Chapter 11
Will
Her consent will be my undoing.
How much easier this would be if she said no, if she walked away, if she resisted. I could have sent her off this morning and never seen her again.
Xander still isn’t aware I told her to return.
Seems fair, given the wanker gaslit me about her presence in the library to begin with.
He’s been holed up in his rooms all day, muttering under his breath. Probably fantasizing about little Autumn and wishing he was buried in her snug little cunt like I’m about to be.
She kisses me back, using her blunt human teeth on my lower lip.
“So vicious,” I say, pleased.
“I learned it from you,” she says, then pauses before adding, “Sir.”
My dick gives a pulse of need. I like the idea of teaching her my wicked ways. “What else have you learned from me?”
“I learned what it feels like to be with two men at once.”
Her voice is so shy and sweet, so young. Painfully young. And yet the words pouring forth, the thoughts in her filthy mind…all woman.
It hits me, then. She’s a little girl.
How fucking lucky is that? Imagine if we’d said goodbye forever this morning.
I never would’ve known. Little girls are more fun for me than any other flavor of sub.
I get off on being a daddy; I get off on the caretaking.
I fucking love the innocence and corruption.
If the girl is a little bit bratty occasionally, even better.
I do like giving out a spanking to a little girl’s sassy bottom.
Reaching between her legs, I pet her slippery-wet cunt. “I could teach you more, little love.”
“Yes, please,” she gasps. “I want to learn.”
Brilliant. She’s utterly brilliant. Xander should be here for this. But of course he isn’t. He’d rather suffer—he’d rather make us both suffer.
Why live in hell when paradise is right here between Autumn’s thighs?
“Please.” She bucks her hips forward, pushing herself against my hand, onto my fingers.
“Eager girl,” I say, kissing her neck.
“Yes.” She shivers against me. “Yes, please, Sir. Please fuck me.”
She should be saying Daddy, but I’m not going to spring that on her without a discussion first.
Wriggling her hips, she presses against my fingers. I stroke two of them inside of her easily, slide through her wetness.
“Condom,” I say.
“No, I can’t wait.” Her voice is breathy, full of need. “You said you can’t get me pregnant, can’t spread disease…”
“You’re not making that decision right now, in the heat of the moment. Shouldn’t have asked you to last night, either.” I pull a foil-wrapped packet from my jeans. Good thing I had the foresight to grab one earlier. The living room is too far away. I need this little girl now.
I shove my pants down just far enough to free my cock. I don’t want to waste time getting fully undressed. Need to be in her now. Right the fuck now. I sheath myself in the condom, then bend my knees slightly, hitch one of her legs up around my hip to spread her open.
And there. I press inside.
Snug. Warm. Wet.
I’ve attended countless operas. I’ve gone to live concerts of orchestral music in the finest halls with the most optimal acoustics.
I’ve listened to the most talented singers and musical prodigies give their life-defining performances.
I’m no musician, but sound is in my soul. Good sounds form reality.
The little whimper Autumn makes as I fill her is the best sound in the world. I want to record it. Play it over again.
Recording it isn’t an option right now, but I pull out of her slightly before sliding home again to see if she’ll make the noise once more.
She does.
“Perfect girl,” I say into her ear. “Keep making those sounds for me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I stroke harder, waiting for her whimper on every upstroke. She’s not even faking it—the sound conveys her pleasure. It is her pleasure. Her head falls to the side. Does she know she’s exposing her throat to me? This is an invitation. A smooth column of skin, waiting for my teeth.
Her pulse is just there. The blood beneath her skin, tantalizing. Life. Flowers. Joy.
It speeds up. Her tight cunt flexes tighter. She’s going to come soon.
It’ll be better for her if I bite her. Better for me, too. My fangs extend. I run the tips of them along her throat.
“Let me,” I say on a groan.
“Yes,” she says. “Yes, Sir. Please, bite me. Please.”
As soon as my fangs puncture her neck, she comes, pulsing around me. I stroke into her while I drink. Pump after pump, I fill her. I give, and I take.
A sound from down the hall. A door, I think.
I look up with my eyes only, reluctant to pull my fangs from Autumn’s neck.
Xander’s standing in the hallway. Furious.
Xander
I spin back around, slam the door to my room. Fuck Will. Fuck him and his lack of self-control. Fuck everything about him.
I wait for the two of them to finish. I want to punch the wall, tear apart my room. I should be out there, loving Autumn, giving her pleasure, making her happy. And of course Will isn’t going to resist. His self-control is shit, just as it has always been.
He wants to let her stay another night, I already know.
I’m not going out there. I’m not going to enjoy the playground of her body, the fucking festival of carnal delights. Let Will have her, let him suffer when it’s time to say goodbye.
The next two hours pass slowly for me, while I try not to listen to Autumn’s sweet cries and Will’s rough commands. I imagine all the ways he’s fucking her, all the positions he’s trying. All the creative places he’s biting her.
Finally, in the middle of the night, it is quiet. I leave my room and go straight to the bar in Will’s office. He and Autumn are curled up in an easy chair near his desk, naked. He just fucked her there, apparently.
“Time to go, little mouse,” I say, finding the vial of oubliette at the wet bar.
She peers at me with her beautiful hazel eyes pulling down in sorrow. “I thought I could have one more night here?”
“Just a moment, love,” Will tells her. He gets up, sets her back on the chair with a blanket, and pulls on a pair of drawstring pants. “I need to speak to you, Xander.”
I lead the way out of his office and down the hall. When we’re far enough away from his office that she won’t overhear us, I say, “She can’t stay. We had a fucking agreement, Will.”
“She’s special.”
“All the more reason to cut ties and make her forget.” I hold up the oubliette. “It’s time for her to go. We’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”
“Yeah? We could take care of her here.”
