by Hannah Ford
“You think your father hurt Violet?” Bile rose in my throat. Victor Sheer was a force to be reckoned with. He had money and power, and who knew what else. If he wanted Violet to stay away from Conner, he had the ability to do whatever it took to make that happen.
“No.” Landon shook his head. “One of his men.” Landon was angry now, I could tell. The same mental picture of men in dark suits and sunglasses passed through my mind, and I tried to ignore it, not wanting anything connecting Landon and his father.
“And you knew nothing about it?” I pressed, wanting to hear him say it, needing to hear him say it, even if I wasn’t sure I would believe it.
“Nothing.” He shook his head, then reached up and ran his finger over my cheek. I reached for his hand, gripping his wrist. I wanted to believe him so badly, but my head was swimming now, taken over by the force that he was, by the rip current that pulled me under every time he was near.
“Landon,” I said. “Landon.” I wanted to ask why he hadn’t called, why he’d left me in this limbo torture, but I didn’t.
“I don’t want to keep secrets from you,” he growled.
“Yeah?” I said, and I ducked out from under his arm before he could stop me and whirled around. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Then don’t.”
It was a test, a confrontation, a challenge.
Landon’s eyes went dark and hooded, and then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
He put it on speaker, and a second later, a man’s voice answered.
“Landon.” Victor Sheer was annoyed, short, impatient. “I’m in the middle of dinner with the DA. What is it?”
“You want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Landon growled.
“You called me, Landon,” the older Sheer said. “The only thing going on here is that I’m giving my drink order.” The line went quiet for a minute, and in the background I could hear the muffled sound of conversation and the din of silverware. Then Victor’s voice, ordering someone to get him a double bourbon, neat.
When he came back on the line, he was even more annoyed.
“Is that why you called? So you could accuse me of things using ambiguous language, or is there something specific you’d like to discuss with me?”
“Violet Courtland. She was assaulted tonight.”
“I know nothing about that.”
“Whoever attached her told her to stay away from Conner.”
Victor sighed. “It was probably a jealous lover. You know your brother, leaving a string of broken hearts in his wake. Of course, with Conner, you can never be –“
“It wasn’t a fucking jealous lover. And if you think I’m going to stand by while you hurt people I care about, then you’re wrong.”
Victor’s laugh came through the phone, and it sent shivers up my spine. “People you care about?” There was a pause, and a rustling noise, as if Victor was moving away from the table, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower. “You’ve known these people for hardly any time at all, Landon. And I don’t know why you and your brother are so determined to be with these women, why you’re so determined to ruin everything we’ve built, but they must have pussies of gold.” He laughed again.
“If you talk about them like that again, so help me God – ”
“You’ll do nothing, Landon. You’ll do nothing or these people you care about so much will regret having ever met you and your brother.” And then the phone went dead.
Landon slipped the phone back into the pocket of his perfect suit, his hand shaking just the tiniest bit.
If there had been any question in my mind about him knowing who’d hurt Violet before he’d come over, it was gone.
The look on his face couldn’t have been faked.
“So what now?” I asked.
“Now I don’t leave your side until I figure out what the fuck is going on.”
And with that, he reached past me, opened the door, and walked into my apartment.
Emma was sprawled on the couch when we came in, and she stood up, stumbling in her boots and almost falling over before she was able to right herself.
“Oh, hi,” she said brightly, like we’d been having a party and not helping my sister who’d been violently assaulted. “Hi, Landon! Remember me? Emma? Aven’s roommate?”
“Yes.” He looked at her, his cool blue eyes taking in the state she was in, and then glancing at me with disapproval. I knew already what he was thinking. That Emma was drunk, and I’d been out with her, dressed like I was.
But I refused to be made to feel bad.
He hadn’t called me in three days.
If I wanted to go out and have fun, that was my right.
Landon then turned his attention to Violet, who was still sitting on the couch. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “I think so.” Her hands twisted in her lap. “I mean, physically I am. I talked to Conner, he’s on his way home from California.”
“We should call the police,” I tried.
“No!” Violet pleaded. “Please, Aven, it will just make things worse.”
Landon walked closer to her and studied her face. “She needs these cuts cleaned out,” he ordered. “Can you follow my finger?” He moved his index finger back and forth in front of her face, then turned away. “She doesn’t have a concussion. You should get her to bed.”
“Good idea,” Emma chirped. She was back on her phone now, scrolling through her instagram account. “You should definitely get right to bed, and not be up wandering around, getting into things.”
Landon ignored her. “Where is your room?” he asked me.
“Down the hall, on the right.”
“I’ll wait for you there.”
I helped my sister clean out her wounds, then gave her a clean t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants.
Emma had gone to bed, so I set Violet up on the pullout couch with an ice pack for her eye, Netflix on the tv, and a fresh glass of water on the table next to her.
“Do you have everything you need?” I asked, pushing her hair back from her forehead softly.
