CHAPTER NINETEEN
(Charlotte)
Twenty-three minutes. It took twenty-three minutes for anyone to ask me a question about myself. Catherine had dominated the table with a long report on her philanthropic pursuits, the prestigious school her creepy haunted children attended, and the business accomplishments of her husband—now due to arrive in the morning, having the good fortune of snagging an early tee time.
I tried to be as interactive as possible, smiling at the children when their hobbies were mentioned—and relieved when none of them involved taxidermy—and nodding with interest when Elizabeth did.
It did no good to take cues from Matt. He’d focused on drinking as much wine as possible and demolishing his hors d’oeuvres and soup course.
I tried to remember how the number of cutlery pieces indicated the number of courses in a meal. We’d been served two. From the glittering array of silver left, we had at least seven more.
Hors d’oeuvres, soup, appetizer, palate cleanser, fish… No, hors d’oeuvres, soup, appetizer, fish, palate cleanser—
“Charlotte,” Catherine said suddenly, physically jolting me out of my mental calculation. “I’m sorry, I’ve been so rude. None of this can possibly be of interest to you.”
I recovered quickly. “Of course, it is. I came to get to know Matthew’s family. What better way to learn all about you?”
Her eyes narrowed. She’d barely touched her soup, a summer melon, spinach, and prosciutto concoction that had sounded revolting at first but was delicious.
And I couldn’t eat mine with her staring at me like a hypercritical hawk from the end of the table.
“I don’t know how useful the knowledge will be.” She laughed as if she’d made a joke.
I answered her in all seriousness. “I don’t come from a large family. It’s just me and my parents and my brother, so I have to get the hang of nieces and nephews and sisters-in-law.”
“Well, I’m not your sister-in-law,” Catherine said, her laugh frozen on her face. “You’re not married to Matthew.”
My stomach dropped. Oh God, would Matt think I was already designing the ring in my head? “That’s not what—”
“Speaking of siblings,” Elizabeth began. She was seated at the head of the table in a royal blue gown with beaded peacock feather accents. Everyone looked like they had stepped out of a royal palace.
Or, in the case of the children, an abandoned doll factory.
“Charlotte’s brother is Matthew’s best friend from college,” Elizabeth continued. “The one whose wedding…”
Clarity dawned across Catherine’s face. “Oh, with the bear. So, is it your family who farms the bears?”
“No! No, no, noooooo.” I drew the last one out comically even as my brain begged me not to. “That was the family my brother chose to marry into, for some reason.”
“And the marriage didn’t happen, anyway. The bride left poor Scott at the altar,” Elizabeth explained.
“Bullet dodged,” Bennett said under his breath, but loud enough for everyone at the table to hear.
“You remember Scott, Catherine,” Elizabeth went on, pausing for a bite of her soup.
“I’m afraid I don’t.” Catherine nodded to Briony. “Don’t eat too fast, darling.”
My hackles raised. Although my own mother had never used the line on me, I knew from my friends that it was code for, “Don’t get fat.”
I leaned conspiratorially toward Briony with a wink. “The soup is so good, though. Maybe we should have a race to see who can finish it first.”
The kid didn’t even crack a smile. “Better not, if it’s all the same to you. Mother is right, I’ve gone up two sizes in the past year. Wouldn’t want to crush my pony.”
Jesus Christ.
“Jesus Christ,” Matt muttered behind his napkin.
Elizabeth was still having her conversation about my brother, but I was almost unable to hear her over the anger building up steam pressure behind my ears.
Almost.
Because she told Catherine casually, “You’ll remember him when you see him. He’s coming in tomorrow morning. He’ll be here in time for the garden party.”
The boiling rage in my head cooled to icy fear. Beside me, Matt choked on his water, dropping the glass and sending his wine over in a domino effect.
“Oh my gosh!” I slapped him on the back while his coughing slowed, and he waved me away as servants hurried to clean up the spill.
“Matty, dear, what on earth is that reaction?” Elizabeth demanded with alarm.
“You didn’t tell me that you invited Scott,” he sputtered.
“Why in heaven’s name wouldn’t I have your good friend on the guest list for my party?” Her expression suggested that Matt even questioning such a thing was insulting in the extreme. “It’s a milestone. I have an enormous guest list.”
