21. Lemon
Chapter 21
Lemon
T he wall feels cool against my back as I slump against it, barely holding myself upright. My eyes burn, vision blurred by a fresh wave of tears.
Dad, a traitor? No fucking way.
But as I look at Atticus' cold, calculating eyes, a chill runs down my spine. What if it's true? What if Dad really did screw over his best friend? The thought makes me want to puke.
I swallow hard, mind racing. How did I end up here? A couple of months ago, I was a normal college student. Now I'm at the mercy of my dad's best friend. A man old enough to be my father himself and yet there’s absolutely nothing fatherly about this man.
I'm broke, alone, totally fucked. And isn't that just peachy? Little Lemon Vaughn, collateral damage.
But what choice do I really have?
I take a shaky breath, trying to get my shit together. Ezra's still on his knees a few feet away, silent but squirming. His eyes dart between me and Atticus, hungry and a little scared.
Atticus stands there like some kind of fucked-up king. My stomach does a weird flip. Part disgust, part…something else. God, I'm so screwed up.
I swallow hard. My throat feels raw from crying. Survival mode kicks in, and I know I've gotta be smart about this. I’m not some completely helpless former rich girl.
I wipe my face with trembling hands, smudging mascara across my cheeks like some tragic clown. This isn’t me. I’m not this pathetic, wilted version of myself. I’ve survived worse than this—at least, that’s what I tell myself as I straighten up, peeling my back off the cold wall. Vulnerability tastes bitter on my tongue, but determination? That’s a flavor I need to reacquire.
Atticus arches a brow, his eyes pinning me in place like he can see straight through me. He looks amused, like a predator toying with its prey. “Well, lemon drop? Lost your courage already?” His voice is gruff and firm.
My legs are shaky, but I force myself to stand tall.
My dad might be rotting behind bars right now, but screw Atticus if he thinks I'm just going to roll over and play his little game without getting to the bottom of all of this shit.
If Dad was good at anything, it was teaching me how to bluff my way through the worst hands life could deal out. You don’t sit around poker tables with sharks in suits without learning a few tricks.
I lift my chin, squaring my shoulders even though I still feel like a shaky mess inside. The tears dry on my skin like old wounds scabbing over. “The deal still stands, right?” My voice is steadier than I expected it to be when I opened my mouth.
Atticus doesn’t answer right away; instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying me like an equation he plans to solve later at his leisure. Finally, his lips quirk into that smug little smirk of his. The one that makes me want to punch him and kiss him all at once.
“As long as you understand your place,” he says smoothly, gesturing between us with a flick of his wrist. “You stay under my roof; you follow my rules.”
The statement hangs in the air between us, loaded with implications. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.
This is it. The point of no return.
But what choice do I have? It's this or the streets.
“I understand.” I say quietly, forcing myself not to break eye contact this time. Whatever this is, breaking eye contact feels like forfeiting.
Ezra lets out some kind of breathy groan from his spot on the floor, and my gaze flicks toward him instinctively before snapping back to Atticus when he tuts sharply at me like I’m a disobedient pet. His hand shoots out firmly, gripping my chin between thumb and forefinger so hard it forces me to look up at him again.
“Eyes on me,” he murmurs low enough that it sends quivers crawling down places they shouldn’t go. “You’re not ready for distractions yet.”
I'm not prepared for the predatory gleam that flashes in Atticus' eyes. He chuckles, low and dangerous, sending a shiver down my spine.
"The deal stands, lemon drop," he purrs, circling me like a shark. "As long as you're a good little toy for me to play with."
Atticus towers over my five-four frame. He reaches out, trailing a finger along my jawline. I fight the urge to lean into his touch.
His hand snakes further, fingers threading into the waves of my hair until he grips the back of my head with a possessive hold that has my breath catching. The room feels too small now.
“Good toys don’t hesitate,” he says softly. His tone is dark and has heat pooling low in my belly.
Without warning, Atticus' lips press against mine, and my entire world goes up in flames. He tastes like whiskey and power and it makes me lightheaded. His tongue demands entrance, swirling around mine with ease. A soft moan slips from my throat when his teeth nip at my bottom lip before his tongue soothes the sting with languid strokes that leave me trembling. I’m unaware of everything until I hear Ezra's sharp intake of breath from a few feet away.
My eyes fly open, meeting Ezra's dark, heated gaze. His cheeks are flushed, his lower lip bitten and swollen with lust. The knowledge that I'm responsible for that look on his face is terrifying.
"Lemon," Atticus growls, reclaiming my attention.
I reluctantly tear my gaze away from Ezra and focus on Atticus. His gaze bores into mine. He tilts a hand and gestures to his fly, where his hard-on strains against his slacks.
"I believe we have some unfinished business, don't you think?" he asks coolly.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara, but I nod.
Slowly, shakily, I reach out and fumble with his belt, my hands trembling so badly I can barely make out the buckle. But I do it. I manage to undo his pants, my movements clumsy but determined. I'm strong, and if I have to suck my way to the top, so be it.
