11. The Temptation
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE TEMPTATION
Orion
I hold my hand out and give Haley a low five. “Don’t forget to tend to your skin,” I tell her, tugging her arm forward and pulling her into a tight hug. A couple of seconds later, I pull away and shove my hands in the pockets of my pants.
“I know, I know. This isn’t my first rodeo,” she drawls, giving me a wry smile. “But it’s nice that you still worry about me.”
I roll my eyes. “Someone has to, Hales. You sure you don’t want me to help with aftercare?”
“I’m okay. It was a short scene. Just enough to take the edge off,” she adds, wiggling her brows. “I have to go. Hot date tonight.”
“Be safe,” I tell her, crossing my arms.
“I always am.” Flipping her hair and giving me a small wave, she walks out of the staff area before turning back to face me. “Hey, you okay? You seemed… off tonight.”
I take a wider stance as I rub my mouth with my right hand. “Fine. Just a lot on my mind.”
“I saw Zoe was here with some friends. Anyone you know?”
I narrow my eyes. “What has dear Zoe told you?”
Haley smirks. “Oh, nothing. Just that your stepsister happens to be a leggy redhead, and that’s exactly who I saw watching us earlier.”
I shrug. “She’s an adult. She can do as she pleases.”
“Very convincing.” She rolls her eyes. “Good night, Ri.”
She leaves the employee room before I can respond, and I walk over to the couch where I’d given Haley some water and snacks fifteen minutes ago while checking in with her. We don’t play together often, but it’s always fun and wholly platonic when we do. Others at the club usually do scenes with me, but I haven’t been an active participant for weeks. I haven’t been in the mood. It wasn’t until I saw Layla standing at the bar in that tight little dressthat something had to give. I thought doing a scene would distract me, but instead, all I can think about is how different that scene would’ve been with Layla on that couch.
First and foremost, I would’ve dragged her to a private room so that I could savor her pleading cries all to myself. I would’ve watched her thighs bloom with color when I dropped the hot wax on her soft, unmarked skin. Her perfect skin—the creamy, unblemished thighs. How sore they’d stay for hours, how she’d have to remember the pain I inflicted every time she sat down or performed in front of three thousand people.
My cock begins to swell when I think of how badly I want to bend her over and paddle her ass for showing up tonight.
I could show her the darkness she thinks she craves until she’s begging for more.
I could taste her innocence as I savor every breathless gasp of her surrender.
Fuck.
I stand and pull my shirt back on, adjusting my hard-on before quickly exiting the employee room. The club is busier now, and I have to slide past people to make my way down to the dungeon. I don’t plan on confronting Layla, but I do want to keep an eye on her.
I can’t help myself.
After circling the room several times, I don’t see her down in Purgatory. Grumbling, I ascend the stairs toward Paradise.
It’s more crowded up here. Pleasure more easily entices people, and who doesn’t want to feel good ? Once I’m on the floor, I scan the small crowd, spotting Layla standing with Zoe and Remy by the feather room, and I stand at the back as I watch my stepsister observe the participants.
One of Inferno’s Doms stands over a woman sprawled over a fluffy white bed. She’s completely naked, and he’s running a large, white feather down her abdomen. She arches her back and moans as he gets closer to her hips, but he stops a few inches away from where she wants it. Narrowing my eyes, I cross my arms and watch Layla observe the scene.
Even from where I’m standing, I can tell she’s turned on. Her neck is flushed, and her chest is rising and falling rapidly. Her denim dress clings to her slim, muscular body, perfectly accentuating the narrow curve of her waist and hips. Her long ponytail brushes against her back, and I fight the urge to walk up behind her and bite the creamy flesh of her slender neck.
Compared to everyone else, she seems so out of place here. Innocent. Young. Yet to be corrupted.
And on her delicate right wrist is the bracelet I sent her.
Poor, angelic little stepsister… so turned on and not able to do anything about it because she was instructed not to.
And I know she’ll obey me. Well, Starboy.
She’s a good girl—always has been.
Just as I think it, she turns her head and looks right at me. I give her nothing—no smile, no scowl—before turning and walking to the other side of the room, hidden by the small group forming.
Being a Dominant, I’ve taught myself how to read cues and interpret looks and sounds. If my submissive is too far gone to use her safe word, I have to know to stop the scene.
I learned that the hard way.
