by Hannah Ford
“Did I hurt you?” he whispered, his eyes on mine. He brushed the new tear that was falling from my eye over my cheek until it disappeared.
“No,” I said. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”
“Are you sure? Because –“
“Yes,” I said, kissing his face, his cheeks, his nose. “Yes, I’m sure.”
He leaned his forehead against mine.
The tip of his cock bumped against my opening, and I groaned. Our gazes were locked on each other, the electricity between us burning so brightly that I could feel it as if it were a tangible thing.
And then he asked me the question he’d been leading up to all night. The question he’d been wanting to ask me the entire time.
“Do you love me?”
“I love you,” I whispered. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
He pushed inside of me as he spoke, his hips flexing as he opened me, joining us as one. My bound hands were still around his neck and I pulled up my legs and wrapped them around his waist, pulling him further into me.
He paused for a moment, pushing my hair off my face as he gave me a second to get used to his thickness inside of me.
He kissed my lips, my cheeks, my eyes as the tight feeling between my legs gave way to warm pleasure.
“Okay?” he whispered.
I nodded, and then he began to move inside of me, slowly, in and out, his cock brushing against my exposed clit with each stroke.
The whole time he stared into my eyes, stopping only to kiss me on the lips softly, the kisses and the thrusting slowly becoming more and more intense, the speed faster, harder.
“I want to feel you come on me,” he said. “I want you to clench me with your pussy until you come.”
I pulled him harder inside of me, tightening myself around him, and he groaned in appreciation.
“Jesus, Aven,” he moaned.
And then I was coming, the spasms of exquisite pleasure reverberating through my entire body as his cock began to spurt inside of me, filling me with his cum, owning me, shattering me as he made me his.
“Are there marks?” I asked half an hour later.
We’d showered together and now I was lying on my bed as Landon applied lotion to my raw skin. I was naked, on my stomach, enjoying the gentle feel of his touch.
“Yes.”
“How bad?”
“This should help,” he said, ignoring my question.
“I like it,” I said, just in case there was a doubt in his mind that I hadn’t enjoyed what we’d done. “I like the things we do. And I like being marked by you.”
He finished with the cream, and I reached for a t-shirt, but he stopped me. “No. I want you naked.”
“Okay.” I swallowed. “Are you spending the night?”
“Is that an invitation?”
“I want a commitment,” I said, reminding him. “Therapy.”
“Therapy,” he said, sighing. He’d had a package messengered over to him while we were in the shower, and he unzipped it now, pulling out one of his suits for tomorrow and hanging it in my closet. It looked crazy hanging there in my tiny little closet, this elegant, expensive suit that was probably worth more than my rent.
“Why are we sleeping here when you have an amazing apartment?” I asked as he slipped into bed next to me, his legs tangling with mine as he pulled my naked body close to his.
“Because I like being here with you, in your space, knowing you’re comfortable.”
“Is that it? Or is it that you’re uncomfortable being at your place?”
He stiffened behind me. “I suppose that’s something we’ll be exploring in therapy,” he said drily.
“I suppose so.” If he thought I was going to let him off the hook, or contradict him, he was wrong. I laced my fingers with his, dragging the fingertips of my other hand up his strong forearm, enjoying the feel of his tan skin, the soft hair, the strength of his corded muscles.
“Landon?”
“Yes?”
“There’s one more thing. That Paisley said.”
He stayed silent, waiting.
“She said your father was doing something inappropriate at the Benedict Center. She said that Abigail told her that before she died.” The silence stretched between us as I remembered what else Paisley had said. That the Sheers were loyal to each other above everything else.
“I’ll look into it,” Landon said.
He pulled me close, enveloping me with his body.
I waited for him to say something else.
But he didn’t.
And after a while, I fell asleep.
Someone pounding on the door to my apartment woke me three hours later, at around 4 am, and at first, I thought it must have been Emma, that she’d forgotten her key.
But the pounding was way louder than anything Emma would have done, and if one of us ever forgot our key, we always called the other.
I groped for my cell phone.
I did have a text from her, saying that she was saying out for the night, that she’d see me in the morning.
“Stay here,” Landon growled.
He was up and out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants that he’d taken from the things he’d had delivered the night before.
I pulled on my own t-shirt and pajama pants, ignoring his warning to stay foot, and followed him down the hall.
“Landon!” a voice on the other side of the door yelled. “Fucking open up!”
“Jesus,” Landon said, annoyed as he opened the door.
Conner Sheer stood in my hallway, his blond hair mussed, a tight white t-shirt encasing his built upper body.
Behind him stood my sister, chewing on her thumbnail and looking nervous.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Conner demanded.
“Right here,” Landon said, sighing.
