by Kane, Jessa
“If you mess up my hair and makeup,” Cate breathes. “Mama will freak out.”
I slide a hand between her cunt and the hard surface of the desk, flexing my fingers and making her whimper. “I promise I’m only going to mess up this pussy.”
Her eyes are blue fire. “Yes. Please, Tristan.”
The way she speaks my name with such reverence makes my heart sprint—and suddenly there is more than one reason I need her in this office. I need promises, I need an understanding before she’s paraded around in front of other people. I need to remind her that we belong to each other and no one else. “Cate…” I frame her jaw in my hand, making sure she’s focused, giving me eye contact. “You’ve worked so hard. You are more than ready for tonight. And I’ll be there to guide you, okay?”
A hint of anxiety dances across her features and I realize she’s been hiding it well. “Okay.” She nods bravely. “I know you will.”
“Good.” I tilt her head sideways so I can trace the line of her neck with my tongue. “Starting tonight, men are going to want you, Cate. And they won’t know you’re mine.” My grip intensifies, along with the urgency in my blood. “But you will remember. Won’t you, sweetheart? When they strut like peacocks in front of you and ask you on dates, you will decline. You’ll decline knowing damn well you’re going to get on your back for your stepbrother later and spread your thighs.” My pulse is pounding in my ears. “I’m the only one who you’ll ever love. The only one who fucks you, kisses you, spoils you. Is that clear, little girl?”
“Yes. Yes. I’m yours,” she says shakily. “You didn’t have to remind me.”
“Oh, you’re going to be reminded.” I tuck my fingers into the sides of her panties and she lifts her hips, so I can drag them down her legs, stuffing the black, lacy things into my pocket. “You’re going to be reminded good and hard and often.”
“Now, Daddy?” She fumbles with my zipper. “Now?”
Lust rakes through me almost painfully, the need to release inside her, claim her, blistering. “In a minute.” I reach into my jacket pocket and produce a velvet box, flipping open the lid without looking, so I can witness her reaction. “This is to help you remember.”
I never would have believed myself the kind of man who buys a collar.
Not in a million years.
Then again, I’ve never been so determined to keep someone. Possess them. Nor will I ever be again. There is only Cate. And I want her pretty little neck wrapped in a reminder of who she belongs to. At all times. It’s only fair, considering there has been an invisible hand circling my throat since I met her, compressing my windpipe, making me short of breath. “If I can’t make it clear you’re mine in public, I want something beneath your clothes. Something we both know is there.” I take the thin, black strip of leather out of the box, fingering the gold ring connecting the two sides. “It means you’re off limits to anyone but me. Will you wear it for me, Cate?”
Her answer is to reach back and untie the knot at the nape of her neck, letting the top of her silk dress flutter down to her waist, baring her pert tits. “I want to wear it.”
I didn’t expect the rise of power inside of me. But when I circle her delicate throat with the leather and secure the clasp, something heady locks into place. By no means am I relaxed. How can I be when she’s half naked in front of me and I’m turned on beyond recognition? But there is a calming of a certain raging storm in my chest.
The claim has been made.
She’s mine.
And the symbolic granting of ownership sends us both into a frenzy, my hands yanking Cate to the very edge of the desk, her whimper of “Daddy” taking on a whole new meaning. Somehow my intuition must have known all along it was coming, it was what we needed. Her security. My dominance. Dominance that runs wild now, given free rein.
“Mine.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “Yours.”
I test her wetness with two fingers and find her dripping. Refusing to let a drop go to waste, I suck that sugary nectar off my fingers, then wrap a fist around my cock, guiding it between her legs. Pumping deep with a growl, I don’t pause to get used to her extreme tightness. There’s no time. And she doesn’t want to wait, either. As usual, my stepsister is a fucking wildcat, her nails digging into my ass, her hips scooting sharply to meet every single one of my thrusts, lust sparking in her eyes.
The sounds that come out of us belong in a jungle.
Two animals in heat, mating for their lives.
Grunting, straining, fucking.
I bite down on her collar, practically climbing her petite body, trying to get my cock deeper and she yanks me by the flesh of my ass, whining for harder, faster, more. The desk rocks beneath us, the feet elevating off the floor and slamming back down. Vaguely, I realize the thumping can be heard downstairs, but there is no rational thought involved when I’m inside this girl, this sweet, dirty girl who begs for my dick like it’s her last breath.
I shove my mouth up against her ear. “Who’s Daddy’s little come slut?”
An exultant sob wrenches from her mouth. “I am.”
“Who needs to be fucked constantly because she’s a horny little girl?”
Her tits bounce exquisitely in time with my reckless thrusts. “Me!”
I pound into her harder, pressure burning up and down my spine, telling me the end is close. Of course it is. She’s like a manacle around my cock, squeezing, her beauty choking me, eating me alive. I’m so fucking close and so is she, her clit swelling more and more every time I stroke against it—
The door to my office opens.
My father stands there, his face impassive as he watches me fuck my stepsister. Brutally. And I don’t stop. I can’t. I’m too close and she needs the release. The hot, desperate little noises she’s making, the quickening of her cunt, tell me the storm is about to break.
