Chapter 16
Alistair
Her location dot blinked on the screen—right in the middle of the university’s main building. The canteen. I leaned back in my chair and watched it pulse. Of course she was using her lunch break wisely. Good girl. Always trying so hard to be the best she could. She rarely complained.
My girl.
Callie was the definition of a good girl gone feral.
A sweet student with the face of an angel, lips that pouted when she read too long, and a cunt that pulsed around my cock like it was made for me.
She reminded me how much pressure came with being the perfect student.
The kind of girl who never asked for anything—until I made her beg.
And yet, even knowing how hard she worked, how tired she was… did it stop me from trying to knock her up?
Hell. No.
It was why I was militant about her sleep and nutrition.
Her name lit up my screen, and I opened the message before the preview faded.
Callie: I’m sorry for not taking my vitamins.
Please don’t fail me.
I’ll do anything you want…
My cock twitched at the desperation laced through those little pixels. I could think of a dozen things she could do for me—starting with begging on her knees and ending with her soaked, wrecked, and panting in my bed.
Another message pinged through.
Callie: All your food is outstanding. I’m convinced you could make lentils edible. The sauce on this chicken wrap is to die for!
I smirked, shaking my head. She never asked for much. Just my body, my dominance, and my come. The usual. She didn’t whine for gifts or get pissy if I didn’t text fast enough. No—her rebellion came in the form of refusing to take her prenatal vitamins or giving me sass.
She even sent me money-off coupons from her student app, like I was some broke roommate. She tried to nurture me while I plotted ways to fill her with another load the second I got her alone.
Me: Okay, baby. I’ll be waiting for you at the usual spot. Today is the last day you forget to take your vitamins…
I set the phone down, letting her stew in it. She’d spend the next three hours—three hours and eighteen minutes—thinking about what punishment I’d dish out.
But first, I had work to do.
I turned back to my desk and pulled up both of their profiles, one on each monitor, side by side like suspects waiting to be cross-examined.
Martin and Francine Shaw. Or Fran, as she liked to call herself. Staunch Catholics. Stiff-backed snobs. Conservative in every sense of the word, except when it came to their own hypocrisy.
Francine had more digital breadcrumbs. I clicked through her posts, her comments, her entire activity trail like I was gutting a deer. Then I found it.
The Easter photo.
To most people, it would look wholesome—a family in front of a church, all smiles and tradition.
But I zoomed in.
Martin—smiling, relaxed.
Francine—rigid, righteous, posing like she was auditioning for sainthood.
And the daughter who wore a white blouse, navy pinafore, head dipped, eyes peering through glasses. No smile. Not a real one. Just a ghost of one.
That little girl was Callie.
Sweet, quiet Callie who couldn’t raise her voice if she tried. Who flinched at conflict but took my cock like she was starving for it. That child in the photo had never been allowed to just… be.
She looked about the same age Harry was now.
And I couldn’t imagine Harry or Ella like this.
Every picture Sophie or Eric sent was chaos, love, messy hair, missing socks—joy. Real joy.
My gut wasn’t wrong.
I trawled through more images. They were all the same—different years, different events, but the same stiffness in their poses, the same vacant smiles.
Nothing about those photos looked joyful.
They looked curated. Controlled. As if every snapshot had been rehearsed and approved before the shutter clicked.
Francine stood like a queen surveying her kingdom, her posture rigid and prideful.
Callie looked like a shadow of a child. Always neat, always polite, but never at ease. Never carefree or messy.
A slow burn lit in my chest. I scrubbed a hand down my face, jaw tight.
If Callie wanted to be a brat for the rest of our lives, I’d buy her a tiara and roll out a fucking red carpet. She could scream at me, throw things, test me, tease me—I’d welcome it. At least she’d be free.
I looked back at the monitors.
Lucky for them that she didn’t belong to them anymore.
She belonged to me now.
And if either of them tried their bullshit with Callie, I’d show them what righteous fucking fury looked like.
I grabbed my phone, thumb hovering over the FaceTime button.
Time to call my parents. I didn’t appreciate them enough. They were coming home for Christmas, but that was months away.
No.
They’d come for my wedding.
I grinned and tapped the icon.
?? ?? ??
I was armed—locked, loaded, and already half-hard—for a filthy weekend away at my lodge.
As I unlocked the door, I watched her from the corner of my eye.
Her lips parted with a soft gasp the moment she stepped inside.
That was the sound I came here for. I smiled, following her in and shutting the door behind us.
The open-plan living room was flooded with natural light, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking rolling green hills and an endless sky. I could’ve brought her to a five-star suite in the city, but this was better. Quiet and isolated. There was no escaping me.
She rushed forward, tossing her bag onto the couch before spinning around like a fucking dream. Her eyes were wide, gleaming with that curious light I loved.
“How many properties do you actually have?” she asked, stepping toward the window, mesmerised.
“Enough to retire,” I said, stalking up behind her. I let my hands slide over her waist, then down to rest over the soft curve of her stomach.
She leaned back into me without hesitation. That always did something to me. Like her body was built to fit mine.
“Hm. Rich and old,” she murmured. “Does that make me a gold digger?”
I chuckled, lowering my head to kiss the side of her neck. “Nah, baby. You’d still want me for my cock even if I were broke.”
Then I moved one hand down and palmed her crotch through her leggings. Her breath hitched.
“You’d come for this,” I whispered against her ear, “again and again—same as you do now.”
She went still. Not tense. Just expectant. Like her body already knew I was about to ruin her weekend in the best possible way.
“Go relax. Or explore,” I said, sliding my hand away with deliberate slowness. “I’m going to bring the bags in.”
The moment I stepped back, I saw it—the heat in her eyes, the slight tremble in her thighs, the need in her that always made me hard.
She didn’t say anything.
She didn’t have to.
Her pussy would be soaked by the time I came back.