Bennett’s jaw dropped in understanding beyond his years. “If I’m sensing the vibe correctly—and my vibe reception is excellent—Uncle Matthew doesn’t want his friend to be here at the same time as Charlotte.”
Catherine cackled like a delighted witch.
There was no denying that the boy was right. So, I didn’t. “Scott is a little uncomfortable with the relationship. He’s a protective big brother.”
“But he does know about the two of you,” Elizabeth clarified. “I told Matty he needed to be up front with him.”
“And I was.” Matt turned his attention away from the staff swapping out his cutlery and refilling his glasses with impressive speed. “But neither of us have seen Scott in person since we…”
Decided we were in love. While at a sex resort.
“Got serious,” Matt finished, and I knew we’d been on the same perilous wavelength.
“Well, for god’s sake, don’t make a scene.” Catherine put her soup spoon down. “This is our mother’s birthday weekend. Not a venue for another of your tired romantic dramas.”
Okay, I’ll be asking about that later…
“I should have asked before I invited him,” Elizabeth said with a sigh.
“Maybe that would be a good policy to implement in the future.” Matt tugged at the slightly open collar of his shirt.
“Not to change the subject too abruptly,” Briony spoke up. “But I would like to circle back to the bear attack. What was that like, Uncle Matthew?”
Not as scary as the prospect of seeing my brother tomorrow, that was for sure.
* * * *
“Well, this is a shit show,” I said as Matt closed the bedroom door behind us. I hadn’t trusted myself to speak until I knew we were totally alone and would remain unheard. Also, until I was sure I could talk about it without crying. And I couldn’t look at him. I stalked to the sofa and used the back of it for balance as I took off my strappy heels.
Matt put a calming hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. What awful scenario are you picturing?”
I tossed up my hands. “I don’t know. I keep having visions of a heated conversation that ends with him throwing you across a table and upending a punch bowl.”
Matt found my zipper and tugged it down. “Scott and I are grown men. We don’t settle things with our fists. Anymore.”
I didn’t ask for further explanation on that one.
“Let me guess,” Matt went on, peeling my dress down my arms. “You’ve never had a relationship with a grown man.”
“Does a brief fuck-buddy relationship with a thirty-year-old count?” That wasn’t exactly a relationship. Matt knew that my dating history, the actual dating part, was amateur in the extreme.
“Was the thirty-year-old the type of guy who would wreck a garden party?”
“He once kicked a shopping cart for rolling into his car,” I admitted.
“Well, as someone who’s never done that, I think you should trust me when I say that no punch bowl–related tragedies will occur tomorrow.” He kissed my neck. “And you should also trust me when I say that I know what’s good for you.”
The dress whispered down my body to pool on the floor.
“And right now, I think what’s good for you…” He unhooked my bra and let that fall away too. “Would be getting bent over and railed from behind.”
His palms tickled as they skimmed down my thighs, and I giggled. “I thought you were going to pin me down.”
His breath teased my ear. “What gave you the impression that we’re only doing this once tonight?”
Faster than I could respond, his hand was on my neck, and he forced me firmly down over the back of the couch.
I heard his zipper.
“Get those panties off or I’ll tear them off,” he ordered sternly.
I hesitated for a split second to decide whether to let him, then came down on the side of saving the panties.
My dragon wouldn’t hesitate to rip my clothes off.
“I hope you’re ready.”
I was quickly becoming ready, but I wasn’t quite there when he spit on his hand, dragged his palm over my folds, and forced himself inside. That seemed to be the point; my sharp gasp of discomfort made him chuckle.
“You’re getting there,” he groaned, slowly withdrawing. “Use your hand.”
My knees trembled. I fumbled my hand between us and encountered dry flesh, so I wetted my finger with my tongue and tried again. The desire he’d already kindled with his rough play ignited, my fingertip the match to the powder. I rolled over my hood, teased the hard stalk of my clit, never resorting to the familiar touches I would use during solo time.
If my dragon planned to make this last, so would I.
“That’s it. Good girl.” He took a deep, hissing breath. “You know how to get wet for me.”
“You know how to get me wet.” Rough sex, for example. But often, it just took his filthy talk to make me achy and slick.
“I want to play a game. Are you up for that, princess?” he asked, reaching beneath me to cup my tits.
“Always, my dragon.” Shockingly, that was true. It wouldn’t matter when or how he wanted me. I would let him take me.