“Guests are arriving,” my father bites out.
“Get the fuck out!” I roar, bending her back over the desk and tossing her legs up over my shoulders, baring down with my hips, pinching her nipples to push her over the edge.
My father remains there for a few seconds too long, watching, but he finally leaves, the door clicking shut to mark his exit. I drag my fingers across her spiked nipples one more time, then down to the juncture of her thighs, rubbing her clit, teasing in circles until her back arches and her eyes go blind. She quakes around me, babbling my name, hips still lifting and grinding back down on my cock, insatiable, perfect. Mine.
“I fucking love you,” I rasp, letting my come erupt with a shout, watching from above as it fills her, the delicate pink flesh of her cunt milking me, accepting it into her body greedily.
Desperate to have her close as possible, I draw her up off the desk into my arms, rocking her against my chest. “I love you, too,” she whispers.
And in that moment, we’re too bonded to break.
But a fear voices itself in the back of my head, warning me of the tests ahead…
10
Cate
With the collar around my neck, I’m somehow more free than I’ve ever been.
Even while riding a tire swing barefoot or frolicking with fireflies in the wilderness.
I feel like I could leap from the top of the staircase and float down, into the entry area where guests are beginning to congregate in their finery. But I’m not nervous about how the night will unfold, like I thought I would be. There’s power flowing through me. It’s not coming from the the thin strip of leather Tristan clasped around my throat, but that leather choker is a reminder of the authority I hold. It’s a reminder of my position in the relationship with the man descending the stairs behind me. How much I’m needed. How much I need in return.
My sex is swollen between my thighs, still tingling from my stepbrother’s hostile treatment. My nipples are sensitive from his palms. I want to make a good impression tonight, so I remind myself for the tenth time that I checked myself in the mirror. Apart from my flushed cheeks
, there are no outward signs of what happened in Tristan’s office. No one is the wiser.
Well.
My stepfather is aware of my relationship with his son now. But I recall Elton’s face when he opened the door and he wasn’t surprised. It was almost as though he expected to find Tristan and me entangled on the desk. It was also obvious he isn’t happy about it.
I avoid Elton’s gaze as I enter the spacious entryway, although his attention burns along my shoulders. Two dozen or so guests milling around making small talk, receiving glasses of bubbly champagne from silver trays. Jewelry from the female guests winks in the candlelight, uniformed waitresses easily weave in and out of groups unnoticed. The men, coiffed and dapper in their suits, eye me with interest. Maybe even with lust, which I now recognize.
When my presence in the room begins to be the cause of speculation, Mama clinks a spoon to her champagne flute. “Thank you so much for coming, everyone. We’re glad you could make it. We’ve invited you to dinner at Governor Garner’s home this evening for dinner, but we must confess to an ulterior motive.” She smiles warmly at my stepbrother, who is standing just beyond my shoulder. “Governor, would you like to do the honors?”
“Yes, thank you, Rebecca.”
Tristan’s professional tone is so different from the one that rasps in my ear. Robust and confident, but definitely no less sexy. I paste a fond smile onto my face and turn to meet his eyes, my hands folded politely at my waist. The way I practiced with my etiquette instructor when we went over the proper behavior when introduced tonight.
A flicker of heat passes through his eyes and my core clenches, the moment passing too quickly for anyone to notice but the two of us.
No one will ever know about the two of us.
I’ve known this. But somehow having the collar around my neck makes the realization hit harder. Hit…differently. We could stay together forever, but only ever in secret. There will be no wedding. No children. Just secrecy. Hidden symbolism under my clothes, just like the love bruises and bites he leaves on me.
My thoughts must show on my face because Tristan hesitates, his brow furrowing slightly, before he continues.
“We have a new addition to the Garner family. It is my honor to present you Miss Cate Worthington. My stepsister and Rebecca’s daughter from a previous marriage.” He smiles right through the ensuing commotion. “Until recently, she was living with her father down south, but she’s chosen to make her home in Connecticut and we couldn’t be more pleased to have her.”
Remembering what I was taught, I make sure to look at least five people in the eye and smile, nothing to hide. If I pretend there is nothing out of the ordinary, they won’t go digging into my past and find out my father died a year ago. That I was a minor left to my own devices. Or that Rebecca had walked out on her family to marry Elton.
“Thank you,” I say smoothly, accepting a champagne glass from one of the passing trays, holding it up. “I’m too young to drink this. You won’t tell anyone, will you?” I laugh and the room laughs along with me. “I look forward to meeting all of you.” Two men, who appear to be reporters, scribble onto notepads and absently, I notice one of them is wearing Superman cuff links. “In the meantime, thank you to my mother, stepfather and the governor for welcoming me so warmly into the fold. Cheers, everyone.”
The next hour is a blur.
Mama escorts me from group to group and I answer questions about life in the south. Questions about the heat, mostly. For some reason these people are super fixated on weather. I deftly avoid any specific mention of the town where I lived and my father’s name. Distracted by ample champagne and the appetizer service, no one seems to find anything amiss, nor do they see fit to question my mother about her previous marriage.