And one failsafe thing I know for sure from experience is that people hate being ignored—especially when you’ve given them no reason to do so. Layla expects me to lose my shit because she’s here. She expects me to lose my shit if she brings a date to a family party, just like she expected me to punch that fucking dancer in her company a couple of years ago.
Even if she doesn’t realize it, she came here to get a rise out of me, but I won’t give her that satisfaction tonight.
I watch for ten more minutes. The crowd begins to thin as they move onto the voyeur room next door. I stay exactly where I am, pretending to be engrossed in what I’m watching.
The scent of fresh strawberries and a flash of red hair in my peripheral vision tells me that my intuition was right.
She’s so easy to pick apart— predictable.
And I fucking love that an hour of ignoring her means I have her wrapped around my little finger.
3 …
2 …
1 …
“I liked your scene.”
I don’t turn to face her, instead schooling my expression into something indifferent despite my pounding heart and my clammy hands.
“Thanks. Are you enjoying yourself?”
My voice is low and flat—emotionless.
I can feel her studying my face—wondering why I’m not grabbing her wrist and dragging her out onto the street. The thought of her trying to deconstruct me is appealing, so I keep my eyes forward.
“Yeah. I like it. I want to come back, actually. Maybe try out a scene.”
I grind my teeth and hope she doesn’t notice.
No one’s touching you.
Not while I’m around.
“You should.”
Several heavy seconds of silence pass before she laughs. “Do you have a fever or something?”
At this, I turn to face her with furrowed brows. “What do you mean?”
“Never mind,” she says quickly, brows punching together in confusion.
“Tell me.”
Her eyes lock onto mine, and I can see the way she obeys so well. One command, and she’s putty in my hands.
I am so fucked.
“I just thought you’d have a problem with me being here.”
I do. I really fucking do. I want to scream it. I want to lock her up in the dungeon for being here and chafe that perfect ass until it’s red and she’s screaming my name.
But I don’t.
Two years ago, I would’ve lost my shit. I would’ve acted on my impulses. But now that she’s talking to me as Starboy? I have to play it cool. I have to think long term. There’s no way in hell I’ll let her walk out of my life again, so I have to figure out a way to keep her interested in both Starboy and Orion.
And it seems giving her a bit of the cold shoulder works at getting her interested in the latter.
“You’re a big girl. You can do whatever you want.”
I almost laugh at her shocked expression. Instead of letting me see it, she turns to face the scene, attempting to hide the flush on her cheeks and neck.
“What happened to my stepbrother, and where did you hide his body?” she asks drolly.
I let my lips quirk into a smile. “Funny.”
“Really, though. You’re freaking me out.”
I slowly turn to face her, and she’s already looking up at me with wide eyes.
You’re going to regret pushing my buttons, Little Dancer.
Stepping closer, I place my hands on her shoulders and back her against the wall behind us. She lets out a tiny gasp when I step into her space so our bodies barely touch.
“A few weeks ago, you accused me of interfering in your life too much. And now that I’ve taken you at your word and backed off, you can’t help but wonder why?”
Her cheeks flush even more pink, and fuck, she’s beautiful when she’s blushing. I want to see how much she’d blush if I asked her to join me in Purgatory. If I gave her no option but to bend over so that I could degrade her in front of everyone watching—edging her with my fingers until she was leaking down the insides of her legs, leaving bite marks along her delicate skin, filling her mouth with rope and using that ponytail to expose her throat so I could collar her once and for all…
One day, I’d make her mine. Officially.
I just had to get her to like me again first.
“You’re right.” Her hand comes to my chest, palm flat against my racing heart. The gold bracelet is visible, and I can’t help but reach out to touch it. The fact that she’s unknowingly letting herself be claimed by me only fuels my hunger.
Touching the bracelet must wake her from her stupor because she inhales sharply and drops her hand back down to her side.
“What do you want from me, Layla?” I ask her, studying her expression.
Getting lost in her darkened hazel eyes.
Wanting so badly to kiss those pouty lips again.
She opens her mouth to say something, and my eyes drop to where her tongue runs along her lower lip, wetting it. I can smell the sweet scent of the cosmo she was drinking, mixed with her cherry lip balm. Her eyes are usually makeup-less, but tonight, she’s wearing winged liner and mascara.
I’m so hard that my whole body is pulsing, radiating outward from my core.
I’m worried my cock might bust through the fabric of my pants.
