double staircase, I see the dining room already bursting with people coming to have their breakfast. Even further, outside the wall of glass on the back half of the club, I see more people lingering about, some with golf equipment and others already in swimsuits for the saltwater pool.
I tip my head to the receptionist at the desk, then start my trek up the stairs to my office. No need to go check on the kitchen or anything else. From what I can see, things are going exactly how they do every day.
When I top the stairs, I stop again to look out the balcony doors that sit in the center of the landing. It’s almost a better view from here. You’re able to watch everyone without them noticing, but sometimes it’s more exciting when they catch you. Although that doesn’t happen too often because women hardly catch my eye. All I look for anymore is a place to put my dick for a few and empty my balls. Nothing else. No feelings. No love.
Noticing there is nothing interesting to see, I start down the wide hallway until I’m in front of the door that leads to my office. I grab the golden handle and push open the bulky wood and step inside before closing it behind me.
My bubinga desk sits directly in the middle of the floor, with bookshelves stuffed with leather-bound books small trinkets, and pictures lining the walls. I don’t hold much near and dear to my heart, but I feel it would be frowned upon or even considered weird if I didn’t have a picture or two of my son, Carter.
I don’t see him how other parents see their kids. He isn’t my pride and joy—I’m not proud of him, and I couldn’t give a fuck less what he does—but I do appreciate the fact he understands the importance of saving face. If I need him at a social gathering, he’s there, and he makes sure to stay out of trouble, so I don’t have any problems.
Rounding my desk, I sit down in the chair and boot up my computer. I have nothing important to do, but I’d rather sit here and look busy than explore the club anymore. When people see me walking around, they automatically assume I’m here to help, when in reality I’m only here to bark orders and look like I’m doing something.
As I type in my password, a soft knock comes from the other side of the door. I curl my lip and glance to the time on my computer. It’s barely 7:00 a.m. and someone already needs me.
“Come in!” I shout, not bothering to hide the annoyance in my voice.
When the door opens and Lydia—fucking—Walton walks in, my frustration melts away.
She’s Henry’s daughter, someone I shouldn’t be the slightest bit happy to see, bu
t something about the girl gets to me. I don’t know if it’s the innocence she exudes while a halo basically hovers over her head, her soft, velvet voice, or the smell of vanilla and flowers that is always rolling off her skin. Regardless, she’s a minor, and thinking about her in any way other than a kid is frowned upon in most circles.
“Lydia?” My voice cracks as her name slips from my lips as a question.
“Should I come back?” She points her thumb to the door behind her. “You sound busy.”
“No. No, take a seat.” I sweep my hand in front of me to the chairs sitting on the opposite side of my desk.
When she sits, the tight red dress she’s wearing rides up her thighs the tiniest bit, drawing my eyes right to her milky skin. Realizing it’s wrong, I bring my eyes back to hers and see her watching me intently with quizzical eyes.
“Do you like what you see, Mr. McLane?”
The unnatural tone in her voice makes me tilt my head. “I’m sorry?”
She reaches inside of her purse and starts fidgeting with something before shooting her eyes to the floor. “This was a stupid idea.”
She stands from the chair and starts to hurry toward the door. But my interest is piqued, so I stand and round my desk. My front pushes into her back as I reach around and grip the cool metal before she can.
The smell of her perfume and shampoo are more exaggerated with me this close, and it does nothing but remind me that she is in every sense of the word jailbait. Her dress forms to her body like a second skin, and her shoes elongate her already long and slim legs more, giving the illusion she isn’t the same age as my son.
I know I should let her go—tell her to leave and not come back—but I need to know what she wanted. I want to hear her say those same words again, but this time I want to answer her question.
“Repeat yourself, Lydia,” I practically growl in her ear.
A shaky breath escapes her. “I said, do you like what you see, Mr. McLane?”