Finally, his pants are open, and his cock springs free, long and thick and intimidating. My eyes widen, but not with fear. No, this time it's different. Something hot and oh so wrong .
Atticus smirks down at me, one eyebrow raised in challenge. "Well, pet? Are you just going to stare, or are you going to earn your keep?"
Slowly, reluctantly, I sink to the plush rug, my gaze locked on his impressive erection. My mouth waters, and my pussy clenches in anticipation. I don't want to want this, but here I am, obeying myself like a good little sub.
Like Ezra obeys Atticus.
"That's it," he purrs, running a hand through my hair, gripping it firmly. "Open wide, pretty."
I do as I'm told, parting my lips for him as he positions himself at my lips. He doesn't give me a chance to think, shoving his cock into my mouth with one swift motion.
"Oh fuck," I moan around his thickness, my eyes watering.
"Good girl," Atticus praises, a teasing note in his voice. "Now suck it."
I do as he commands, bobbing my head along his shaft, taking him deeper with each pass. He tastes clean, almost salty like the ocean air, and I hate how much I'm starting to like it. His grip on my hair tightens, guiding my movements as he thrusts into my mouth.
"Suck it like you mean it, lemon drop."
I redouble my efforts, hollowing my cheeks and sliding my tongue along his length, eliciting a groan from him.
"That's right," he grunts. "Suck your uncle’s cock. Make it feel good."
The degrading, dirty talk should repulse me, but it has the exact opposite effect, my pussy clenching even tighter. I moan around his cock, vibrating my lips against his shaft, and he groans loud and low.
"Fuck, your mouth is so goddamn soft," he purrs, his voice guttural. "You like it, don't you? A part of you has always wondered what it would be like to suck on your daddy's best friend's cock."
The depravity of the situation sends a shiver down my spine, but I can't deny the need coursing through me. Atticus is right; there's something twisted about this, and I can't get enough. His cock is hard and hot in my mouth, the veins throbbing with each thrust, so close to gagging me.
"Fuck, that's it, just like that." His grip on my hair tightens even more. "You're getting the hang of this, aren't you?"
I can only manage a muffled moan in response, my cheeks reddening with both shame and arousal.
Atticus' thrusts become more forceful, practically fucking my throat. I gag and cough, but he doesn't let up. "Take it all," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "Show me what a good little whore you can be."
Humiliated and turned on, I relax my throat muscles, taking him deeper than I ever thought possible.
"Yes!" Atticus grunts as his hips pick up pace. "That's it, swallow my dick."
The filthy words spewing from his mouth are at odds with the distinguished man I once knew. His usual cool reserve has vanished, replaced by an animalistic display of lust and dominance that terrifies and arouses me.
My eyes water as I struggle to adjust, the salty tears blurring my vision. Ezra's soft whimpers slice through the heavy air. Atticus seems to feed off the sounds, his dominance escalating.
"You like watching this, playboy?" Atticus taunts, his voice thick with scorn as he keeps my head firmly in place. "You enjoy seeing her choking on me?"
My jaw aches, my throat stretched impossibly wide around Atticus' thrusts. Every muscle in my body tenses under the strain, yet I’m being so utterly consumed by his need.
"Answer me!" Atticus snaps, his grip shifting to tug sharply at my hair, coaxing a choked gasp from my lips. "Do you like it?"
"You know I do, Sir," Ezra breathes out, the word filled with a desperate kind of lust.
Atticus laughs darkly, clearly pleased with Ezra's admission. "Good boy," he mocks before turning his focus back to me. "And what about you, Lemon? You love choking on my cock? Being used like this?"
I try and nod my agreement, because he’s right. I do love this. I didn’t think I would or maybe I hoped I wouldn’t, but the heartbeat in my pussy and the stickiness of my thighs calls those thoughts, lies.
"Look at her, Ezra," Atticus commands between thrusts. His voice is a low rumble, vibrating against the back of my throat. "Look how nicely she takes it. Wouldn't you love to be in her place?"
Ezra moans, a sound so full of need that it sends a shiver down my spine.
Atticus' grip on my hair becomes unrelenting. He pulls back, only to slam forward again, making me gag as he hits the back of my throat. Tears stream down my face from the intensity, but it's not all pain—there's pleasure there, too.
There's something undeniably hot about being watched like this, displayed and devoured under Atticus' control. The room is filled with the sounds of wet, sloppy noises as my mouth works over him, each gag and gasp earning another groan or whimper.
“Such a good girl,” Atticus growls, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You’re so fucking beautiful when you cry for it.” His thrusts grow more erratic, signaling he’s close, and my heart races.
I brace myself, gripping his thighs for stability as he fucks my mouth with abandon. The room is filled with the obscene sounds of wetness and skin slapping against skin. It's filthy and utterly enthralling.
