Chapter One
Maggie
I’ve never been a fan of the color pink. In fact, some would argue I’m the most anti-pink human on the planet. My wardrobe typically consists of varying shades of black because, yes, not only is black a color, but it is also a very complex color with hundreds of different shades to it. Not today, though. Today, I am standing in front of six hundred uptight assholes drowning in a Pepto Bismol hued bridesmaid dress.
When my mother pulled it out of the bag and gave it to me this morning, I thought she was joking. Turns out my bridezilla of a mother was very much not joking. Now, here I stand, listening to a pastor drone on and on about their commitment to one another and Christ as well as eternal love. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes at that. Love is clearly not very eternal. Not when my father has been in the dirt less than ninety days and my mother is already marrying another man.
Say all you want about Calista Bartlett, but no one can deny the woman is an opportunist to the highest degree. She got a tiny taste of life without a meal ticket, life in this…society without a man to manage her every whim, and she panicked. Like a frantic animal, she latched onto the nearest thing she could; in this case, Harry Brenton. His wife died giving birth to his daughter twenty-one years ago, and he seemed more than happy to never remarry. So, why he up and decided to marry a widower with a twenty-one year old of her own less than three months later, I’ll never understand.
Glancing to my side, I look at my new stepsister. Bridgette Brenton. She’s a bitch to the highest degree. We’ve never exactly run in the same circles, but Salem is a small town, and the Brethren is an even smaller community. All of us have been raised together. Same schools, same sports teams, same parties. Bridgette and I don’t even have to exchange two words to know that we couldn’t be more different.
Where she is all prim and polished with her perfect manicure and made-up face, I’m more simple, laid back. Okay, fine, maybe a little on the goth side of things. Where she is all sleek black hair, flawless skin and bright blue eyes, I’m unruly red curls, green eyes that look more hazel than anything, and freckles practically everywhere. Don’t get me wrong, I’m hot as fuck and I know it too. Our appearances are just the beginning of what makes us so different.
She must feel my eyes on her because she looks away from our parents, gifting me with a sneer before straightening her posture and dropping eye contact. I can’t help but roll my eyes as I turn away. See what I mean? Fucking bitch.
After the bride and groom share an arguably inappropriately long kiss, my mother’s wide smile beams, and she tramps down the aisle with her brand new husband. Get it? Tramps? Because my mother is a tramp for moving on before my father could even become proper worm food. I know, I know. Dark humor, but if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry, and in this life, I’ve learned to never allow anyone to see weakness.
We go through about a thousand staged photos with countless amounts of people. My face hurts from grinning by the end of them, but I know if I don’t smile, there will be hell to pay. So, as petulant as I want to be and flip this fucking photographer off, I grin and bear it, counting down the minutes until I can burn this torturous dress and get a fucking drink. Or take a toke. Maybe both.
As dinner kicks off, I’m waiting at the bar for my drink when a pretty little blonde steps up beside me. My eyes rake over her slowly, appreciating the soft curves of her waist as her hips flare out in her green velvet dress. When my eyes come back up to hers, that soft caramel color is already on me, a tentative smile on her face.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.” I grin, giving her my most alluring smile.
Her expression flickers for a moment, but she doesn’t retreat.
Perfect.
“You’re Maggie, right? Calista’s daughter?”
“That’s me.” I smile. “And you?”
“I’m Claire. Harry’s niece.”
I nod. Makes sense why I don’t recognize her.
“First time in Salem?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “My parents and I live in New York. We come to visit every few months.”
“Interesting,” I say as the bartender comes back with my whiskey.
“What is?” she asks curiously.
“You come around every few months, and yet I don’t recognize you.”
“Oh? Do you make it your mission to familiarize yourself with anyone who comes into town?” she teases with a smile.
I allow my tongue to trace my bottom lip subtly, a little test of mine. When her eyes snap down to the movement and watch it carefully, I know I’ve got her. This one was almost too easy, though it’s for the best. I wasn’t looking for much of a chase tonight.
Biting back a small smile of my own, I take half of a step towards her, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as I allow my finger to trace down her neck before pulling away. Her breath upticks softly as I lower my voice for just her.
“When they look like you, absolutely.”
I can practically see the shiver running down her spine as her eyes flutter before looking up to me again. Typically, I try to be a little discreet at events like this. Being what the Brethren would consider “different” is not only frowned upon, it’s not tolerated. Being lesbian definitely falls under that justification, but tonight I’m sad, angry, and fucking horny. So, ask me if I give a fuck about the ramifications to come.