“You get five strokes. Five, like this.” He pulled out so painfully slowly that he might as well not have been moving at all. “You’re only allowed to come during those five strokes.” When only the very tip of him touched me, barely parting my labia, he pushed back in just as slowly, until he was lodged as deep as possible. All the while, his fingertips circled and pinched my nipples. “When those are finished, so are you. After those five, I’m going to fuck you so fast and hard, you’ll beg for mercy. Whether you come before that or not, no matter how close you might be, even if you’re teetering on the very edge, you’re not allowed to come until I decide I’m ready to be gentle again.
“And if you do come without my permission,” he went on, grinding painfully into me with increasing pressure. “You’ll be punished.”
His tone implied that I didn’t want to ask what it would be.
I caught our reflection in the mirror on the open closet door. Fascinated, I watched as Matt gave my ass a sharp smack and pulled my cheek aside to admire the view of his cock spearing into me. His eyes met mine in the mirror.
“Ready, princess? You stay still. Only those fingers move.”
I knew why he had to specify not to move. As he slid out with torturous slowness, all I wanted was to push back on him. The urge became worse when he entered me again. The stimulation of my own fingers added to the frustration; my body felt too much and not enough with every breath.
“That’s one,” he said, sounding a little hoarse. Maybe he was fighting his instincts, too, holding back when all he wanted was to let go and drive into me.
Since I knew that rough, hard fucking was going to happen, it was all I could think of. As a result, it was the only thing that could possibly get me off. I picked up the pace with my fingers, but my nerve endings refused to respond. My libido demanded speed and violence.
“Two,” he warned.
That’s two, I reassured myself. You still have time. You’ve come fast before. But why couldn’t I come fast now?
That was his trick. He’d primed me to want more. He’d used my curiosity and impatience against me. He knew this would be the outcome.
He knew I would be punished.
“Three.”
I resolved to beat him at his own game. I sped my fingers up and closed my eyes, trying to think of anything other than the time limit and my dwindling chances. I wouldn’t let him win.
By the time he reached four, I was confident that I would make it. My toes curled against the carpet in anticipation. I used my tried-and-true masturbation technique, my middle finger flicking furiously. It would be close. Down to the wire. But as he started his forward slide on the fifth stroke, I knew I would make it. I was going to come. It was so close.
So was he, nearly seated deep by the time I neared the point of no return. I began to panic; I was too close to lose now. I wouldn’t be able to stop my orgasm, even if it hadn’t happened.
“Five.”
“No!” I shouted as he wrenched my hand away from my clit. He pinned both my arms in one strong hand and used the other to grip my throat, jerking me almost straight up to prevent me from bashing my face into the sofa, while I remained trapped between it and his body.
“Don’t you dare come,” he growled. Then, without any further warning, he pounded into me without mercy.
He held me so firmly, I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to upset his balance. He’d promised me hard, and fast, and rough, and that’s what he gave me. Bright white bursts of pain exploded behind my eyelids, and each hammering thrust sawed against my G-spot. I’d already been so close.
“If you don’t stop, I’m going to come,” I pleaded with him.
“If you come, you’ll be punished,” he replied, and he didn’t stop. He picked up the pace, and our bodies scooted the couch forward. “Don’t do it,” he warned me. “Don’t do it, princess.”
“I can’t help it,” I sobbed, and the hand around my throat tightened at my jaw.
“You can resist. You can hold back,” he promised me. “You don’t want to find out what will happen to you if you don’t.”
But I’d been too close, too ready. And while nothing was touching my clit externally, the branches that hugged my vagina picked up every sensation. I clenched, I squirmed. and finally, I screamed, requiring Matt to cover my mouth while I trembled in the grip of my inevitable climax. He caught my uncontrollable, loud shriek in his palm and kept slamming into me while the long buildup broke and the relentless hammering on my G-spot forced a torrent of wetness from my body, spraying down my legs and the back of the sofa to splatter on the carpet.
My body was satisfied. My brain was terrified. Would he spank me? Paddle me? I didn’t know if he’d brought toys with us that could adequately punish me. Would it be more orgasm denial? Some kind of humiliation?
I wanted him to do those things to me. I wanted him to make me ashamed of what a bad girl I’d been to disobey him. To disappoint him.