Suddenly, he stiffens, his grip tightening painfully in my hair. I brace myself as he drives deep one last time, holding me there as he spills down my throat.
He slowly pulls back after a moment, letting the last few spurts paint my face warm and sticky.
Breathing hard, I try to gather my senses, tasting him on my lips, feeling the heat of his release on my skin.
"Clean her up," Atticus orders Ezra without missing a beat.
Ezra, ever obedient, crawls over on all fours until he's right in front of me eyes roving over my cum-splattered face. His eyes never leave mine as he leans in, licking a thick strand of my cum from my cheek before lapping up the rest like a cat with cream. It should be degrading, but there's something oddly tender about it.
Atticus watches us with a smirk, stroking his now-softening cock as Ezra works meticulously to clean every drop from my face.
Ezra pulls me into a messy, open-mouthed kiss, sharing the remnants of Atticus between us. The taste is salty and musky, but I find myself moaning into the kiss.
Finally, he pulls away with a satisfied sigh, looking up at Atticus for approval.
"Good boy," Atticus says, patting Ezra's head condescendingly. “You may get up now.”
I'm still reeling from what just happened as Ezra helps me to my feet. His touch is gentle as he wraps an arm around my waist. Before I can catch my breath, he scoops me up like I weigh nothing.
Ezra carries me out of the office and down the hallway, his footsteps thumping on the hardwood floors. I can hear Atticus following behind us at a leisurely pace, his shoes clicking with each unhurried step.
Ezra sets me down on a plush, white bench near the gigantic, freestanding tub that looks more like a small pool than a place for a wash. I watch as he grabs a soft washcloth and runs it under warm water before walking back over to me and tipping my chin up.
He dabs at my face with the cloth, his touch impossibly gentle.
“You good?” he murmurs, his brown eyes searching mine.
“I’m fine,” I manage to croak, though my voice is hoarse and raw. My throat aches, but I can’t deny the pulsing warmth still pooling low in my belly.
Ezra smiles faintly, a flicker of something softer breaking through his usual confidence. His fingers linger on my jawline for a moment longer before he pulls back. “Good,” he says softly, like it matters to him that I am.
The cloth moves down to my neck, skimming over the sensitive skin there before he pulls back.
Behind him, Atticus leans casually against the doorframe, watching us with the kind of smug satisfaction that makes my pulse quicken. His tie is loosened now, the top few buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin and the faintest line of dark chest hair.
Ezra's fingers work magic as he massages lotion into my skin. The cool cream feels heavenly against my flushed cheeks, and I can't help but lean into his touch. His hands move up to my scalp, working out the tension I was holding. I close my eyes, losing myself in the sensation.
I let out a shaky breath. Ezra's fingers move up to my temples, kneading away. It's hard to believe this is the same guy who was just on his knees, watching me get face-fucked by Atticus. But here he is, taking care of me like I'm made of glass.
"You're good at this," I murmur, my voice still rough.
He chuckles softly. "I've had practice."
I wonder what kind of practice he means, but before I can ask, a shrill whistle cuts through the air.
Atticus' low chuckle draws my attention back to the doorway. He's still leaning there, looking like sin personified with his disheveled appearance. His eyes gleam with amusement.
"Come," he says, his voice a silky command. "You need tea to soothe your throat and keep it well lubricated."
Ezra helps me to my feet, his arm around my waist steady and warm. As we make our way out of the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My lips are swollen, my hair a wild mess, and there's a dazed look in my eyes that I barely recognize.
Is this really me now? Atticus Reid's little plaything?
The smell of chamomile and honey wafts through the air as we enter the kitchen. Atticus is there, pouring steaming liquid into delicate porcelain cups.
Atticus slides a mug toward me, his fingers brushing mine as I take it. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I nearly spill the tea.
"Careful," he murmurs, steadying my hand. "We wouldn't want you to burn that pretty little mouth of yours, would we?"
I shake my head, not trusting my voice. The tea is hot but soothing as it slides down my abused throat. I can feel Atticus' eyes on me as I drink, watching my every move.
Ezra settles onto the stool next to me, his thigh pressing against mine. The warmth of his body is comforting, and I find myself leaning into him slightly.
"Good girl," Atticus says, his voice low and approving. "Drink it all. I only like my toys broken on my terms and I prefer your throat to stay intact."
I don’t say anything else. What is there really to say?
I agreed to this. I signed the contract and while it is just a flimsy piece of paper, in this world, those delicate pieces of paper hold a lot of power.
He gave me an out, and I didn’t take it.
What happens from here is on me, and I’m mature enough to realize that and acknowledge it.
I don’t think I’ll survive Atticus Reid and Ezra Stratton, but it will give me the things I need to prove my dad’s innocence.
I feel it in my marrow that Lawson Vaughn did not do the things he’s been accused of.
Now I just have to prove it and make other people listen to me.
I might be a toy, but I’ll use these men just as much as they use me.
I have no other option.