She nodded. “I’m going back to Conner’s in the morning,” she said firmly.
“Violet –“
“Aven, please,” she said. “I’m sorry for everything, really, I am. I shouldn’t have just taken off like that without telling you, but when Conner told me we might be related, I was scared. And embarrassed, and grossed out and just…” She trailed off. “We’re getting the DNA results tomorrow, did you know that?”
I shook my head.
“And then this whole thing will be over.” She sounded so confident, so sure of herself that I sighed. This was typical Violet. – always the optimist.
“We’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?”
“Okay,” she murmured sleepily, handing me the ice pack as she settled down underneath the blanket I’d given her, the comforter I’d kept and taken from the lake house, the one our mom always gave us when we were sick because she said it had special healing powers.
“Do you want me to sleep out here with you?” I asked
“No.” She shook her head. “No. Go to Landon, Aven. He loves you.”
“No,” I scoffed. “Trust me, he doesn’t.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “Trust me, he does.”
She gave my hand a squeeze, and I wanted to ask her how she knew, if Conner had said something to her, but a second later, she was fast asleep, her chest rising and falling in tandem with her breathing.
I left her on the couch and headed down the hallway.
Emma’s room was dark, but she’d left the door open just a crack, and I peered inside.
She was sprawled out on her bed in just her underwear, snoring softly, her hair spread out around her like a halo. I checked to make sure she was on her back, and then left her.
When I got to my room, Landon was sitting on my bed.
He was still in his expensive suit, and he looked out of place here – too large, too over
powering for the space. I was suddenly aware of every little thing about my bedroom, every little detail that seemed out of place or not good enough.
The tiny twin bed, the clothes overflowing from the hamper, the cordless blinds I’d been so proud to hang up by myself, but now just looked cheap and out of place.
“They’re both sleeping,” I said, trying not to think about the rooms Landon was used to being in, the sheer opulence of everything. I was sure the women he’d been with had the same kind of rooms, filled with fancy furniture and cashmere blankets and windows with sweeping views of the Manhattan skyline.
The only window in my room looked out onto the building next door.
“Good.”
“You can go now, “ I said. “Everything’s fine.”
“I’m not leaving.”
I crossed the room to the hamper and pushed the clothes inside. Something about him being in my room was extremely unnerving, almost too intimate.
“It’s really not necessary for you to stay.”
“I think it is necessary,” he said. “Your sister was attacked tonight.”
“I’ll lock the doors.”
“I don’t think I can trust you to keep yourself safe.”
“You don’t think you can trust me?”
“No.” He shook his head, obviously missing the accusation in my tone. “Not when you go out looking like that.” His eyes slid up my body again, taking in the short dress I was wearing.
“I can go out looking any way I damn well please,” I said.
His eye twitched. “Do you know how I was able to get here so quickly, Aven?”
“You told me. Because your men we were watching my apartment, and you saw Violet when she got here.”
“Yes, that’s true. But I was already on my way here. Do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because my men had seen you, Aven. They’d seen that you’d been out, that you were dressed provocatively, and they said you’d been talking to boys.” He spit out the word boys, as if it even saying it were some kind of assault on his intelligence.
“I wasn’t talking to boys,” I said, rolling my eyes. “What is this, high school?”
“Don’t talk back, Aven. Or this will end up being much worse.”
“What will?” My heart was thrumming.
“What I’m about to do to you.”
My pulse leapt against my wrist, and warm, throbbing heat collected and slipped down between my thighs, dampening my panties.
“No.” I shook my head. “No, that’s not going to happen.”
“Isn’t it?” he said, one side of his mouth quirking up into a rueful smile. “Come here, Aven.”
“No.”
He stood up in one smooth movement, removed his suit coat and placed it across my desk. My desk was so tiny that the arms of his coat hung over the edges, draping toward the floor.
Then he began to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt, taking his time, his movements methodical and deliberate. He removed his cufflinks and set those down on the desk next to his coat. The room had gone quiet, so quiet that every one of his movements was amplified, and the clink of his cufflinks against the desk sent fear skittering up my spine.
“If you do not come here, Ms. Courtland, I will be forced to come and get you. And I don’t think we want that, now do we?”
“No, sir,” I said, because I knew he would, knew he would come and pick me up if he decided to, knew he would have his way with me.
Because when it came right down to it, I was powerless.
He was a force to be reckoned with, and my body was responding to his commands, to the sight of him standing there, tall and strong and dominant, his deft fingers rolling up his shirtsleeves, revealing tan, muscled forearms.
What did it matter? I thought. He might not have loved me, but why did sex and love have to be so intertwined? I couldn’t imagine anyone else touching me the way he did, bringing me to the same heights of pleasure, making me feel ecstasy I never could have imagined existed.
And if he was just going to leave me again, shouldn’t I get something out of it too? Shouldn’t I get a release, a reprieve, let him take over and lose myself in him one more time?
He sat back down on the bed, his eyes moving over me hungrily.
