Ten
W hy is it that I keep ending up next to Draven at these fucking dinners?
Even with the table expanded enough to fit twelve, I still find myself sandwiched between the Creed brothers. Ephraim and my father each take an end seat, Verna sits where she always does, and the rest of the seats are filled with people I haven’t seen or heard about since my days at St. Andrew’s.
I feel trapped.
Draven has made himself scarce these last few weeks. He’s hardly looked at me since our talk in the kitchen, and the few times he has, there’s been a heat behind his eyes I can’t quite put a finger on. It’s better than the ice that resides in the rest of his family’s stares, but it still makes me nervous.
And the dreams of him haven’t faded in the slightest, if anything, they’ve only gotten worse. The one I had last night had me moaning myself awake, leaving me in a cold sweat that reminded me of the times the Keepers edged me for hours.
“You seem tense,” he mutters under his breath, his attention seemingly on the feast around us.
The background music Madeline picked helps dull the sound of our conversation, so I don’t bother to whisper.
“Yeah, well. I have my reasons.”
“I bet you do. Smile, daddy is watching.”
He offers me one that’s full of mischief, one that I turn on Alexander.
It feels almost creepy with our current arrangement, but the last thing I need is for Ephraim to see me making eyes at the wrong son.
And Draven is absolutely the wrong son.
The second I feel Ephraim’s gaze leave me, I turn back to my plate. “I’m just trying to get through this, okay? Cut me some slack.”
“I could help, you know?” He licks his lips and drops his gaze to my hip. “No one here would even know, but you’d feel better.”
He’s right, but I’ll never tell him that. There’s nothing in this world I need more than a man to bend me in half and fuck me until I cry.
Alexander won’t do it.
I just can’t let anyone else do it, either.
How did the St. Andrew’s slut become a nun?
“No.”
“You sure?”
He touches my thigh again, and I find it a little harder to push his hand away this time.
So I don’t. Even if it’s nothing but fuel for my dreams, I let him do it.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He squeezes then, the action filled with so much promise I find myself wishing he’d leave little bruises behind so I can look at them later, and then the contact ends entirely. “Okay, little keeper. The invitation stands.”
Against my better judgement, I reach under the table and bring his hand back to my leg. Lower this time, near my knee, but still. My cheeks flush with heat as I watch a smile return to his stupidly beautiful face, and his fingers curl against my skin.
He takes my lower placement as an invitation to slide underneath my dress, making my breath catch.
I shouldn’t be doing this. Not here of all places, not with him of all people.
But god, it feels good to be wanted. Even now, Alexander is carrying on a conversation with Ephraim and barely acknowledging I’m here. I can see the bulge in his pocket where my engagement ring sits, yet his brother is tiptoeing his fingers up my thigh as I spread my legs.
Maybe I’m not a nun after all.
It’s a good thing he’s left-handed, because no one is the wiser as he continues to eat and move dangerously close to my clit. He has the audacity to ask my father a question about his job when they reach their destination, and as my father responds, Draven rolls his fingers in a small circle.
Fuck, it feels good. It’s not enough to get me anywhere, but that’s a good thing right now. I savor the feeling of someone else touching me, wanting me, needing me so badly they can’t wait until we’re alone. It feels good . It takes just a little of the sour tint of my fake engagement away.
It also makes me so fucking wet I feel his fingers slip.
“Fuck,” he whispers, moving around in his seat in a way that tells me he’s struggling to hold himself back.
Instantly I imagine him fucking me right here in front of everyone, breeding me in front of the brother that refuses, the father who commanded me to get pregnant.
My thighs clench, but I don’t stop him. I need this.
I deserve this.
I—
“Sullivan?”
My attention snaps to Alexander. “What? I’m so sorry. What?”
He smiles. “You were a little lost in thought there. Are you okay?”
Draven presses against my swollen clit harder, making it almost impossible to concentrate. I want to grab him by his stupid messy tie and ride him in that chair until I’m pregnant with fucking triplets.
“Yes,” I gasp. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. I’m just... excited, that’s all.”
“Me too,” he lies, but it’s a nice lie that has guilt I wish I cared about inching up my spine.
My father pulls his attention away before we can talk further, and Draven uses that opportunity to scoot a little closer without anyone noticing.
“Can I tell you a story?” he asks, voice low and sinful.
I should say no. I should. Stories told from forked tongues are dangerous.
“Yes.”
