6. Jolie
JOLIE
The fork hitting the plate still echoes in my head as my legs carry me down the hallway toward the stairs.
I don't remember standing up or leaving the table.
My heart is hammering so hard I can taste it in my throat, metallic and sharp, while Jarvis's words burn through every wall I built to keep myself safe.
Your real life is here.
We're done pretending you're leaving.
I reach the top of the stairs and grip the railing.
I need to be alone and breathe, to figure out if I'm terrified because he's wrong or because he's right.
If I let myself believe him and it turns out to be a lie, I won't survive it.
I've spent twenty-two years learning that people leave, that I'm the thing that gets left behind, and now he wants me to unlearn all of it in one conversation.
"Jolie."
I don't turn around. "I just need a minute. I just need... please, I need to think."
"Not this time," he says. "Not about this again."
I hear his footsteps behind me, heavy and deliberate on the hardwood. Then Jett's, lighter but no less certain. I turn around and they're both there, filling the hallway with their size and their heat and their absolute refusal to let me run.
"You don't get to hide anymore," Jett says with his jaw set and his eyes dark and hungry. "Not from this and not from us. You don't get to run back upstairs and wrap yourself in cotton strips and pretend you don't feel what's happening here."
Jarvis closes the distance between us in two strides, bending down to scoop me up before I can even draw a full breath. I gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders.
"Jarvis, put me down. I can't... we can't just..."
"We can," he says. His eyes burn into mine, dark and steady and completely in control. "And we are."
He carries me past the stairs and my room, down the hallway toward the office where I sat three weeks ago with a real estate agent's number on my laptop, planning to sell the restaurant and leave this town forever.I feel the irony and the fear curling tight in my stomach and mixing with an arousal so strong I can feel it between my legs.
Jett moves ahead of us, opening the office door and holding it as Jarvis carries me through into the familiar scent of leather furniture, old books, and the faint trace of cigars and cedar that always clings to this room.
It's Jarvis's domain, his throne room where he makes million-dollar decisions without breaking a sweat, and he's bringing me into it like a conqueror bringing home his prize.
He sets me down on the edge of the desk with my legs dangling, the black dress I wore to the restaurant feeling too thin and fragile against my skin while the cool wood presses against the backs of my thighs.
Jarvis turns and locks the door, the click loud and final, and I swallow hard with a dry mouth.
"What are you doing?"
"What we should have done the first night you walked into this house," he says, standing so close my knees brush his thighs. "Claiming you completely, no more waiting or thirty days or room for you to convince yourself this isn't real."
He cups my face with his warm, rough hands, so big they cover my jaw entirely. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want us, not because we're making you, but because you choose it."
My hands are shaking. I look past him to Jett leaning against the door with his arms crossed, watching me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip, then back at Jarvis, the man who has been patient with me, who has fed from me, who has looked at me like I matter more than his entire empire.
"I choose you," I whisper. "Both of you. I'm just scared I'll fail or want too much and you'll..."
"You'll never want too much," Jarvis says. His thumb traces my lower lip, slow and deliberate. "You're exactly enough. You've always been exactly enough. And after tonight, you're never going to doubt it again."
He kisses me. It's not gentle. It's not the soft press of lips he's given me before. It's a claiming. His tongue pushes into my mouth, hot and demanding, and I moan against him. My hands grip his shirt, pulling him closer, and he lets me for a second before he breaks the kiss and pulls back.
Jett moves behind me. His hands slide over my shoulders, down my arms, and he finds the zipper of my dress.
He pulls it down slowly, the teeth clicking one by one, and the fabric loosens around my chest. I wasn't wearing a bra.
I haven't needed one since they stopped letting me bind.
My breasts fall free, heavy and tender, and I can already feel the wetness beading at my nipples, the familiar ache of pressure building under my skin.
Jett pushes the dress off my shoulders until it pools at my waist, then lifts me slightly and pulls it over my hips, dropping to the floor in a black puddle.
I'm sitting on Jarvis's desk in nothing but my panties with my legs spread slightly because of how he's standing between them, and I feel more exposed and seen than I ever have.
Jarvis looks at me. His gaze travels from my face to my breasts, down my stomach, to where the thin cotton covers what's already soaked.