Holding my drink in one hand, I grab her hand with my other, lacing our fingers together as I wordlessly lead her out of the ballroom and towards the hallway. A few curious glances are thrown our way before everyone busies themselves with whatever the fuck they are so concerned about. Money, power, their next drink. It’s all the same. Oh, so boring and oh, so predictable.
“Where are we going?” Claire whispers, an excited lilt to her voice.
I look over my shoulder and give her a quick wink but don’t say a word as I lead us towards the bathroom. Pushing open the door, it swings shut behind us when I set my drink down onto the counter and cage Claire in against the wall. She inhales a sharp breath as her eyes bounce back and forth between mine. She looks hesitant but intrigued all at once, and I’m fucking living for it.
When you are a woman who loves women born into a patriarchal, archaic society, there aren’t a lot of opportunities to date others in the same place in their sexuality as you. So, I’ve settled for turning as many straight women as I can because, let’s face it, everyone is a little gay.
“Have you ever been with a woman, Claire?” I ask softly, trying not to spook the baby gazelle.
My fingers trace up her arm, drawing lazy patterns over her chest as I tilt my head curiously. She shakes slightly as she speaks.
“I-I’ve kissed my friend before. A couple times, when we were drunk,” she adds on like she’s defending herself.
I nod my head as my fingers move down her dress, my thumb brushing against her nipple before I pause at the hemline. She’s practically shaking with need as I press my body against hers.
“Do you want to kiss me?”
“Yes.” She breathes out.
I grin at that, cupping her face with my other hand as I pull her to me. She practically melts into me when our lips touch. She stumbles for a moment or two, and I let her find her rhythm before she becomes more comfortable. Once she does, I glide my tongue against hers, tangling ours together as my wandering hand begins to slide up her skirt. Her skin is as soft as her velvet dress, and when I run my finger along the seam of her lace panties, she shudders in my arms.
I pull away just for a moment so I can speak.
“Do you want me to touch you?”
She nods her head frantically, but that’s not enough. I need to hear her. She needs to beg me for it.
“Words, sweetheart. Give them to me,” I say as I run my mouth against her neck, nipping at her earlobe.
“Yes,” she moans. “Touch me.”
I smile against her sweet skin as my fingers slip beneath her panties, moving across her smooth cunt before slipping inside. She’s absolutely drenched, and when I push my finger in all the way, her pussy squeezes me twice.
Keeping my hold on her head, I drag her lips back to mine as I begin fingering her against the door. She moans into my mouth, whimpering and gasping as I continue working her over until she’s practically screaming against my lips. I finger fuck her through her orgasm and once it passes, I drop to my knees, lifting her dress to her hips and pulling her panties to the side as I flatten my tongue through her.
Her hands go to my head, keeping me there as a sweet moan leaves her lips. She rocks herself against me as my tongue circles her clit. So fucking sweet. My absolute favorite thing about pussy is that each one is completely unique. Different looks, feels, tastes. The saying “once you’ve had one, you’ve had them all” is absolutely not true when it comes to women. Women are decadent, unique, special, and I’m not ashamed to admit I’d love to spend my life sampling them all.
My eyes are on hers as my tongue spins in circles around her when the door opens, and a yelp escapes a shrill voice.
“Oh my fucking god!” Bridgette shouts. “That’s fucking disgusting!”
Claire panics, shoving me away as she shuffles her dress down and literally sprints out of the bathroom. There goes my fun for the night. Shooting Bridgette an irritated look, I stand to my feet and straighten my dress.
“Are you fucking serious? You’re just going to eat some chick out in the middle of the bathroom? In a bathroom that isn’t even locked?” She scoffs.
In the next moment, Asher Putnam steps inside, giving me a bored look before glancing at Bridgette.
“I thought I told you to be ready for me.”
Instantly, her demeanor changes. In a flash, her irritation and ire melt away, leaving only a submissive, docile little thing in its wake.
“I’m sorry, Ash. I?—”
“Don’t fucking call me that. Just bend over,” he snaps before spinning her and forcing her against the countertop.
Literally within two seconds, he has her skirt up, his cock out and is sinking inside her cunt. Bridgette’s mouth drops open, and honestly, I’m a little stunned at his brazen behavior. Then again, when you are the heir to the whole goddamn kingdom, I guess you can do whatever you want.
Asher grips her hips hard and is fucking her deep when his eyes meet mine in the mirror.
“If you’re gonna stay, then show me your tits or something,” he says, earning a disgruntled sound from Bridgette and a disgusted gag from me.
Fucking prick.
I push out of the bathroom feeling more than a little irritated. I lost my lay for the night, and honestly, I don’t have the energy to go find a new one. So, instead, I walk outside and ask the valet to call me a ride. I’m not staying here for another goddamn second.