“Once upon a time, there was this beautiful princess that was promised to a handsome prince. The problem was... there was another man who looked even better, and no matter how much the princess wanted to be good, or the fact that he would inherit nothing next to the heir, she couldn’t stop herself from wanting a taste of the forbidden fruit.” His finger slips inside of me, making me gasp. “She hardly slept. He haunted her every time her betrothed would touch her, consumed her thoughts as he would try so hard to make her come, but the only time she could get there was when the other man was on her mind.” I can feel it building, the release I’ve been desperate for since before I was given to Jake. “But one night, that man couldn’t take it anymore. Since the wedding was the next day, he knew it was the last time she’d ever sleep alone, so he snuck up to her bedroom and found her waiting for him.”
Is it... us? Is this us? It can’t be. He knows Alexander doesn’t touch me. That he won’t touch me.
Yet I know that it is. The desire here, the gravitational pull leading me away from propriety and goodness is all Draven, all me. All us. Maybe this is the closest he can get to showing me what I could’ve had if things were different. How I could’ve felt if I was given to the bastard instead of the heir.
Laughter around us pulls me out of his spell for a second, but Dray and his silver, forked tongue coax me back in when another finger slips inside of me.
“She played coy, lasting only moments before their mouths were sealed together, and when he finally allowed himself to truly touch her he found her dripping wet for him under her gown. It drove him mad. Any second thoughts he had flew from his mind as he ripped her panties off of her body and pinned her to the bed.” From the corner of my eye, I see him reach under the table and adjust himself, returning to his food before he continues. “He teased her for an hour, his hands and tongue stripping her raw to the point that all she could do was beg for his cock. And do you know what he did?”
“What?” I whisper breathlessly. “What did he do?”
“He tied her down on that bed and ruined her.” His voice is getting deeper, rougher, like he’s struggling as much as I am. All it does is bring me closer to the edge. “The second he split her open, she screamed, legs shaking as he began pounding into her so hard she knew he was punishing her.” I don’t know how everyone around us doesn’t know what’s happening, but as the staff bustles around to replace our dinner plates with dessert, my eyes begin to water with my impending orgasm. “It wasn’t until sweat coated their bodies and she began sobbing and begging for his cum that he obliged, slamming deep inside of her so they wouldn’t waste a single drop.” The way he curls his fingers shoves me over, making my pussy clench and my toes curl as I struggle to keep my composure.
All I want to do is fall into it, beg for more, promise him the world and the stars above us if he’ll just keep going. One was never enough for me. The first one is a tease, an opening act to get me out of my head and completely into my body. And this one, well... it promises the ones that follow will change me.
But another doesn’t come. His fingers slide out of me, and when I meet his ocean blue eyes, I have to watch him lick his fingers clean. He’s tasting me, right here, right in front of everyone. There’s no gardener to steal his attention away. No duty to worry about. It’s just me, just him, and the cruel promise of something I’ll never have.
At least we’re even now. An orgasm for an orgasm.
He glances over my shoulder with a sour expression, then returns to his dessert like nothing happened as Alex clears his throat behind me.
It’s time. I know without turning what I’ll find when I do — and it’ll be the thing that ensures I’m never touched again. Never loved, never desired, never cherished or worshipped or any of the things the recruiters at St. Andrew’s promised me.
Maybe it was the orgasm, the release that came with it. Maybe it’s just circumstances all catching up to me. But when Alex calls my name and I turn to face him, face my future... I already have tears in my eyes.
“Miss Harbough,” he starts, chair scraping on the wood as he pushes it back. “When my father told me he was going to arrange a marriage for me, I was skeptical. I knew I’d do my duty, but I couldn’t have imagined I’d end up with someone as special as you are. You’re beautiful, Sullivan, inside and out, and in you I’ve found a partner.”
As he kneels, my heart drops with him. Down to my stomach, lower to my feet, and clear down through the floor. It’s all words. True words, but with all the wrong meanings. My clit is still throbbing and the tears are still falling as he pulls out the box in his pocket and opens it.
“I don’t want to wait. I don’t need to wait,” he clarifies. “I know where my heart lies. Sullivan Grace Harbough, will you marry me?”
It breaks the dam that was barely holding on in the first place. This isn’t what I want. This isn’t what anyone would want. He knows where his heart lies and it’s not with me, it’ll never be with me. A sob wracks through me so forcefully that my father and Draven both stand, like either one of them could possibly understand. Like either one of them could do anything to stop it. Like either one of them would care enough to try.
“Yes,” I force out, when Ephraim’s face begins to turn from smug to anger. He knows I don’t want this. I have to do better. Sell it better. Convince him. “Yes, Alex. Of course. I love you.”
My hand shakes violently as Alex slips the ring on my finger like a handcuff. A twenty-thousand dollar fucking handcuff, and then Ephraim makes it worse.
“Don’t leave us hanging, Alexander. Kiss her before the champagne warms.”
There’s nothing behind it for either of us but a desperate attempt at survival. And when it’s over, when that meaningless, empty kiss breaks... I think I do, too.