An older woman pulls Mama to the side to speak about a political proposal and I’m left alone for the first time in an hour. My mouth hurts from talking, so I fade into the shadows and take the opportunity to recharge, automatically seeking out Tristan with my gaze. And there he is, across the room, looking presidential and formidable, men gathered around him and hanging on every word. Mid-sentence, his attention zeroes in on me and heats, causing a low tug in my belly.
I avert my eyes, but run a finger along the jewelry beneath my clothes and I know he sees me, because I hear him clear his throat hard.
Smiling to myself, I start to venture toward the backyard for some fresh air, but a young man steps into my path. “Miss Worthington? I was hoping I’d have a chance to say hello.” His eyes seem kind, so I shake the hand he offers, smiling back. “I’m Greg Turner. One of the governor’s junior advisors.” His smile is broad, revealing a crooked front tooth. “I was wondering if you were planning to work for the campaign.”
I don’t have to dig far for my practiced answer. “No. But I’ll be working on my mother’s charitable committees, and since the governor is involved so often, I’ll suppose I’ll be working with the campaign indirectly on occasion.”
“Ah.” He nods, stepping closer, if hesitantly, and there’s a blush forming on his cheeks. “That’s too bad. I was kind of hoping I’d see you around the offices—”
“Is there something you need, Mr. Turner?” Tristan asks, stepping into view. “If not, I believe my stepsister has enjoyed enough of your attention.”
“Sorry, Governor.” Greg puts a larger gap of distance between us. “You’re right, I’m monopolizing her time. My apologies, Miss Worthington.”
I shake my head, trying to comfort him with a smile. “No need to apologize.”
Greg sighs, seemingly transfixed by me.
“You were going?” Tristan prompts Greg when he lingers.
The young man jolts, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Right. Sorry.”
Greg scurries off, melting into a group of men in suits.
Tristan’s back is to the rest of the room, so no one can see the hard look he gives me. “And so it begins,” he mutters. “Did you have to be so fucking beautiful, Cate?”
With that, he turns on a heel and rejoins his group, snapping a glass of champagne off a nearby tray and downing it in one gulp. It’s the briefest of encounters with my stepbrother and yet my knees are shaking, my pulse drumming crazily. As the evening wears on, it’s getting harder to hide my attraction to him in a room full of people. I want to be pressed up against his side, I want him to lean down and kiss me while someone else tells a story.
But that’ll never happen.
My gnawing worries are given a voice when my stepfather appears at my elbow, a glass of liquor in his hand. “He’ll never acknowledge you. Not the way you need.”
I flush to my hairline.
Not only have I been caught doubting my relationship with Tristan, but this is the man who saw me nearly naked an hour ago, seconds away from an orgasm. I barely resist the urge to curl my arms around myself protectively.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” I whisper through cold lips.
“His political career will always come first.” Elton lowers his voice. “Did you think this makeover might give you a chance with him? Out in the open?”
No.
No, I didn’t think that. Did I?
Yes. Deep, deep down I did.
Maybe I believed on some level that these supposed improvements might make me worthy of love in the light. With Tristan. If not that, there is definitely a huge part of me that wishes I didn’t need to be transformed at all. That I could be loved just for me. I would have been content with that. But it’s too late. I’ve allowed it to happen. I was so worried about making my new family ashamed of me, I’ve shamed myself. Who I was. Where I’ve been.
“This will hold him back, career-wise, you know. With a wife and children, he might have a real shot at the White House. But it’ll never happen now, they’ll uncover his dirty little secret eventually. It always comes out in the wash.”
Dirty little secret.
This is what I was afraid of. That the words Tristan whispers i
n my ear during sex would reach outside the bedroom. Follow me into real life. I love the way that sentiment makes me feel when he’s inside me, but I don’t like them now. The warm glow that was wrapped around me on the way downstairs is gone, replaced with barbed wire digging into my skin.
“Cate.” I shake myself out of my thoughts and find Tristan looking down at me. When did he cross the room? “She’s upset,” he growls at Elton. “What did you say to her?”
“Nothing that wasn’t true.”
A muscle hops in Tristan’s cheek. I watch the angry movement happen through a blur, thanks to the unwanted tears clouding my vision. “Tristan,” I manage. “It’s fine.”
“Look at you. It’s not fine.” He takes two harsh breaths. “Get everyone out of my house. Now.”
The order causes his father to do a double take. “What? Are you serious?”
“Get. Everyone. Out.” Tristan speaks through his teeth. “Or I’ll throw them out.”
Rebecca notices the tension and joins us with a forced smile. “Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not. The party is over.”
Tristan’s no-nonsense tone registers with my mother and she doesn’t question him, cogs turning behind her eyes. “I’m so sorry, everyone,” she calls, turning to face the room. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well. We’re going to have to cut this party short.”
The four of us don’t move as the guests collect their things and file out of the house, accepting small gifts on their way out from yet another silver tray. Tristan looks like he’s going to snap, Elton is visibly nervous and as usual, my mother is smoothing everything over with the confused people who only got half a party.
The door closes on the final guest and I hold my breath.