Everything about her is perfect. Like it was created for me. I want so badly to give in—to force her to concede to whatever this is.
Plus, I’m not sure if I can bear another fucking rejection from her. If I’ve learned anything from the past seven years, it’s that I never want to be rejected by her again.
All of this is risky because, at the end of the day, if she still doesn’t want me…
I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from that.
Taking a step back, I don’t let her answer. Instead, I turn and walk away, taking the stairs down to the main floor and walking back into the office. Once there, I pull my burner phone out and send a text.
I hope you’re being a good girl and obeying my orders.
She doesn’t answer, so I sit back and rub my face with my hands.
This is sick—that I just left her physical presence only to connect with her online. But I have to—I need her in a way that scares the fuck out of me.
If I can’t be close to her in person, I need this connection online.
LittleDancer
Aw, miss me? ;)
Relief fills me. She must be back in the bar area, as we don’t allow phones on the floor.
You have no idea.
LittleDancer
I’m out, actually. No time to… you know.
Out where?
LittleDancer
If I tell you, will you show up?
I smile. She’d love that, wouldn’t she? Showing up here in my mask. Perhaps dragging her down into Purgatory with me.
I palm my erection.
Not tonight. But if I did, what would we do?
Three dots appear and disappear.
LittleDancer
Whatever you wanted.
I stroke my cock through the fabric of my pants. I’m aching for her, and I need to know she wants it just as badly as me.
You have no idea what you’re asking, Little Dancer.
LittleDancer
I want to meet you.
Fuck.
I want to meet you, too.
LittleDancer
I’m wearing your bracelet, and it reminds me of you.
How so?
LittleDancer
It makes me feel like I belong to you.
I stare at her message, palming my cock and thrusting my hips up into my hand.
Do you want to belong to me?
LittleDancer
Yes.
Show me.
I know I shouldn’t ask. I know I should tell her good night and leave her be. But a small part of me wants to see how far she’ll go.
LittleDancer
How?
Send me a picture as proof. Remember, you’re not allowed to touch yourself.
Three more dots appear and disappear before a message comes through.
LittleDancer
Okay, give me a minute.
I set my phone down and stand, walking over to the office door and locking it. As I sit back down at my desk, I unzip my pants and pull my cock out as I wait.
Somewhere in this club, Layla is by herself and willing to prove that she belongs to me.
I wrap my palm around my cock and slowly move it up and down, circling the head and using my precum as lube. A shaky breath escapes my lips, and I roll my hips up into my tightened fist. I’m already close—with her, it never takes long.
Is it fucked up that I think of her every single time I come?
I edge myself as I wait for Layla’s evidence.
Is she in the bathroom?
Or did she find some unoccupied, dark corner?
God, what I’d give to spy on her.
Groaning, I feel my orgasm sneak closer. Releasing my grip on my cock, I pant heavily as I wait.
My phone pings, and it’s a picture.
It’s a mirror reflection photo. Layla is standing in the bathroom—the black and white checkered tiles are a dead giveaway. She’s holding the phone up to the mirror, and she’s leaning forward slightly to show off her dress, which is pulled down past her perfect tits.
Fuck. Me.
They’re fucking perfect—pink nipples, perky, and just big enough to fit in my hands. I can’t see her face, but the hand with the bracelet is around her throat.
Fuuuck.
I stare at the picture as my heart races. Seeing her like this … it hits me hard.
I pull my shirt up and wrap my hand around my cock, stroking myself. My balls pull up and I can’t hold back anymore. Now that I can visualize how my cum would look painted all over her chest, there’s no turning back. My cock swells and pleasure claws to the base of my spine before I explode all over my hand. Large ropes of cum land on my bare stomach, abs violently clenching with each wave as I imagine how it would feel to fill her with my cum—to pump her so deep that she leaks for days.
More cum dribbles out of my still convulsing shaft.
I drop my phone onto the desk and lean all the way back in my chair as I come down.
Fuck.
She’s mine.
No one else gets to see her like this, not in this way. The thought of anyone else laying eyes on her, appreciating what’s meant for me alone, stirs something possessive deep inside me.
She’s mine, and I won’t let anyone forget it.
Least of all her.
I sit there in stunned silence until I hear my phone chime with a text. I pick the burner phone up with my clean hand and read her text.
LittleDancer
Does that prove it enough?
That picture is for my eyes only.
And, yes. Well done. But you can still send me another photo for research, just to confirm.