“Come here, Ms. Courtland, so I can take you over my knee.”
My own knees shook as I walked toward him. He took me around the waist, pulled me to him, his hands moving over my hips as he licked his bottom lip. Lust burned between us, so strong that for a second, I was sure he was going to take me right there, was going to throw me onto the bed and fuck me until I was limp.
But instead, his eyes glinted and he pushed me over his knee.
His hand brushed my hair back from my neck, and his other hand rested on my backside.
“Do you know what it does to me, imaging you out in a dress like this?”
“No, sir.”
His left hand slipped down to the back of my thighs, and his nails trailed softly over the skin there, the light touch sending shivers of anticipation through my entire body.
“It drives me insane,” he said, and now his right hand was sliding down the front of my dress, over my nipples. “Thinking about men looking at you.” His fingers tightened around my nipple and he twisted, so hard I gasped.
Then he brushed his lips against the nape of my neck, and leaned down, whispering right in my ear. “You are mine.”
His fingers pinched my nipple harder, and eyes filled with tears, because of the pain, but also because I couldn’t tell what this was, couldn’t tell if this was real. Why did he keep saying things like that if he was just going to disappear for days? I pushed the thoughts out of my mind. This was about sex, I told myself. Sex and nothing else.
“Say it.”
“I am yours.”
“Good girl.” He pulled up the back of my dress, leaving my ass in the air, covered by nothing except the tiny thong I was wearing. A guttural sound emanated from his throat. “You’re wearing the thong from Vermont.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The one I gave you.”
“If you call leaving it upstairs in a bedroom giving it to me, then yes.”
He twisted the material hard, pulling it taut against my skin, so that it bit into me. I grimaced and tried not to cry out.
“The lingerie I give you is for my eyes only, Ms. Courtland.”
“Then maybe you should have been around to see it.”
This retort earned me a slap on my ass, hard and stinging.
I gasped as he twisted the satin material of the thong tighter, so tight I knew it was going to leave a nasty indent in my skin.
“Why do you insist on disobeying me?” he demanded.
“Because your rules are confusing,” I answered honestly. “They make no sense and they – ” A string of blows reigned down on my ass, hard and fast, three, four, five, so many I lost count as the pain pulsed through my body in rippling waves, leaving me speechless. It was the hardest he’d ever spanked me, and even though his belt and his whip may have left more pain, this was intense in a different way, the pain somehow more intimate as it was given to me by nothing but him, skin to skin.
My legs went limp as I waited for the endorphins to take over, for the pain to dissipate into a heady pleasure.
But just as it was, he began to spank me again.
“Do you understand when I tell you that you will not wear lingerie I give you out when you are flirting with other men?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who was the man you were flirting with?”
I thought about telling him I wasn’t flirting with anyone, but then I remembered he’d had me followed. I tried to conjure up the memory in my mind of who I’d been taking to at the bar, but it was grainy at best, half because of what had happened with Violet, and half because the guy had been so forgettable.
“He was no one,” I said. “Just some guy who was there. His friend was buying Emma drink
s.”
“Did you drink, Aven?”
“A little.”
He spanked me again and then pulled me up so that I was sitting on his lap sideways, my legs draped across him.
His cock was rock hard, straining his pants and pushing against my ass.
He pulled me into a kiss, his tongue parting my lips slowly, kissing me languidly, setting me on fire.
His hand stroked my bare thigh, moving up over my hip, skating over my rib cage until he reached the top of my dress. He separated the fabric from my skin slowly, pulling it down until I was in just my bra.
He lowered his head and sucked my nipple through the lacey material, and I gasped.
“You cannot do things like that,” he said, cupping my chin, running his finger over my cheekbone. “It’s dangerous.”
I looked away.
“Aven,” he said sharply.
“Then why didn’t you call?”
“Dammit, Aven.” He flipped me over, dropping me onto the bed, his eyes wild, the expression on his face like a caged animal. “Do you understand that when I tell you something, you will do it, no questions asked?”
“Then do what you promised,” I said. “You said you would call, and you never did.”
He began to unbutton his shirt, quickly, and then he was yanking at my dress, pulling it off me, leaving me in just my bra and panties.
“No,” I said, scrambling toward the top of the bed. “I want to talk about this.”
He growled and grabbed my legs, pulled me down the bed toward him roughly, so rough that the comforter brush-burned my skin.
He pried my thighs open, his fingers digging into me – hard -- and then his mouth was down there, between my legs, on my pussy through my panties. A moan escaped my lips as his end-of-day stubble brushed against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. His tongue licked a straight line up my slit, and then he pushed my thong to the side impatiently. He slid a finger up inside of me before pulling it out slowly, and I watched as he sucked it into his mouth.
“Your body will never lie to me, angel,” he whispered. “You’re so fucking wet. You like this. You want this. You can tell me you don’t, but I know better.” And then he was back down there, his palm flat on my lower belly as he held me down and began to fuck me with his tongue.