It’s understandable that he’s fighting me on this. The girl is sitting in the other room, naked, freshly fucked and likely ready to go again soon.
“Remember Elisabeth?” I say.
He steps back as if I’ve struck him. “I’ll never forgive you for this,” he snaps. “Never.”
“You’re thinking with your cock, not with your brain. We will kill her.”
“I’m thinking with my heart,” he hisses.
I want to roll my eyes. Will has always been the “sensitive” one between the two of us. That is why, after Elisabeth’s death, I had to be strong. If not for me getting us through the aftermath, we both would have died of blood madness.
“We have rules. We have made vows to each other and to Elisabeth’s memory. The girl must go.”
His shoulders sag. He’s defeated, but I take no pleasure in it. In some twisted way, a part of me wants him to fight, to fight for himself, for me, for this young girl and the potential of something bigger than any of us.
“Elisabeth,” he whispers.
I nod. “I’m sorry.”
“We both are.” He reaches for the bottle of oubliette in my hand. “I’ll send Autumn away. For her own good.”
“Obviously, I can’t trust you to do it,” I say, holding the vial out of his reach. “Go back to your room, say your goodbyes, and send her out to meet me in the hall.”
He clenches his jaw so hard, it’s a wonder his fangs don’t break.
I wait by the door. After a long moment and the sound of hushed voices, Autumn emerges from Will’s office, wearing clothes and carrying her bag and a purse.
Her face is blank, expressionless. What emotions is she hiding?
Is she hurting? My only comfort is that she won’t hurt for long.
Soon, this won’t even be a memory for her.
Will and I, though—we live long, and we will never forget.
I open the door, and she steps through. I step out after her.
“You know I can’t forget what we did,” she says in a dull voice.
“Normally, you might not be able to forget,” I say, then hold up the bottle of oubliette. “This little bottle will help.”
“So it’s like a magic potion?”
“It’s exactly like a magic potion.”
She looks away from me. She smells like jasmine and sex and I want to turn her around, take her back inside the library, make her tell me every single thing Will just did to her so I can replay it for her with me as her costar.
Instead, I say, “I’ll escort you to a hotel. Is there one you prefer?”
“I don’t have any money,” she says.
“I’ll pay for a few nights, to help you get set up.” My voice is gruff and I sound angry, but I’m not angry at her. I’m angry that she doesn’t have everything she needs. I’m angry that Will and I can’t be the men to care for her.
“They won’t let me stay anywhere nice,” she says. “We’ll have to go to the other part of town.”
“You mean the Bellefleur District?”
She shrugs. “I guess. Wherever they don’t care if I have ID.”
“You don’t have a driver’s license or anything?”
“Nope.”
Again, her face remains expressionless, but I hear a heaviness in her tone.
She doesn’t have ID. No wonder she hasn’t been able to get a job. “Look up, mouse,” I say, then quickly snap a photo of her with my phone.
“What was that for?” she asks.
“Memories.”
“So you get memories of this, but I don’t?”
“Oh, mouse.” I shake my head. This is going to destroy me—and she has no fucking clue.
“Why won’t you let me keep the memories?” she asks in a small voice. “I would never tell. I would probably be placed in a mental health treatment center if I tried.”
“It’s how we have to do things,” I say. “Exceptions can sacrifice safety, and we don’t fuck around with our safety. Or yours.”
Which is why we’re saying our goodbyes. For her safety.
I’ll make sure she’s taken care of first, though. My long night is about to get much, much longer.
Autumn
I wake up tired. Confused. A little sad.
Why am I sad?
The hotel room that I’m in is unfamiliar.
I immediately run my hands over my body, checking my shirt and pants.
Everything is on straight. I don’t think I was harmed and brought here or anything.
The last thing I remember, someone was telling me to sleep and have nice dreams. Super weird. But I did have nice dreams.
The hotel room is generic, but I’ve never seen it before. It’s nicer than the first place I stayed when I came to San Esteban, that’s for sure.
That’s right. I’m in San Esteban. But something is off, something is weird. I remember running from Altera. The bus ride. The crappy motel. Job searching.
Slowly, it comes back to me. I’d been looking for jobs but instead of work, I found a shelter for people who were scared and on the run. No questions asked. A kind woman gave me a fake ID and some money, as well as a list of places that are hiring.
No, that must have been a dream. I don’t have enough details for it to be true. I can’t picture the building or anyone I met there. The kind woman is a blob of dark fog in my memory. She has no face, no voice.
Definitely a dream.
Still, my bruised heart can’t help but give an excited beat of hope.
I climb from the way-too-nice-for-a-girl-on-the-run sheets and pad over to my mom’s old bag, which rests neatly on the dresser. I pull out the wallet and find, inside, a fresh driver’s license with the name Abigail Souris.
There’s a bundle of crisp twenty-dollar bills. Several of them. I’m holding a thousand dollars. And tucked around it is a print-out titled, San Esteban Stores - Hiring with several shops and restaurants listed below. Another paper in my purse is an application for a place called Bartleby’s Pub.
Who did this for me? Did I visit an employment agency? Maybe it was that shelter. This seems like a huge effort for any shelter, though. All this money, a new ID…something doesn’t add up.
Well. No time to waste. I have a fresh new identity. “My name is Abigail,” I say to the mirror above the dresser. “Abigail…what? How the fuck do I pronounce my last name?”
If I had my phone, I’d look it up.
Holy shit. I have a phone. There it is, sitting next to my purse. It isn’t fancy by any means, but it is a phone. It flashes on as soon as I pick it up. I find the internet browser app and type in my new last name. Souris. The first thing that comes up is a definition.
Souris. French for “mouse.”