LittleDancer
For *research*
I assume you enjoyed the photo…?
Trust me. I enjoyed it.
LittleDancer
Prove it.
You want a dick pic?
LittleDancer
Don’t make me beg. At least not yet.
She’s going to be the death of me.
I spontaneously snap a picture of the mess all over my hand and still-hard cock, sending it and grinning when she doesn’t respond right away. I angled it so that it’s only my bare stomach and my non-tattooed arm, and hardly shows the jeans I was wearing just a few minutes ago with her.
Bet she didn’t expect to get a raunchy picture while out with her friends.
LittleDancer
Holy … *hot face emoji*
Just imagine how much of a mess I’ll make on your pretty face one day.
LittleDancer
And when will that be?
You’ve been so good. Perhaps I should reward you.
LittleDancer
I like rewards.
Such a good, little slut.
LittleDancer
Okay. I need to rejoin the real world now so that I don’t melt.
Color?
LittleDancer
Bright freaking green.
I’m grinning like an idiot at her response because I know how sassy Layla can be, and I can picture her saying exactly this. People think she’s so pure, so wholesome, but she has a delinquent side to her as well. I got glimpses of it growing up. For example, she got a tattoo the day she turned eighteen—a small heart on her left rib cage. She hardly ever swears—but every once in a while, she says the F-word, and it sounds extra dirty coming from her. And despite the ballet dancer persona, I’ve seen her kickbox and throw the kind of punches that could kill a person.
LittleDancer
Are we still scheduled to talk tomorrow at 10a.m.?
Yes. Good night, Layla.
LittleDancer
Good night, Master.
After cleaning myself, I walk out onto the floor, only to see Liam and Kai leaning against the bar while sipping their sodas. Smirking, I school my expression into something I hope comes across as casual and easygoing despite feeling anything but. My eyes flick around the bar for Layla, but I don’t see her.
“They left,” Liam tells me with a knowing expression. “Off to the next place.”
I nod once. “How are you?”
He looks around. “Nice place you have here.”
“Thanks.” Looking over at Kai, I arch my brows. “And you?”
Kai shrugs. “Busy.”
I swipe his soda from his hand and take a sip. “Doing what? Praying?”
He smirks. “Funny. But no, I’m helping a friend with some renovations.”
“You have friends?” I tease.
He huffs a laugh. “Julian. He just moved back to Crestwood from London.”
My brows shoot up as I look at Liam—and my oldest brother just sips his drink and looks away as if he doesn’t want to get involved.
“Julian, as in your best friend growing up?” I hedge.
Kai shrugs. “We reconnected recently. They don’t know anyone here, so I offered to help around the house with some small repairs.”
“They?”
Kai looks away. “Julian and his wife, Sophie.”
I steal another sip of his drink. Malakai and Julian were… close. I always wondered if they were more than friends. As far as I know, nothing ever happened between them, but one day they stopped talking, and a few weeks later, Kai went off to seminary school, and Julian moved back to London, where he’d spent his childhood. And despite Kai dating around here and there—he’s not celibate like a priest, after all—nothing serious ever panned out. Now that he’s headmaster, he waxes poetic about being too busy to date, but sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever find someone to settle down with.
“Miles is meeting us at the pub down the street,” Liam tells us, pocketing his phone. “Shall we?”
“Yeah. Give me a second to make sure everyone’s good here before I take off for the night. Meet you there?”
Kai gives me a high five as Liam waves over his shoulder. Once they’re gone, I take a deep breath and walk over to the bar, hands still shaking from my conversation with Layla.
I check in with the bartenders, and then I walk back to the employee room to grab my jacket, slowly pulling my arms through the sleeves and mentally preparing myself for an onslaught of questions from four of my brothers.
It’s only luck that Chase and his wife, Juliet, don’t live in Crestwood anymore. There’s no way in hell my next oldest brother wouldn’t be able to see through the facade I’m attempting to project.
My regular phone pings, and I check my notifications. The only person I get notifications for is my stepsister, but the image and caption that comes through on her social media nearly knocks me over.
She’s laughing and holding up a bottle of beer with her right hand—the hand bearing the gold bracelet I gave her. It’s slightly blurry, but of course she’s fucking gorgeous.
And the caption …
Yours.
I realize then that I’ll do whatever it takes to make Layla truly mine.
Not just Starboy’s.
Mine.