"Beautiful," he murmurs. "Our perfect girl."
He hooks his fingers into my panties. He doesn't tear them this time. He pulls them down my legs, over my knees, off my feet. He drops them on the floor next to my dress. I'm completely naked on his desk, under the office lights, and the cool air hits my skin but I'm burning up from the inside out.
Jarvis steps back. Just enough to look at all of me. "Spread your legs."
I hesitate. My instinct is to close up, to hide, to make myself small like I always do. But his eyes darken, and he says it again, softer but no less commanding.
"Spread them, little one. Let Daddy see what belongs to him."
I shiver at the word, heat pooling between my legs. I slowly part my knees. Then wider. Until I'm open to him, exposed, my wetness glistening where the light catches it.
Jarvis makes a low, hungry sound in his chest and runs one finger through my slit from bottom to top, making me jerk and buck toward his hand at the contact.
"Soaked," he says. "You've been soaked for us since the first night, haven't you?"
I nod because I can't speak with my throat too tight.
"And this..." He presses his finger against my entrance, circling and teasing without entering. "This is ours. No one else has ever had you, and no one else ever will."
"No one," I breathe. "Never. Only both of you."
Jett's hands come up to cup my breasts from behind, lifting them and testing their weight as milk beads at my nipples. "She's already leaking. She needs us."
He turns me on the desk so my back presses against his chest and my legs stay spread toward Jarvis, then holds my breasts up in offering.
Jarvis leans down and takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking deep, and the relief hits me instantly—I cry out, my head falling back against Jett's shoulder, as milk flows into Jarvis's mouth and he swallows with a groan.
Jett thumbs my other nipple, and more milk spills down my stomach in warm trails.
"Look at her," Jett murmurs. "She's already giving everything. Imagine what she'll do when we're both inside her."
Jarvis lifts his head. Milk glistens on his lip. His eyes are almost black with lust. "She's going to take us so well. Aren't you, little girl?"
I whimper. "I don't know if I can. You're both so big. I felt you against me, and I don't think..."
"Daddy's going to stretch you," Jarvis says.
His hand returns to my core, two fingers pressing against my entrance, circling.
"Daddy's going to open you up nice and slow until you can take every inch.
And then I'm going to fill you. I'm going to breed you.
I'm going to put my seed so deep inside you that you'll feel it for days. "
The words should terrify me, but they don't. They make me ache and empty in a way that only he can fix. I want it all. I want to be so full of them that I forget what lonely feels like.
"Please," I whisper. "Please, Daddy. I need you inside me."
Jarvis unbuckles his belt, the leather whispering through the loops, and unbuttons his jeans before pulling out his cock, thick and veined and dark with need, the head flushed and wet at the tip. My breath catches because there's no way that will fit inside me.
"Shh," Jarvis says. He sees my face. He always sees everything. "Look at me. Not at it. Look at Daddy."
I drag my eyes up to his, steady and certain and completely in control.
"I've got you," he says. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to make you feel so full you'll never want to be empty again."
He steps between my legs, pressing the head of him against my entrance, hot and thick as he rubs through my wetness to coat himself and tease my clit with short strokes that make me gasp and squirm. Then he lines himself up, the thick crown pushing just barely inside.
"Relax, little one," he murmurs. "Relax and let Daddy in."
He pushes.
The stretch is immediate. It's a burn, a pressure so intense my eyes water. He's just the tip, and I'm already so full I can't breathe. My hands grip the edge of the desk, my knuckles white.
"That's it," Jarvis whispers. He doesn't rush. He holds still, letting me adjust, his hands stroking my thighs, my hips, my waist with infinite patience. "Just breathe. Let your body open for me. You're doing so good. Such a good girl for Daddy."
Jett's mouth finds my neck. He kisses me there, sucking lightly, while his hands keep kneading my breasts. Milk drips onto the desk. The smell of it fills the room, sweet and thick, mixing with the scent of my arousal until the air feels heavy enough to drown in.
Jarvis pushes deeper.
I sob as he moves deeper, not from pain exactly, but from too much sensation and fullness, splitting me open and remaking me around him with every slow inch until my virginity doesn't break but dissolves with patience and heat, and I feel every moment of it.