“I’ve been trying to call you for the past two hours. Thank fucking God Violet had the idea you might be here, or else I’d still be trying to get in touch with you.”
“I had my phone off,” Landon said, and I realized he’d done that for me, that he hadn’t wanted anything to interrupt out time together.
“I didn’t know you were back from Paris,” I said to Violet.
“We just landed,” she said.
“I didn’t even now you were coming back.”
She glanced quickly at Conner, and I got the idea that he hadn’t wanted her to tell me. But why not? Why the hell would Conner care if I knew my sister was back or not? The same feeling of unease that I always got when Conner Sheer was around skittered up my back.
“Now that you’re here,” Landon said. “What is so important that it couldn’t wait until morning?”
“It’s Dad,” Conner said, sounding like maybe he was almost glad to be delivering such shocking news. “He’s sick.”
“What do you mean, he’s sick?” Landon’s voice was impassive, but he’d taken my hand, his own hand tightening around mine.
“His kidneys,” Conner said. “He’s at the hospital and he needs us. We have to go now.”
The four of us piled into a black limo, the same one that Conner and Violet had taken over to our house.
My sister was seated opposite me, dressed in a black leather jacket and slouchy grey pants. Her hair hung limp around her shoulders in loose waves, as if it had been crimped in the recent past but had lost its curl. Her eyes had dark circles under them, as if perhaps she’d forgotten to wash off her makeup, or maybe she’d been crying.
She avoided eye contact with me, instead looking down at her phone, scrolling through social media apps.
“Why the hell didn’t the hospital call me?” Landon demanded as the driver sped toward Midtown. Either the driver had been told to get there as soon as possible, or he was one of Conner’s drivers and always drove like a crazy person. Either way, it was making me nervous.
“I’m listed as dad’s emergency contact,” Conner said.
“Since when?”
Conner shrugged.
“How bad is it?’
“Bad,” Conner said, and for the first time, I saw something like fear and sadness cross his face. “He’s probably going to need a transplant.”
“Jesus,” Landon said, scrubbing at his face.
I texted Violet, thinking that maybe she’d be more honest with me over text.
You okay?
She texted me back, her fingers flying over her keyboard. Fine. Just worried.
Has Victor been sick for a while? I wrote.
I think off and on. But Conner seems really scared, so it might be serious this time. I’m worried.
I tried not to get annoyed at my sister for her concern for Victor Sheer, a man who was obviously dangerous, a man she was so desperate to impress. It was fucked up the way that Violet was acting, like getting in with the Sheer family was like getting in with royalty or something, like getting a gun pointed to your back and roughed up was just a slight hazing ritual instead of a crime.
The limo pulled up in front of the hospital, and we all piled out of the car.
“Hey, Conner?” I said as we got closer. “I know this probably isn’t the best time, but do you know if your father mentioned anything to you about something going on at the Benedict Center? I talked to Paisley tonight and –”
Conner whirled around. “You did what?”
“Aven!” Landon admonished sharply.
But fuck that.
“I talked to Paisley tonight,” I said, looking Conner right in the eye. If my sister wasn’t going to stand up to him, then I would. “She said that Abigail told her that your father was involved in something inappropriate at The Benedict Center, that it might have something to do with her murder.”
“Aven, for fuck’s sake!” Landon said.
“Landon,” Conner said slowly. “What the fuck is she talking about?”
“Just what she said,” Landon said, his hand tightening around mine in a show of solidarity, obviously deciding that if I was going to go there, he was going to be on my side. “She talked to Paisley. Paisley told her that Dad might have been doing something fucked up at the center.”
Conner took a step toward Landon. “You keep her out of this,” he said. “You have no idea what you’re fucking talking about. Dad is sick, Landon. He needs our help, not some bitch getting up in our business.”
Landon dropped my hand, and I knew what was going to happen. He was going to punch Conner. I could see it, his fingers tightening into a fist.
But before he could, the door to the hospital swooshed open, and a tall man in a white hospital coat stepped outside.
It took me a second to realize he was a doctor, not just an orderly or a front desk attendant.
“Conner, Landon,” the man said, nodding at both of them. I guessed when you were rich you were given preferential treatment at the hospital and were on a first name basis with the doctor.
“Martin,” Conner said, nodding. “How is he doing?”
“Not well. Your father is going to need a kidney transplant.”
“Fine,” Conner said. “I’ll get tested.”
The doctor sighed. “We need a blood relative,” he said. “And with both you and your brother being adopted, he’ll have to go on the donor list until a kidney becomes available.”
“How long will that take?” Landon asked.
“There’s no telling.”
Conner pushed forward. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’ll get tested.”
“But – “ the doctor started.
“It’s fine,” Conner said, staring Landon right in the eye as he made his next statement. “I’m not adopted. I’m his real son.”
The End of Part Nine
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