He jerked himself free from me, leaving me dazed and slumped over the now-ruined couch.
Oh god. He took me home to meet his family, and I hosed down the furniture with pussy juice.
“I’m sorry, my dragon,” I babbled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
“Close your mouth and lay down,” he snapped.
I took a shaky step toward the bed.
“On the floor.” He snapped his fingers. “Princesses who don’t obey don’t get to be comfortable.”
As I laid down on the plush carpet, all I could think about was the even larger mess we were about to make. My legs were wet to the calves from my squirting, my cunt messy and smeared and leaking.
Matt dropped heavily to his knees. I almost asked if he was okay, but that would break the game and maybe even cause him some embarrassment. I did only what he asked, saying perfectly still until he spread my legs and jerked them up over his shoulders.
“Who do your orgasms belong to?” he demanded, the head of his cock poised at my opening.
“You, my dragon!”
“But you had one, anyway.” He entered me brutally, forcing a shout of pain from my throat. “Should you have done that?”
“No, my dragon!”
“Are you going to do it again?” Another deep, merciless thrust.
“No!”
“No?” He arches a brow as he sneers down at me.
“No, my dragon!” Oh god, it’s going to happen again. I’m going to come again from this scolding alone.
“Fuck,” he groans. “I can feel you squeezing me. You’re getting ready for another one, aren’t you? You were going to take another orgasm that doesn’t belong to you.”
“I can’t help it, my dragon,” I whimper. “Your cock feels so good! Please, I can’t help it!”
“Then come, you greedy slut,” he snarls. “Come on your dragon’s cock.”
He presses my hips down with one large hand splayed across my mound and his thumb finds my clit to rub it furiously, bringing me the rest of the way as he continues to pound into me.
“Thank you, my dragon!” I wail, gripping down on his unyielding flesh, my legs flailing, desperate to wrap around him. But he doesn’t allow me that closeness. I lay spent on the carpet while he batters my sore pussy and finally pulls out, jerking himself off with two fast tugs. He uses the hand on my clit to spread my labia wide and groans loudly, spraying his cum over my already sopping cunt and vulva. He waits until every last drop oozes onto me, then sits back on his heels. “Get on the bed. Spread your legs.”
I thought we were finished, but I do as he commands, getting to my weak legs and staggering to the bed. By the time I’ve laid down, my ass at the edge and my legs open wide, his cum still trickling over me, he’s gotten himself back up and makes his way to me, each thump of his cane on the floor sending a pulse of renewed desire through my pelvis.
He stands over me for a moment, the hardened expression of my disappointed dragon sending daggers of trepidation straight into my heart. I know it’s all a game, but the fact that I didn’t follow the rules, that I’m going to be punished? It feels so real that I could cry at my failure.
I want to be a good princess for him.
I want to please my dragon.
He smears his cum into my skin, slicks it over my clit and between my labia, pushing some into my cunt with three coated fingers. He pumps them, then withdraws and lays down beside me to force those three fingers into my mouth. My lips stretch uncomfortably, and I have a moment of panic, thinking maybe I can’t breathe. I can, through my nose, and it calms me.
“Clean them,” he orders, and I obediently suck and lick every drop of our mingled juices from his fingers.
“I was going to come in your mouth again, but bratty princesses don’t get a prize.” He pulled his fingers out and gripped my chin, tilting my face so he could look me in the eye. “You’re not going to receive your punishment tonight. You’ll wake up to it. You’re going to stay filthy and sticky, and in the morning, I’m going to make you regret your disobedience.”
“How?” I ask, my throat dry.
He sits up and pulls his shirt off over his head, then kicks off his shoes. Without sparing me even a glance, he says only, “Pain.”
While I lay there, worried about what that might mean, he goes to the minifridge and returns with a bottle of water. “Here. You need to recover. I’m sure you’re dehydrated.”
I laugh raggedly and sit up. He’s not joking. While I sip it, I glance around the room. I snort a little chuckle.
“What’s that about?” he asks, kicking his shoes off and pushing down his trousers.
“Nothing. I had this vision of you sweeping all those block castles to the floor and fucking me against that shelf.” It would be the nerdiest sex anyone ever had.
He shook his head and pulled back the covers, patting the sheets to indicate I should get in. “Charlotte, I love you. With all my heart. But that? Will never, ever happen.”